by Piper Lennox
“Must have been one wild summer.” She leans hard into the sofa, moving it with her shoulder until I help. The ground underneath is littered with napkins, more food, and endless bottle caps.
“Same old, same old.” I grab a handful and rattle them in my palm, trying to remember even one moment of this summer that stood out from the others. All I can think of is that my cousins brought girls for the first time in history, which made me painfully aware of my own singleness.
“You don’t have to help me, you know.” Ruby flips a Budweiser cap into the air, laughing when I let go of all mine to catch it. “Unless you’re doing it to save money. But I highly doubt that.”
I don’t want to get on this topic again. Money’s obviously a touchy subject for her. But, since she brought it up, redirecting feels rude.
“You’d be right to doubt it. Money isn’t something I’ve ever had to worry about.”
Ruby sits against the couch and adjusts her hat with both hands, then clasps them behind her head. “What do you worry about?”
“Sleep.” I flip the cap back to her. She catches it in one hand without even looking. Damn.
“You don’t sleep well?”
“Understatement. I’m shocked I haven’t lost my mind yet, my insomnia’s gotten so bad.”
“You could try aromatherapy.”
“Got it. My nose is immune to chamomile now. Lavender’s doing okay.”
She smiles to herself, thinking. “Meditation?”
“Thirty minutes, every afternoon.”
“Weighted blankets?”
I reach up to the couch and drag one over to her, piling it in her lap while she coughs and laughs. “Tried it.”
“In that case,” she sputters, shoving it off and hefting it to the ottoman, “I think it’s time to try horse tranquilizers.”
“Does NyQuil count?” I gather up some more trash, mostly because I hate admitting this one isn’t a joke. “I self-medicated for a really long time. Sleep aids, cold medicine, alcohol...nothing helped. I’d get a few hours, then spend the rest of the day paying for it with headaches and shit.”
Ruby starts working again, too. Maybe it’s just as hard for her to listen. Maybe she’s just tired of all my rich-boy problems.
“Cutting caffeine could help.” She spins an empty espresso cup by its handle. On her delicate, glove-encased finger, it looks like a Christmas tree ornament. “I used to fuel my life on nothing but cherry Amps and Five Hour Energy shots. Trust me—cutting back to one cup of coffee a day will work wonders.”
“How do you even know that’s mine?” I reach for the cup, but she spins it overhead and leans away.
“You’ve got that caffeine-crazed look in your eyes,” she smirks. “Dilated pupils, shaky hands—”
I lean over her, pinning her free hand to snatch the cup, both of us almost toppling. Her laughter echoes through the living room. My face peers down into hers.
“Do these hands feel shaky to you?”
She quiets. “No. Steady as a rock.”
I kiss her.
A sound escapes her chest, almost like a sigh of relief. I probably make one too. This is all I’ve been thinking about for at least thirty hours straight.
“Theo.” She breaks away and shakes her head. I let her hands go, even though I know as soon as I do, she’ll push me back.
“Sorry.” I return to my spot on the floor at a close but respectful distance. “I promise, I’m not trying to be so...hands-on.”
Ruby wets her lips and snorts.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I think I’d be very stupid to believe you,” she says, walking away on her knees to clear off an end table, “given how…attractive you are. Girls must be begging you to be hands-on.”
I shrug. They certainly used to. But that data’s not exactly up-to-date.
“I haven’t dated anyone in a long time,” I confess. “My last official girlfriend was, like…shit. Over seven years ago.”
Under her stare, I feel my skin grow hot. I don’t want her to think I’m that messed-up.
“Mostly by choice,” I add. “I’m not interested in dating any of the girls I know.” As for meeting someone new, I socialize the bare minimum outside the same dwindling group of people, year after year. It’s just simpler.
Depressing as shit—but simple.
“Do you want to date me?” she asks suddenly, standing up and gathering some balled-up receipts from my dad’s shelves.
