Neighbors

by Ashleigh Royce

  “My dad was a state champion swimmer, back when he was younger,” Dylan says with pride.

  “Oh, how wonderful! That’s quite an accomplishment, Stuart.” I turn to Dylan. “You go. I’ll watch.”

  Maria uses this opportunity. “Nonsense. You can borrow a suit from me. I’m sure I even have one with the tags still on it.” Her tone is patronizing. She walks out of the room and returns a few minutes later holding a small amount of hot pink Lycra. She tosses it to me, and points toward the bathroom. Dylan grins with anticipation.

  Trepidation fills me as I take the pink wad of fabric and go to the bathroom to change. I put it on and it doesn’t cover half of what it’s supposed to. Apparently, Maria is smaller on top than I am. Most of what I have fits into the bathing suit, but not as well as I would like. I make a mental note not to bend over otherwise everything will spill out. Feeling insecure, I put my tee shirt on over the suit and head back out to the living room.

  Dylan is wearing a Bermuda short-styled bathing suit. His muscular legs are yummy and his well-sculpted upper body makes it difficult for me to focus on anything but him.

  Stuart is in a plain set of swimming trunks. His body is almost as impressive as his son’s. Not even close. Maria waits until we’re all assembled, no doubt to make an entrance. She’s wearing a bikini smaller than the one she gave to me. The peach color compliments her perfectly tan body. She knows how good she looks…and she knows they know it, too.

  Maria trots behind Dylan and uses her index finger to trace his shoulders. It’s too friendly for me. My brain screams, Get your hands off my man, bitch!

  Dylan shrugs from her touch. He smiles at me. “Ready?”

  I nod and follow him to the pool. The temperature in the glass-enclosed atrium is noticeably warmer than the rest of the house. As dusk drapes over the sky outside, lights hanging from the metal skeletons running along the ceiling, shine onto the pool. Heat rises off the water and condensation drips down the inside of the glass. It’s ethereal.

  From the semi-circular steps in the shallow end, Stuart walks right into the water and leans back, trusting it with his body. Dylan jumps in at the far end, splashing water onto the grey tiled floor. Maria saunters in and delicately sits on the steps that Stuart had walked down. She sips from a glass of wine.

  “Come on in,” Dylan shouts, pushing his wet, dark curls back.

  Maria and Stuart watch my actions. “In a while,” I say, stalling. I sashay to the side and stand with my back against the wall. Hopefully, it protects me from Maria’s laser beam eyes.

  Dylan swims to the shallow end of the pool. Maria hasn’t taken her eyes off him since we got here. Water rains down his body as he emerges from the water. She ogles him as he walks up the stair next to her. Her arched eyebrows give away what she’s thinking. I know it because I’m thinking it, too.

  Determined steps bring him to face me. My breath hitches and my heart is pounding so hard I think it will burst out of the tiny bikini top Maria has loaned me.

  “If you don’t come in, I’m going to throw you in.”

  “I’ll be in,” I say, then lower my voice to a whisper. “It’s just the bathing suit Maria let me borrow is too small.”

  An eyebrow climbs his forehead. He snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me close, drenching the front of my shirt. “It is? You’ll have to show me.” I can feel his interest through his swimsuit.

  Both Stuart and Maria stare at us; Stuart with a smile at his son’s happiness and Maria with drool seething from her teeth.

  I blush and use my hands to push him away. “Dylan, stop. They’re watching.”

  “I don’t care.” Before I answer again, Dylan picks me up and carries me to the edge of the pool. He holds me out, over the water.

  My grip tightens around his neck. “Dylan, don’t.”

  “What are you going to do if I do?”

  “I’ll beat you up,” I giggle.

  “What will you give me if I don’t?

  “You can name it.” I hope my voice sounds seductive.

  He hesitates. “Both sound promising.” Then he leaps off the edge of the pool and into the water, with me in his arms. He never lets go as his feet bounce off the bottom and we ricochet back to the surface. I swipe my hair back from my face and then push Dylan’s shoulder. He lets go of my legs so I can stand in front of him, and he adjusts his arms so that they’re around my waist.

