Thicker Than Water

by Dylan Allen

  Going to her house got her to agree, but it left me with a hard cock that couldn’t seem to control itself. In the shower, I’ve stroked myself and come to visions of her that night. She was wearing this thin, white dress. Her nipples pebbled beneath it, begging me to pinch them. Her beautiful face was completely bare, even that red lipstick was gone. Those plump lips were the same color as her face, except for the soft pink inner part, that peeked out when she pursed her lips. I’ve imagined that mouth around my cock more times than I can count.

  I want to meet with her this morning before she heads to the office, so I stop by her house. We’ll be working closely on the project; I need to be able to spend time with her without getting a chubby. I figured this meeting would be good practice.

  Now that I’m here, I realize it was a terrible idea. She’s on the deck, moving through what I think are yoga poses. She is focused on what she’s doing and oblivious to my presence. She looks invincible and completely at peace. I’m captivated as I watch her body’s graceful movements.

  She comes out of her last pose and then walks over to the pool. She dips her toe in and then sits down so that her legs are submerged. Her head tips back to let the morning’s weak sun bathe her face. In profile, her perfect bone structure is revealed. The movement arches her back and forces her chest out. Her nipples are hard underneath her sports bra, and from where I’m standing, they’re like beacons begging me to move in their direction.

  I feel my body responding to her. “You’re here for a reason, Reece, stop acting like a Peeping Tom and get your shit together,” I mumble under my breath. I turn the corner. Before I can say a word, the sun casts my shadow over her and she lets out a yelp and jumps up. She whips around and her eyes widen in surprise when she sees me, then she wavers just enough to lose her balance and fall backward into the pool.

  It takes me a couple of seconds to realize she’s struggling. I drop my phone along with the bag I’m holding and jump into the pool wrapping my arms around her. That only makes her even more frantic. She starts to fight me and I throw her over my shoulder. She’s screaming like a banshee, arms flailing and pummeling me as she continues to panic. Thank God she’s so small, otherwise it would have been impossible to get us both out of the water safely.

  “Stop moving, dammit,” I shout, trying to be heard over the ruckus she’s making. I put her down in front of me. Her eyes are closed, and she’s screaming bloody murder. She’s trembling and I start to rub my hands up and down her biceps to try to calm her down. “Luc, you’re fine,” I say, not shouting but still loudly enough for her to hear me. She stops screaming almost immediately, but doesn’t open her eyes.

  “Lucía, open your eyes. You’re safe. You’re out the water,” I say, this time in a softer voice. I can see the terror on her face and I don’t want to do anything to agitate her and set her screaming again.

  She doesn’t say anything but her eyes remain squeezed shut. Her trembling turns to a shiver. It’s early on a September morning, so there’s a slight chill in the air. I feel a shiver run through my body, too. I’m soaked; I didn’t even stop to kick my shoes off before I dove into the pool.

  “Lucía, can you hear me? Let’s go inside so we can dry off. You’ll get sick if you stand out here like this.”

  I’ve just decided that I need to pick her up and carry her inside when she speaks. Softly, in that low husky voice.

  “I can’t swim.” Her eyes are open now, but glued to my chest.

  “No shit,” I quip and that seems to snap her out of whatever trance she’s in.

  Her eyes come up to my face and she takes a step back, putting not just physical distance, but a palpable emotional barrier between us. She frowns at me as she lifts her arms to wring the water out of her hair.

  “You scared me. What are you doing here, anyway?” She doesn’t sound combative, but the glint in her eyes and the tight set of her jaw tell me she’s pissed and that it’s taking a Herculean effort to hide it.

  “Well, for starters, I live here,” I say.

  Her eyes go as wide as saucers. “I thought this was the guesthouse.” Her eyes dart around like she is looking for the nearest exit. “I thought you lived in LA. And I thought you were only here in the summer. Sol said I’d be alone.” The alarm is completely undisguised. And a part of me is tempted to tease her, but I have a feeling it wouldn’t go over well. So, I put her out of her misery.