Her eyes comb the skulls slowly. I wait for her to ask what they are or why they’re here...but she doesn’t. She just stares back into their eyeless gazes.
“How insane will I sound if I say yes?”
She smiles, but doesn’t look at me. The skulls rattle like tiny, soft earthquakes when she walks away, moving on to the next mess in need of attention.
9
“Uh…wow. Okay.”
Ruby paces to the other corner of the infinity pool, hands planted in the beautiful dips in her waist as she frowns at the chair submerged in the water.
“Yeah,” I sigh, tearing my eyes off her to observe it for myself. “Between that and all the bathing suit bottoms I’ve fished out of here, I’m seriously considering a ‘no more pool parties’ rule. Not that I could ever enforce that.” A lot of my Hamptons friends just hop my gate and swim, without even pausing at the front door to say hello.
“Speaking of bathing suits....” Ruby’s eyes dart to the upper deck, where a collection of bikini tops paints the railing. “Impressive. That your trophy case?”
“Lost and Found.”
We grab the last of the outside trash, fling our gloves into her bucket, then drown our skin in sanitizer up to the elbows. When she rolls up her pant legs to put her feet in the water by the stairs, I join her.
“Girls put their stuff out there to dry, then forget about it,” I explain. “I have a box for all the shit people leave. That railing’s usually cleared off by the first of September, before I leave.”
Ruby looks at them again. In the early sunset, all we can really see are the neon or white tops. “Why didn’t you do that this year?”
“Same reason I haven’t gotten this damn chair out of the pool, I guess, or cleaned the living room...or left at all.” I study the glow around her profile. “I’m just tired.”
“I would be too, if I slept as badly as you.”
My smile takes a little too much energy to make happen, so I don’t force it to stick around.
Ruby’s hand covers mine on the coping around the edge of the pool. Her feet churn up some waves and send them in my direction.
“Can I say something offensive that shouldn’t be offensive, but nonetheless always is?”
“Sure.”
“I think you’ve got, like...I don’t know. Depression? Anxiety?” She lets go of my hand and taps my skull, directly in the center of my forehead. “Something up here that needs fixing.”
Slower than ice melting, her finger trails down the middle of my face, between my eyebrows and over my nose, until it rests on my bottom lip.
“Bored Rich Housewife Syndrome,” she adds, keeping her finger there even when I laugh.
“All right, I could agree with you on depression or some shit—but I’m pretty sure that last one isn’t in the DSM.”
“Maybe not, but it should be. I’ve seen plenty of cases of it.”
“Yeah?” My lip tingles when she pulls her hand away. I was hoping she’d replace it with her mouth, but I can wait a little longer. “What are the symptoms?”
“Relentless boredom, inescapable ennui....” Ruby props her hands behind her and leans back, shutting her eyes to the sky. “This kind of buzzing, subtle ‘lost’ feeling every day when you wake up, because you’ve got nothing to fight for. No goals. No sense of true purpose.”
I was about two seconds from trying to kiss her—it’s such a perfect moment—but now I sit forward and stare at our feet through the water while her words sink in. “Huh. Then I gues
s I am a bored, rich housewife.”
She elbows me. “Oh, quit pouting. I was kidding.”
“Yeah, I know.” I look at her as she leans forward again to see my face. “But that does describe my life pretty accurately.”
“Probably still falls under the umbrella of ‘depression.’” She dips her fingers in the water, then runs them up my leg. Beads drip down my skin. “People think it’s just sadness. It’s not.”
I chew my cheek and nod. Our family’s got its share of psych diagnoses, so it wouldn’t shock me to find out I’m invited to that party. And I guess it would explain a few things.
“So what’s the cure?” I crack my knuckles against my forearms and look out across the bay. So many of my neighbors’ houses are dark.
It feels like such a waste. Perfectly good homes, left to be empty shells half the year.
“For B.R.H.S.?” she asks, laughing when this coaxes a small smile from me. “One very effective treatment, I imagine, would be spontaneity.”
