“Lord almighty, is that you, Samael Dyer?”

The words, spoken with a hint of a Southern Belle accent, greeted him as soon as he stepped foot out of his beat-up Tercel.

“Good morning, Mrs. Murray.” Sam averted his eyes after sending her a quick smile, his footsteps crunching up the gravel path to Ash’s front door. The step up to the porch of the idyllic two-story bungalow was a scant few paces away when she called again.

“Be a dear and fetch my paper for me, would you?” Mrs. Murray leaned against the door jamb of her own McMansion, wearing nothing but a white gossamer robe and a predatory smile. Her eyes tracked Sam as he forded the low hedge that separated the manicured lawns, tipping a large tumbler full of an orange-colored drink to her lips—her morning white sangria if Sam’s memory was right.

The paperboy had done his job well, the rolled newspaper closer to the house than it was to the pristine sidewalk. Snatching it up, Sam bounded up the stairs and held it out to Ash’s neighbor. She’d rested her foot on a nearby planter, and Sam fumbled the handoff when his gaze caught the expanse of flesh she was displaying.

A tanned, soft finger slid along the back of his hand as she accepted the paper.

“You turn eighteen yet, Sammy?”

“Um, yeah. A few months ago, Mrs. Murray. My birthday’s the week after Mike if I remember correctly. It’s hard to believe he’s a freshman already.”

A frown flitted across her face almost faster than Sam noticed. She took a longer pull from her drink.

“Yes, well…time has a way of slipping by. It has such a way of surprising us.” She raked Sam with her gaze again. “So many…changes.”

Sam cleared his throat and stepped back, stumbling on the step. Before he could make his escape, Mrs. Murray spoke.

“You still cleaning pools?” She rested the crystal tumbler against her chest, a thin bead of condensation trickling down and turning the thin white fabric nearly transparent.

Sam met Mrs. Murray’s gaze, his eyes boring into hers with the effort not to look at her now-exposed nipple.

Jesus, did she practice that move? He’d be impressed if he didn’t feel like a gazelle being backed into a corner by a hungry lion.

A grin parted Mrs. Murray’s lips, the tips of her teeth flashing white in the thin morning light.

“No, ma’am. My mom wanted me to focus on school for this last semester.”

“I thought I heard old Penny down the way mention you cleaned hers a few weeks back.”

Shit. He should have known better than to try to lie. Elsbury was too small a town to get away with it. Especially with a busybody like Mrs. Murray.

“Oh yeah, I take on a few odd jobs every now and then.”

Another sip, another trickle of condensation. The round patch of dark skin was like a magnet trying to reel in Sam’s attention.

“You’re such a good boy helping your momma pay the bills.”

“I’m not much help anymore, what with focusing on—”

She ran right over his deflection “Why don’t you pencil me in this weekend? Ain’t no one been able to clear my filter out proper since you were here last summer.”

A silent war raged inside Sam. On one hand, there was a reason he stopped servicing the Murrays’ pool. He couldn’t deny that Mrs. Murray was smokin’ hot. She may be his mother’s age, but she had kept it tight. Unfortunately, cougars weren’t really his thing. Especially when they were married, the mother of a younger classmate, and lived next door to his neighbor. On the other hand…

We could really use the money.

Resigning himself to a day of being eye-fucked by the cougar, Sam nodded.

“Yes, ma’am. How about Saturday?”

She showed a little more teeth. “Atta boy, Sammy. Mr. Murray is playing golf with the judge that afternoon, and I would hate to disturb his morning routine. Best to come by after he leaves.”

Sam nodded and finally made it off the porch.

“It’s supposed to be hot this weekend, so make sure you dress appropriately.”

His neck felt like rubber as he nodded mutely, trying to keep his smile from turning into a grimace.

“Oh, and make sure you bring that brush of yours, the one on that long, hard pole. The last pool boy had a pitifully short one, and just wasn’t able to…reach all my nooks and crannies.”