  “This is the guesthouse, I’m up at the main house. And while I do live in LA, for the next couple of weeks, I’ll be here full time. I’ve staked a lot on this film and I want to make sure things go smoothly.”

  “Don’t you have clients in LA? Meetings?”

  God she’s transparent. I didn’t realize that me being here would make her so uncomfortable. Does she dislike me?

  “It’s LA, not Las Vegas. It’s a forty-five-minute drive. I’ll be back and forth.” I see her shoulders sag in relief. It shouldn’t bother me that she doesn’t want me here, but it does.

  “Oh, okay.” She smiles the most insincere smile I’ve ever seen.

  “It’s a good thing you’re not pursuing a career as an actress,” I say entering the house. I kick my shoes off before I open the door and step inside. She trots in after me, leaving a trail of water in her wake.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to seem like I don’t want you here. It’s just not what I expected.”

  I dismiss her statement with a wave of my hand.

  “Listen, we’re dripping wet, why don’t you go and get changed and then come back. I came over to talk to you before you meet with your team this morning.”

  “What about you?” she asks, raising her eyebrows at my equally sodden clothes.

  “I’ve got some clothes in my truck, I’ll go out and get them and I’ll change, too.”

  She smiles another uncomfortable, closed mouth smile and then dashes off to her room.

  I watch her go. Her yoga pants are a light blue and wet. I can see straight through them. God, she has a luscious ass.

  I groan to myself. I can’t afford to fuck up this film. But the more I look at her, the more I want to fuck her. I know I didn’t just imagine the way she was looking at me that night at her house. I want to follow her to her room, and play with her body until she begs me to fuck her. Make her admit she wants me.

  I step back outside to the deck and walk to where I’d left the breakfast and coffee I brought with me and bring them inside. Thankfully my phone and keys weren’t a casualty of my impromptu swim. I look down at myself and grimace, my jeans are already stiffening uncomfortably. I run out to get my things, and when I come in, I can hear the water in the master bath running. I imagine her wet and naked in the shower. Her soapy hand sliding over her stomach and slipping between her legs. I wonder if she’s touching herself. I want to walk in there and find out. “Not even an option, Reece,” I mumble as I duck into the hallway bathroom to change.

  Once I’m dressed, I step back into the living room to wait for her. I’m reading emails when one from my father pops up, wishing me good luck today. It’s just what I need to remind me that I can’t indulge in this kind of self-sabotage. This film, and its success is too important. I’m not going to let myself get distracted by Lucía Vega’s ass. It has disaster written all over it. I’ll have this meeting and then I won’t come back to the guesthouse. “Lucía Vega is your much younger employee,” I say to myself. If I could just get my dick to listen, I might survive this morning.

  Like a genie popping out of a bottle I rubbed, she walks into the living room. She’s wearing tiny denim shorts, a light pink sleeveless top that barely covers her belly but flows to her knees in the back and flip-flops. Her hair is still wet, and her lips are bright red again. She looks good enough to eat.

  She’s also holding a pile of towels in her hand. She drops them onto the floor and gets on her hands and knees and starts wiping. I’m distracted by the swaying of her ass and the toned muscles of her legs and so it takes me a minute
to process what she’s doing.

  “We have staff that cleans up, Lucía,” I say dryly. She stills, her back stiffening for a moment before she starts wiping again.

  “I’m sure you do,” she says without looking up.

  “Then, why are you on the floor?” I ask as I stand over her.

  “Because I made a mess. I’m cleaning it up. I don’t want whoever you’ve hired to come in here and slip and fall because I was too lazy . . . or entitled to mop up a little water,” she says. When she says the word entitled, she’s implying that’s exactly what I am.

  “Fine.” I walk back to the island. “When you’re done being righteous, I’d like to talk with you about the job I’ve actually hired you to do. I brought breakfast, but I’ll start without you.”