And with that, she puts her hand on my back...and shoves me right into the water.
It’s the shallow end, so I stand and spit the water from my mouth. My sinuses burn. Saltwater hurts less than traditional chlorine, but it’s still a bitch to get up your nose.
Ruby’s laughing to herself, now safely away from the edge. Smart. I’d be yanking her in by her ankles right now, if I could.
“Feel better yet?” she asks. Her smile glows in the rosy light thrown from the bay.
“What if my phone had been in my pocket?” I sputter, then shake water off myself like a dog.
“Relax. I saw you take everything out of your pockets when we did the kitchen floors.” She tosses her hat aside, then unzips her jumpsuit.
Oh, sweet, generous God.
Stupid me, I assumed she’d be clothed under her work uniform. Leggings and a T-shirt or something. At least shorts and a tank top, if overheating was a concern.
But no. Ruby is in nothing but her bra and panties under that thing. And now, in magnificent slow-motion, she’s peeling it away.
I sink back into the water when she joins me, hoping she can’t see my hard-on. The pool lights aren’t on, but there’s still some sunlight to incriminate myself.
Then again...she’s gotta know damn well what she’s doing to me.
Wordlessly, she reaches to me under the water and takes my hand, pulling me to the deep end.
“You wore this kind of green the other night, too.”
“Hmm?”
“Your dress. It matched this almost exactly. Is that your favorite color?” I touch her bra strap, sliding it down her shoulder.
Without looking away from me, she slips off the other one. “Yes.”
“What about red?”
“I hate red. It looks awful on me.”
“Disagree. I can’t imagine anything looking awful on you.” My pool water, in particular, looks fucking amazing on her. I think my bedding would be a close second.
“For years, that’s all anyone would buy me. Red sweaters, red shoes.... The more people expected me to love it, the more I hated it.” She swims closer. The damp scent of her skin gets me dizzy. “Everyone expected me to love red, just because of my name.”
“You don’t like being told what to do?”
When my hand trails up her back, everything dreamlike underwater, she shivers. I unsnap her bra.
“I don’t like being told who I should be,” she whispers.
Her bra slips down her arms as she treads water. We watch it float to the surface between us.
I reach out and touch her in the deepening darkness. Her breasts fit into my hands like two floating gifts I’d happily drown for. Which I almost do.
“Here,” she laughs, steering us to the pool ladder. She sits inside the rungs while I hold the railings on either side of her head, body floating in and out of orbit with hers.
I can’t take it anymore. I honestly don’t care if I get off tonight or not; just touching will be enough. Something, anything, to feed my imagination after she’s gone.
“Theo,” she moans, when my hand slides between her legs and starts rubbing. Fuck this pool for hiding how wet she is for me. I know it’s a lot. The way she tips her head back, the way her chest shudders...the way she grabs my shoulders and sinks in her nails—
I let go of the ladder and pull her panties down her thighs, all the way to her ankles. She kicks gently until, like her bra, they’re floating free somewhere behind us.
“So,” I say, grabbing the ladder again, this time with my hands by her hips, “how long do you think I can hold my breath?”
Her brow furrows, then instantly hops up in amusement—and a ton of curiosity.
“Long enough.”
Her eyes study my mouth like she’s seeing it in an entirely new light. Like until this moment, she had no idea what it was capable of.
But from this moment onward, she will.
10
Theo vanishes under the water.
I rest my head on the ladder and try to gauge which is stronger: the razor-like fire between my legs, praying he’ll give me what I need...or the dread and déjà vu that fills me as soon as one of his hands leaves the ladder, fingers teasing their way inside me.
His touch is gloriously, hideously familiar.
It’s a deep, complete sensation, this fullness that shouldn’t feel so good. Like I was unwhole until he was inside me.
His mouth envelops my clitoris. The lapping of his tongue combined with the bubbles of his breath makes me laugh, and I hate that I gave in. It feels like a domino has fallen too soon.
Part of me hates that I waited even this long.