  The water is warm, like the bath Dylan had drawn for me weeks ago, but I am much hotter. Dylan stares into my eyes. I’m lost in him. He gives me a long, lingering kiss. Within seconds I lose my anger and return his affection, surrendering to his touch. I’m weak from the kiss and forget where we are, until I see Maria in my periphery. A hard line replaces her smile under knit brows. She’s displeased.

  “I’m not in the mood to swim anymore,” she says. “In fact, I’ve got a bit of a headache. I’m going to bed. It was…nice meeting you, Melissa.” Her tone changes with the word ‘nice.’ She stands up and walks back into the main part of the house.

  A few moments later, Stuart swims to the edge. He gets out and dries himself with the towel from the lounge chair. “Well, I’m calling it a day, too. You guys stay as long as you want. Dylan, just shut the lights when you’re done.”

  “Okay. Goodnight, Dad.”

  “Thank you for a lovely diner,” I shout as he leaves. Then we’re alone in the pool.

  Water covers our bodies from the neck down. His hands roam over my wet shirt. “Why don’t you show me how small this suit is.” His tone is mischievous.

  I lift the shirt above my head and fling the wet fabric onto the steps at the shallow end, where Maria had been sitting.

  “Oh…it is small.” It’s the way he says it that jump-starts my blood. But it’s when he pulls me close that I can tell how much he likes the way it barely covers my curves. He pushes his tongue into my mouth and kisses me hard. His hands skim my body under the water, searching for the string that barely holds the suit on. He finds the lower string. With a gentle tug, he pulls it, then skims his hand up my back and yanks the top, freeing me. The top of the suit floats away.

  My hands make quick work under the water and I remove the rest. When I’m completely naked in the pool, Dylan discards his suit. The three pieces drift off into different directions.

  Despite being surrounded by water, I’m so thirsty for him. He pulls me close. The sensation of him against me while we’re submerged is exciting. My arms circle his neck and we drift toward the deep end until my back is against the tile wall.

  He grinds his hips and I feel him just where I want him.

  “You have no idea how you affect me,” he says.

  I smile. “I think I have a pretty good idea.” I wiggle slightly and feel him rub me.

  He smiles too. “Yeah, I guess you do.” He kisses me. “But it’s more than that. I can’t put it into words.”

  He has no idea how much he affects me too. This time I kiss him, but I don’t let go. The heat inside me increases. I’m ready and I want him. He reads my body. I wrap my legs around his waist as he shifts me onto his waiting erection. Warm chlorine vapors fill my nose as Dylan takes me under the diving board.

  The warm water adds to the sensation as he uses buoyancy to lift me up and down over him. Between the pressure inside of me and the water against me, it doesn’t take long for me to reach my plateau.

  “Feel it?” he says.

  “Yes,” I’m breathy.

  He moves out and then slows back in. The water moves against our bodies. I groan. And he does it again.

  “Please,” I beg.

  “You want this,” he says and pulls back again, teasing me.

  “Yes, yes. Please.”

  “What do you want? Tell me.”

  “I want you.”

  He thrusts into me and I gasp. My breathing is erratic. My insides quicken and I can’t hold back.

  “Come for me,” he says. His words open the floodgates and I can’t
hold back. He drives into me once more before he releases.

  Twenty-Three

  Because my shirt had gotten wet, Dylan lets me wear his home. Gretta gave me a plastic bag to bring my wet things home in.

  As I hang them over the shower bar, he stands in the doorway, watching me as I stretch up.

  “You really do look better in my shirts than I do.”

  “Oh you think so?” I turn and ask with a playful tease. “I don’t think so.” I pull the shirt off. “In fact, I don’t think I like these shorts either.” And I wiggle my pants down past my knees. I step out of them and stand before Dylan in just my lacy pink underwear.

  “You know I can’t stay away from you, right?” he asks as if to warn me.

  I flash him a devilish smile. “I know.” And then we replay what we did in the pool, but without the water.

  The next day, I’m off from work but Dylan isn’t. His warm lips brush my cheek before he gets out of the bed. He tries not to make a sound as he gets dressed and leaves. I opt to go back to sleep for another two hours.