  “That’s fine, Mr. Carras. I’ll be done in a minute,” she says stiffly.

  Fuck, this woman is difficult.

  “Call me Reece,” I say as I unpack the bag of pastries. I take the two coffees out of the drink carrier and wait for her to join me.

  When she’s finally finished, my coffee is cold and my patience has worn thin.

  “This all looks delicious, thank you,” she says, her eyes studiously on the food and purposely avoiding me.

  I nearly laugh.

  “You’re welcome,” I say to her with an equal lack of sincerity while I watch her pick up a croissant and sit down.

  “I haven’t worked this closely on a project in a long time. I’ve also got my other studio responsibilities to think about, so I won’t waste time by beating around the bush.”

  Her eyes finally come to mine.

  She looks wary, but she’s paying attention.

  “I came here to help you get ready for the first day with your writers, but it seems we need to clear the air first.” She looks confused, but I know she’s not.

  “You clearly have a problem with me. I’m not sure why. I want you to get over it. Fast. Ball’s in your court. If you decide you want things to be unpleasant, that’s fine, too, but it will make the next few months feel endless.” I pick up my pastry. “So, eat, and think about it. When you’re done. We’ll talk.”

  Her eyes narrow before they drop to the counter. I see her hands balled into tiny fists. Her control is slipping. Good, maybe now we can have a real conversation.

  I sit back, take a huge bite of out the pain au chocolate and wait for her to respond.

  7

  Lucía

  Oh, how I wish I could unleash on him. For showing up here unannounced, scaring me, making me fall in that damn pool and making me feel like a fool.

  But I swallow all of that. He’s my boss. I don’t want to do anything to mess this up. I also know my dislike of him is irrational. His “you’re not my type” declaration stung more than I wanted to admit initially. Seeing him this morning, looking more handsome than he should, makes that sting feel fresh. I’ve got to put that aside and behave like a professional.

  I struggle to calm myself before I lift my eyes from the snow-white marble countertop and look at him. Of course, he’s not even looking at me. He’s scrolling through his phone while he munches on that chocolate croissant. The one I’d planned on eating, but didn’t pick up because I was afraid to look greedy for taking two.

  I clear my throat to make sure I don’t sound angry before I speak. “I’m sorry if I came across that way. Falling into the pool rattled me. I have no reason to dislike you. I’m looking forward to working together.”

  “Good. Glad you made that decision quickly.”

  I pick up the coffee he brought. It’s strong and black, just the way I hate it. But, I drink it like it’s the most delicious beverage I’ve ever had.

  When I was little and my dad would scold me, Julian would always say, “If you don’t want people to talk down to you, then behave yourself.” It’s a piece of advice I live by. God, I miss Julian.

  Thinking of him makes my eyes sting. I look back at Reece to see him watching me. His expression is pensive. I remind myself where I am and who I’m with and the sting in my eyes goes away.

  “Okay, let’s get down to business.”

  I glance at my watch and see it’s already seven thirty. I’d asked the two screenwriters to meet me at the office at eight thirty.

  As if reading my mind, Reece says, “We have time.” He strolls over to the other side of the kitchen island and presses a button. A drawer pops open and I watch in horror as he drops his half-eaten pastry inside. Wasting food is a sin. My mother never threw anything away and neither did I. When he looks up and catches my eye he must misunderstand the cause for the horror on my face.

  “Oh, that’s the trash can. Did you think I was putting garbage into your kitchen drawer?”

  “I know that’s the trash. Why did you throw that away?” I ask him.

  “Because . . . I’m full,” he says slowly, as if I’m the dense one.

  “There was almost an entire half left. Why didn’t you just save it for later?”

  He quirks his head like he’s just seen a three-legged kangaroo.

  “Save it for later? What? Like put it in my pocket?” He’s amused.

  I roll my eyes unable to hide my exasperation. “Of course not. Just wrap it in a paper towel and put it the bag. That was so wasteful.” I huff.