When he surfaces, water streaming down his face in beautiful, glowing rivulets, I get the urge to kiss him. I resist.
“Good so far?” His breath chills the beads of water on my chest. “Or would you prefer somewhere...dryer?”
My fingers wind into his hair while his pulse inside me again. The only solace in the uncontrollable moan I give is seeing how easily it undoes him just to hear it. His teeth sink into his lip.
I think of that night. His bathroom floor.
Cleaning his blood so he wouldn’t have to look at it, because I was so stupid and hopeful and found him adorable.
“This is good.” I grit the words out. He’s getting me close. I don’t want to orgasm for him.
No...I do. I just wish I didn’t.
“But fair warning: I can’t hold my breath that long, when it’s time to reciprocate.”
“No reciprocation required.” Theo brushes his free hand over my breasts, rubbing my nipples with the pad of his thumb until I moan again. “Feeling you come on my fingers will be all I need.”
Cue the coy smile. I practiced it in the mirror on my way here, along with a bunch of “thanks, but not yet” lines in case he tried to touch me. Mission failed.
“Yeah?” Fuck, I love his hair. It’s full and cold between my fingers, and falls back into place so beautifully when I push my hand through, grazing his scalp with my nails. He closes his eyes and revels in the feeling, leaning his face against my other hand on the ladder. “Are you going to think of me later while you touch yourself?”
“Absolutely.” He kisses my hand, then my wrist, pausing to smell my perfume. It’s a move so goddamn smooth I don’t blame my hormones for doubling down.
Nobody could resist the look he’s giving me right now: an intense jeweled stare, the pure hunger of a lion combined with the practiced patience of a saint.
Saint Theo. Now there’s a laugh.
When he draws a deep breath, I brace myself.
He goes under. This time, I hold his head against me.
Yes, I failed at my mission: to turn Theo on, to drive him wild, to tempt him until he was at my mercy...and then walk away. The more he has to work for me, I figure, the harder he’ll fall.
Maybe this is even better, though. I get off, and Theo gets just a taste of what he thinks he’ll have later
.
And he won’t. Not ever.
Oral sex in a ritzy heated pool, though? Yeah. That, I can handle.
His tongue and lips tease over my clitoris. I hold him closer; he increases his pace, fingers writhing inside me until I buck my hips for more.
It’s involuntary. Everything about this feels involuntary, actually, like scratching a bug bite in your sleep until it bleeds. You know it’s destructive, but it feels too good to stop.
I feel myself slide off the ladder. Instinct tells me to take a nice, deep breath.
I go under.
My hand slides down the rail. I reposition it so that I’m hanging onto the rung just behind my head.
I open my eyes.
Theo still hasn’t stopped. He stares at me with a floating, ethereal smirk as his fingers and mouth move even faster.
When I come, my cry of surprise bubbling to the sunset-laced surface, all I can hear is my heartbeat. My limbs go stiff, my usual response to orgasms: while some girls (if porn is to be believed) moan and arch their backs like sexy St. Louis monuments, my body is hardwired to become a shivering plank of nerves.
The weightlessness of the pool fades. I feel myself sinking, but Theo loops his other arm around my waist and swims us back to the surface.
“Damn.” His smile paints its way across mine until I get the clarity to kiss him back. “Never gotten a girl so good she nearly drowned and didn’t even care.”
You didn’t “get” me, I think, wondering how the hell he can’t taste the venom on my mouth.
And you never will.
It’s all chemical. Nothing but hormones and baser instincts. Scientifically speaking, Theo is attractive.
Actually, he’s fucking hot, and I am not made of stone. A girl’s got needs.
And now that I’ve had mine fulfilled, I can focus on the rest of the plan: no more giving in. I’m supposed to dish out the temptation, not fall for it.
“What do you say we go inside and put on an encore?” he asks.
Shit.
Even the way he wipes water off his face gets to me. I decide to blame the fact the fingers of his other hand are still inside me.