  When I wake up, my head is swirling. I run to the bathroom and before I can brush my teeth, I throw up what remained of the dinner Gretta had made the night before. Taking a seat on the side of the tub, I rub a wet washcloth over my face and wait for a second urge to vomit to pass. Oh no, food poisoning. I climb back into bed and close my eyes.

  I wake with a start at eleven o’clock. When I sit up, the room is still. I get dressed, make the bed, and go downstairs to make breakfast. Scrambling some eggs, I sit at the table and begin eating without realizing I have nothing to drink to wash it down. Mid-way through the eggs, I get up to make coffee. As the coffee maker goes through the motions, I collect the sugar bowl from the cabinet and then head to the refrigerator for the milk. When I open the container the wave of nausea returns. Hmm, the milk must be bad. I dump it down the sink and make a mental note to pick up some more when I go out.

  I wait impatiently for the coffee pot to finish and pour the liquid into a thermos and place it in the fridge. Iced coffee will be just as good later. Then I opt for a glass of orange juice. I return to my eggs, but find it isn’t enough. I’m still hungry. I cook another two.

  After cleaning my breakfast dishes, I find my purse and walk the five blocks to the supermarket. When I come home, I put the few things I bought away and lay out on the couch. I wake up when Dylan walks through the door.

  “Hey, sleepy.” He kisses the top of my head.

  I pry my eyes open. “What time is it?” I ask, stretching my arms out. The days are getting shorter and it gets dark earlier now.

  “Six o’clock.”

  “I didn’t realize how tired I was. I think I had food poisoning this morning from last night’s meal.”

  “Impossible. Gretta is the best cook on the face of the planet. I’ve never had a bad meal. I wasn’t sick. Maybe you ate something wrong this morning.”

  I think about it. “No, I didn’t wake up until eleven-thirty. Then I ate half the carton of eggs. I had to go to the store to buy more, and a container of milk. The one that was in the fridge went bad.”

  “Really? I just bought that two days ago,” Dylan says. “Whatever. Say, want to grab some pizza?”

  “Sure.” Suddenly, I realize I’m famished.

  After three slices of pizza, a new record for me, I’m tired again. I put my pajamas on and fall asleep by nine o’clock.

  The next morning, Dylan kisses me on the cheek again and gets ready for work. As he’s dressing an urgent feeling causes me to run to the bathroom, where I purge what is left of the pizza. I take my place on the edge of the tub and get reacquainted with my new friend, the washcloth. As I wait for the room to stop spinning, panic fills me. Uh oh, this isn’t food poisoning.

  “You okay, Mel?” Dylan asks through the door.

  “Um, yeah. I’m fine. Just brushing my teeth.” I run the water to convince him.

  “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later, okay?”

  “Okay. I have some errands to run today, so I’ll be out most of the day.”

  “Kay.”

  I don’t open the bathroom door until I hear him drive away. I shove my head and arms into a sweatshirt and pull some jeans up over my hips. I don’t even look to see if the socks match as I push my feet into my sneakers. I race down the stairs, grab my purse, and get into my car.

  My fingers drum nervously on the steering wheel as I wait for the traffic light to change color. I barely let the girl unlock the door to the CVS as I sprint toward the pharmacy section. I scan the shelves for the small pink boxes. I pull one off the shelf, race to the cashier, and throw it on the counter with a twenty-dollar bill.

  The cashier glares at me as she hands me my change. “Good luck,” she says.

  “Huh?”

  “Good luck. I hope you get the result you want.”

  “Thanks.” I snatch the package and race back home. Of course I don’t have to pee. I guzzle three bottles of water and run the faucet to persuade my body to want to urinate. Finally, I feel the urge. Then I wait.

  It’s the longest three minutes of my life.

  * * *

  Dylan comes home at six. I had cooked a chicken meal and it’s ready when he walks in the door. His arms circle my waist and he kisses me like he hasn’t seen me in years. “I missed you.”

  I pull back. “Come eat your dinner before it gets cold.”

  He washes his hands and sits down as I serve.