  His eyes widen with genuine surprise. Then, he walks back to the drawer, presses the button to open it again and peers inside. He starts mumbling to himself.

  “Nothing else in here . . . Should be safe enough.”

  He reaches inside and pulls out the pastry. With a wink, he takes a huge bite.

  I know my mouth is open. I know I’ve got bug eyes, too. I don’t care.

  He finishes chewing and sits down on one of the barstools. “What? I’ve never really thought about it before, but you’re totally right,” he says matter-of-factly before taking a huge gulp of coffee. He looks at me and smirks.

  “I’m not a monster, Lucía. I can admit when I’m wrong.” He does a ceremonial drum roll on the counter and my eyes follow the motion of his hands. They are huge with a dusting of hair on the backs of them. I was in a panic when he lifted me out of the pool, but I remember the way they felt as he rubbed my arms to warm me up. They’re strong. There was a sureness in his touch that helped me to calm down.

  “Are you imagining my hands around your throat? You’re staring at them like you’ve just seen me use them for something nefarious.”

  “I wasn’t thinking anything. I’m just waiting for you to tell me whatever it is you came here to say.”

  He laughs, but it’s more of a scoff and I know I’m blushing again. I’m annoyed with myself for being so transparent.

  “Okay, Lucía. I know this is all new to you and I want you to understand some of the dynamics. A novice leading a screenwriting team is nearly unheard of. So, prepare yourself for pushback from your team. They are going to test you, push you, they might even try to undermine you.” He takes a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving mine. He must see the mild panic as it skitters across my face. “I’m not trying to scare you. It’s just the nature of the beast,” he says, his tone reassuring.

  “You have two jobs. The first one, obviously, is to get the screenplay written. The second is to lead the team. To be the person who makes difficult calls and then deals with the fallout. You’ve got to manage the group dynamic. They’ll feed off your energy. So, you need to do whatever it is you do to keep yourself even and focused. You guys will write almost every day except for whatever you decide are your off days. You’ll have read-backs where you go over what you’ve written. Ultimately, you decide what works, what doesn’t and where you’re going next with the story.”

  He hops off the stool and starts pacing.

  “And when the team is done, you need to go over the pieces everyone wrote and make sure that you’re getting the best from people. The strength of the writing is going to be important. This story is character driven, and dialogue is what’s going to tell it wel
l or fuck it up.”

  He stops his pacing and looks at me. “You have any questions?”

  I have a million questions; I feel like I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. Talk about being careful what you ask for. I haven’t had much time to prepare or get ready. I’m grateful he’s telling me all of this. I know he wants the film to do well. But I can tell he wants me to do well, too.

  I know Reece is watching me. My brain spins as I try to make sense of everything that is happening and I don’t want him to see all of that. So, I just say, “Not right now. Thank you. It’s a lot to absorb, but I’ll do my best to not let you down.”

  He walks to stand in front of me, so that we’re just a few inches shy of toe-to-toe. Besides this morning in the pool, it’s probably the closest I’ve been to him. I can feel the energy radiating from him. It’s magnetic—and it takes real effort to resist the pull of it. I just want to lean forward a little . . .

  Oh God. This isn’t good. I can’t be into the man I work for and who’s made it clear that he’s not into me.

  “Lucía, don’t worry about letting me down.” He puts his hands on my shoulders. I stifle my gasp at the nearly electric charge that his touch sends through me. It’s too much. I step out of his grasp as casually as I can and grab my coffee from the counter. He picks his up, too. But he only holds it as he continues to speak. His eyes never leaving mine.

  “Focus on yourself. This is your dream. You wrote that book. You want to bring this story to life. Don’t let anything get in the way of that. It’s not going to be easy. But, I’ll help you, if you let me. I’m not saying we need to be best friends. But us getting along would make all of this easier.”

  I take all of this in and I try to reconcile it with what I thought he’d be like, and I can’t. This display of graciousness has thrown me for a loop. He’s . . . nice.