“I’ll…bring my longest,” he said through a plastered-on smile.

“Oh I know you will, Sammy.”

As soon as she waved, Sam booked it, practically running as soon as he cleared the hedge, and he didn’t stop until he was through the Williams’ front door.

***

“Mornin’,” Mr. Williams said as Sam stepped into the kitchen. Mr. Williams sat at the kitchen table, taking absent bites of his breakfast while reading the paper. A large mug of coffee steamed in front of him. Black, and no doubt piping hot just the way he and his daughter liked it. He was a big man. Not fat, but he took up a lot of space. Sam often joked that Mr. Williams should have been in the Marines, but despite his size, Mr. Williams was far too gentle a soul for the military.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

Barkley, the Williams’ puppy Bassett, came barreling around the corner. The tile proved too slick for his overlarge paws, and the pup scrabbled for a few moments before he got enough friction built up to pounce on Sam.

Sam bent down and scruffled the pup’s head and tugged on its huge ears. “Who’s a good boy? Who’s the best boy?”

Barkley quickly lost interest in Sam and went careening out of the kitchen the same way he came in.

“Anything new in the world?” Sam asked, pulling out a chair and sitting for what he knew would be a long wait.

Mr. Williams grunted. Polite he may be, but he was a man of few words, especially while reading. After a moment, he folded the paper up and tossed it on the table. He was wearing what he called his “dirty work” clothes. He’d been a plumber longer than Sam had been alive, so Sam didn’t want to think about what Mr. Williams considered a dirty job. Over the work outfit was a tiny red-and-white apron that read World’s Okayest Chef.

“More trouble over at MU,” he said after swallowing a bite of breakfast. He wiped at the crumbs clinging to his prodigious chin and shook his head. “It’s always something with that place.”

“What’s it this time?” Sam almost didn’t ask. Mr. Williams may have been a man of few words, but he loved to gossip about the university.

“More malarkey with a rights advocacy group. Probably didn’t get the right permits to do experiments on monkeys.” He shook his head again and let out a long breath through his nose. “Did I ever tell you about the time I worked on the pipes in the admin building?”

Luckily, Sam didn’t have to sit through another rendition of the tale—and the accompanying conspiracy theories. Ash chose that moment to come bouncing down the stairs.

“Mornin’, Pops.” She gave the big man a kiss on his cheek. “Hey, Sam,” she said, breezing by him and filling a travel mug full of coffee. Sam shuddered at the bitter scent of the brew. No doubt it was strong enough to dissolve nails.

“Mornin’, pumpkin. You’re down early,” Mr. Williams said with a sly look toward Sam. The two share a silent grin. Ash’s inability to get anywhere on time was the stuff of legend.

She rolled her eyes while taking a long sip, the drink so hot it would’ve melted Sam’s face off. “Someone had to save Sam from yet another retelling of your terrifying trek through the bowels of the university.”

“Have I told you that story before?”

Sam shrugged, but Ash wasn’t so politic.

“Only like a million times, Dad.”

Mr. Williams sent Sam a questioning glance.

“Um, maybe not quite that many times…”

“Don’t listen to him. He’s too polite to say otherwise.”

Sam smiled sheepishly.

“You should have said something, Sammy.”

“Sorry, Mr. Williams.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s just that if you don’t speak up, you’ll—” Mr. Williams did a double-take, and his eyes bugged out. “Ashley, put some clothes on! We have company.” He said the last in a strained whisper like Sam wasn’t a scant few feet away.

Ash waved an absent hand. “Sam hardly counts as company. Besides, it’s not like he hasn’t seen me naked.” She strutted around the kitchen table, shaking her hips and shoulders in an awkward pantomime of a dance, sporting nothing but a worn T-shirt and undies.

She was right, of course. Sam had seen her in much less, and many times. He hadn’t even noticed what she was wearing until her dad said something. Compared to some of Ash’s other outfits, her pajamas didn’t even rate on the scandalous scale. Sam had spent many summers in the Williams’ swimming pool. Compared to her swimwear, Ash’s pajamas were practically a nun’s habit. Hell, like she said, they’d seen each other naked tons of times.