  “Are you feeling better?” he asks.

  “What?” I try to mask the panic in my voice.

  “The past two mornings you haven’t been feeling well. Do you still have food poisoning?”

  “Um, no. It wasn’t food poisoning.”

  “I hope you didn’t catch something. A few of the guys have been out with some kind of flu thing.” He begins to eat his dinner, but I can’t even look at food.

  “I’m going back to work tomorrow. I’ll have one of the doctors check me out.”

  The little voice in my head says, You can’t tell him, at least not until you’re sure.

  I fight to keep my eyes open again, but can’t make it past nine thirty.

  Twenty-Four

  “Gladys, I need your help.”

  “Sure, baby. What can I do for you?”

  I lower my voice. “Gladys, I’m pregnant.”

  Her face lights up and a huge smile takes the place of her usually stern mouth.

  “I took a test, but you know they aren’t a hundred percent.”

  “They’re good enough. Ninety-nine point nine percent accurate.”

  I tell her about my last two days and the recurrence of nausea this morning.

  “I’ll call Dr. Mankoff to see if she can squeeze you in today.”

  “Thanks, Gladys.”

  I try to concentrate on my caseload, which of course has two pregnant women and a mother of an infant, all within the first three hours of my shift.

  Dr. Mankoff agrees to see me on my lunch break. She draws blood and examines me.

  “You certainly have some of the symptoms of early pregnancy. I’ll have the lab put a rush on the blood work and call you tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, doctor. I appreciate it.”

  “In the meanwhile, take it easy.”

  “Okay, I’ll try.”

  * * *

  Over the next twenty-four hours I’m on edge.

  Dylan walks in his usual time and I have a light meal ready. I don’t want to take the chance of getting sick in front of him, and having him concerned - not until I know for sure. And, I won’t say anything until I hear back from Dr. Mankoff. The questions begin to tumble in my head. What if he doesn’t want children? What if he thinks I’m trying to trap him? What if he isn’t ready? Am I ready? What do I want? What if he gets angry and doesn’t want to be with me any more?

  “You’re very quiet,” Dylan says across the table.

  “Sorry. It was a crazy day.”

  “Want t
o talk about it?” His expression is inviting.

  I shake my head. “Tell me about your day, instead.”

  He shares the challenges he faced with the roof of his newest project. As he talks I watch his mouth. I imagine his full lips on mine and his warm, muscular arms wrapped around me. Thoughts of his temperate skin against mine cause me to breath heavy. I can only think of one thing: I want him.

  “Melissa, are you all right?” The trance is broken. I look into his eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I was just thinking about…” I lean over the table and my lips connect with his. He doesn’t protest and I pull him to the floor. Clawing at his clothes, I heave his shirt off. My hands fumble on the waistband of his pants. I can’t get them off fast enough. His expression is mixed with wantonness and confusion. I don’t care. I need him. I have to have him. He’s on the kitchen floor in just his briefs. I stare at him with hungry eyes, like a lioness that’s thrown a steak. I pull what’s left of his clothes from his body.

  Without permission I seize him in my hand. Still in shock from my assertiveness, his body hasn’t caught up with my thoughts but he’s not far behind. I look at him with voracity and run my tongue over my lips. As I bend my head, my hair cascades over my face, causing a veil between us. His back arches off the floor as I take him in my mouth. His half-readiness changes so that there’s no doubt in my mind that he wants what I do. His eyes close and his head rolls back. A moan flows from him.

  Once he’s ready enough, I stop. His eyes fly open. He lifts his head with confusion, but relaxes when he sees that I’m taking my clothes off. He doesn’t protest as I mount him. Trailing light kisses on his chest I feel his erection underneath me, wanting me, needing me as much as I need him. Taking control of him again, I place him where I want him. His eyes are on me. I lower myself and take him. It feels heavenly as I absorb all he has to give.

  My hips flex and I ride him, slowly at first. Then I increase the speed as I build. His breathing is heavy, but it’s so hot. I want him more. And I take it. His body is almost convulsing, but he holds steady until I’m done. He doesn’t release until I scream out and let go around him.