Mr. Williams spluttered. “You were just kids. That’s different and you know it.”

“We’re still kids.”

“Eighteen isn’t a kid,” he growled, scowling at his grinning daughter.

“Does that mean you’ll let me take the car?”

Those words took Mr. Williams by surprise, and he shut his mouth with an audible click. Sam tried to hide his grin. Ash may have been an adult, but Mr. Williams still didn’t think she was ready to drive. Sam couldn’t disagree. She was unpredictable enough without being behind the wheel of a one-ton mobile weapon.

Mr. Williams shook his head in defeat. “Just go get ready.”

Ash laughed at her father’s dejected expression and headed back upstairs, calling over her shoulder, “Don’t worry, Pop. I won’t dress like this when Randy comes to pick me up.” Distant thumps and bangs sounded as Hurricane Ashley swept through her bedroom and bathroom.

Mr. Williams massive shoulders slumped in defeat. He cast a commiserating glance at Sam. “Don’t worry, Sammy. She won’t be with that”—his jaw worked like he was trying to chew rocks—“boy for much longer.”

Sam’s spine jerked straight, and a sheen of sweat coated his palms. “Um, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Sure ya don’t, Sammy.” The older man chuckled and leaned forward like he was sharing a secret. “I know it’s hard to believe right now because you’re still kids, but this Randy character won’t be around for long. Maybe tomorrow or months from now, but eventually, she’ll see what’s in front of her.”

A yawning hole opened in Sam’s stomach, and he had to swallow a few times before he could speak. “I don’t— It’s not like…” He closed his eyes and took a breath. “We’re just friends, Mr. W.”

“Ayeup,” he agreed with a smirk. “Trust me. That’s exactly what happened with me and Aman—” his voice cut off.

Shit, he thought. Say something quick!

The yawning hole in Sam’s stomach swallowed the entire room. The silence was as thick in the air as the smell of bacon and eggs. Unlike Ash, Sam didn’t have a knack for filling every beat of silence with chatter, so the two just sat in awkward silence.

After a moment, Mr. Williams cleared his throat. “How’s the school year coming along? Grades still good?” He didn’t give Sam a chance to answer before throwing his hands in the air. “Course they are! Who am I talking to here?”

Sam bobbed his head from side to side. Mr. Williams wasn’t wrong. Sam was so keyed up about his grades that he was weeks ahead in all his coursework.

“What about college? Get all your apps in?”

“Yes, sir. I submitted them all last November.”

“Good on you. I wish I knew Ashley’s plans. I’d ask you, but you’re probably just as clueless.”

Sam nodded. Unlike him, Ash wasn’t much of a planner. He’d known since the third grade which college he wanted to attend. Of course, that didn’t stop him from submitting applications to nine other universities. He would’ve submitted more, but he couldn’t afford the application fees.

“Still hoping for MU?”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Williams held the university in high suspicion, but he acknowledged it was still a top-tier school. That, and its generous grant program for locals made it Sam’s first choice.

“Well, they don’t take slackers, so keep it up. I know I speak for Alice when I say that we’re proud of what you’ve accomplished so far.”

“Thanks, Mr. Williams,” Sam said through an unexpected lump in his throat. Ever since Sam’s dad left, Mr. Williams had basically become his surrogate father.

“For the love of Pete, Sam. Call me Bruce.”

“You know that’s never gonna happen, Pops,” Ash said, reappearing in the kitchen.

Sam jumped. Ash was wearing something Mr. Williams would approve of—well, something he’d disapprove less of. The sight of her turned that yawning pit in his stomach into a vortex, and his hands went clammy again.

Did she hear what Mr. Williams said?

She gave him an odd look. “Ready to go? I’ve been waiting hours for you two to stop gabbing.”