When Sam got to Ash’s house it looked like a Guns N’ Roses’ hotel room. Disemboweled throw pillows littered the floor, their guts scattered like freshly fallen snow. Their breakfast plates, which they’d left untouched as they rushed to the hospital, were no longer untouched. The plates lay on the floor, licked clean by Barkley.
Speaking of Barkley, the pup hurtled down the stairs and barrelled into Sam’s legs. The small rescue wasn’t yet a year old, but he was handful enough for an entire pack of dogs. After showering Sam with slobbery affection, Barkley careened through the kitchen and began to whine at the back door. He wasn’t used to going so long without being let out, and a small stain on the kitchen rug was testament to that. Sam unlocked the sliding glass door leading to the backyard, and Barkley rushed through it, disappearing into the thicket that ringed the Williams’ yard.
Sam’s gaze took in the scene. The last thing he wanted was for Ash to come home to a destroyed house. She’d have her hands full with Mr. Williams’ recuperation. He started in the kitchen because the house still smelled like eggs. The stink of old eggs churned his stomach. An hour later, Sam trudged out the front door, a bag of trash in one hand and a bag of puppy supplies in the other. The trash went into the black container against the side fence, and the supplies went into the Tercel.
“Sammy! You didn’t forget about me, did you, hon?”
Crap. He had completely forgotten about cleaning the Murrays’ pool. Mrs. Murray peered at him through the blinds of her living room window.
“Um, no, Mrs. Murray. I was just fixing to come over. Gimme a minute, alright?” The blinds snapped closed, but not before she gave him a big smile.
He got into the Williams’ house and leaned against the front door, banging his head against the metal-clad portal.
“Fuck.” The last thing he wanted to do right then was service Mrs. Murray—he shook his head to get that thought out of his head.
Damnit, Ash. Why’d you have to start calling it that? Then again, there was nothing else he could do right then. He should be with Ash, but she definitely didn’t want to see him right then. Maybe what he needed was a distraction.
Plus, me and mom could use the money. He made good money cleaning pools. Enough that it took a lot of strain off his mom, which was why he argued so much when she told him to concentrate on school for his senior year. Alice Dyer knew her son was working himself ragged to help out, but she also knew that he had plans after high school, plans that would be ruined if he let work get in the way. So, Sam relented and agreed to drastically reduce his workload.
The Tercel wasn’t spacious by any means, but with some forethought, Sam could usually fit everything he needed in it. With the help of some bungee cords, he was even able to transport the pole he used for the pool brush and skimmer.
Unfortunately, with everything going on with Judy and Mr. Williams, he’d completely forgotten about the job today, so he was going to have to make do. Luckily, the Williams had their own pool. Sam usually took care of the maintenance for them, and he knew Mr. W. wouldn’t mind him using his tools.
Ten minutes later, Sam was back on the Murrays’ front porch, a bucket full of supplies in one hand and a 16-foot telescopic pole resting on his right shoulder.
Mrs. Murray answered before he finished knocking. Her hair was pulled into a bun, aside from two long ringlets framing her face. She was barefoot, and her short silk robe barely reached down to her legs. The royal blue fabric would have billowed in the breeze if it weren’t tied so tightly around her body. She, of course, had an afternoon cocktail clutched in one hand, the tropical-looking drink sweating with condensation.
God, I hope she’s wearing something under that.
“I thought you forgot about me.”
“I could never, Mrs. Murray.” He was going for sincere but wasn’t sure he quite made it.
She laughed like he’d made a joke. “You’re too sweet. Mr. Murray doesn’t want anyone going through the garage while his new toy is disassembled, so come on through the house. Wipe your sandals, please. We just got new carpets.” She gestured with the bright blue slushie and turned, padding through the open-concept interior toward the back. “I see you remembered to dress for the weather.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Because I didn’t want to get drenched in sweet tea again, you psycho. Sam hemmed and hawed over changing before he came over, but two things made him don the tank top, swim trunks, and flip flops he kept at Ash’s house. He didn’t want to deal with Mrs. Murray’s shenanigans, and he didn’t want to ruin the new outfit Ash bought him. Maintaining pools called for some caustic chemicals, after all.
“Yep. It’s gonna be a warm one today.”
“It sure is, Sammy.”
Oh, lord, here it goes.
The glass door leading to the back deck was huge, about twenty feet long, and hinged to open like a massive accordion. It was already open, the lazy, warm spring air drifted through the house. The Murrays’ backyard had a tropical theme. Tiki torches, patches of sand, bamboo decks. There were even palm trees. Not the tall palm trees you saw in movies. Winters in Elsbury were too cold for those. These were needle palms. They looked like someone decapitated a palm tree and left the head laying in the sand. More of a palm shrub than anything.
Aside from a fresh coat of stain on the decks, nothing had changed since he’d been here in the autumn. Sam unloaded his tools and supplies and got to it. He’d been doing this kind of work for a few years, so by this point he had everything down pat. Uncover the pool, clear the filters for the first time, skim the debris off the top, and then start the long process of brushing down the sides of the pool so the filter could clean the fine particulates out of the water.
By the time he finished brushing and sweeping, Sam was glad he’d opted to wear shorts and the tank top. The shirt was saturated with sweat, causing it to stick to his torso.
“Are you thirsty?”
Sam finished collapsing the pole and sat it down before turning to accept the lemonade Mrs. Murray always made him. “Definitely. Thanks, Mrs. Mur—” He saw what she was wearing—or rather, not wearing. Gone was the blue silk robe. In its place was a bright yellow bikini…if it could be called that. The thing she wore was all straps like she’d been cocooned by a spider with a flair for the dramatic. It covered all the necessary bits. But just barely.
Sam didn’t know if it was cosmetics or if she’d won the genetic jackpot, but despite being a mother in her 40s or maybe late 30s—he was terrible with ages—Mrs. Murray had kept things tight. Realizing his mouth was hanging open, he shut it with an audible click.
Mrs. Murray smiled, her eyes inscrutable behind large sunglasses. She held out a large glass of lemonade, a cube of pineapple speared on the rim. It was sweet and tangy, just how Sam liked it, and he wondered if she intended for her bikini to match the drink. Tipping it back gave him an excuse to rip his eyes away from all the exposed, and he gulped until the drink was gone.
“Can I jump in yet?”
The ice clacked in the empty glass, and Sam gasped a breath after the long drought. Instead of meeting her gaze, he turned toward the pool. “I still have to check the heater and figure out what’s going on with the pump.”
“Is something the matter?”
“Do you hear that?” They fell quiet until the only sounds were the breeze, the gentle rumble of distant cars, and the angry hum of the pool pump. As they listened, the whine of the motor changed pitch, pulsing as it struggled to draw in water. He looked to her, keeping his eyes up. “I think the main drain is clogged.”
Sam figured as much from the beginning, but he hoped brushing the grate at the bottom of the pool would clear whatever blockage there was. Unfortunately, it hadn’t. He would have to go down and see what was going on for himself.
The smallest of frowns crinkled Mrs. Murray’s face, and she pouted. “I was hoping to get wet soon.”
Sam ignored the double entendre. “It’ll just be a minute to fix.”
This wasn’t the first time Sam had to clean out someone’s main drain.
God, I’m starting to talk like her. I need to get out of here.
The work was gross but fast. Clearing out a clogged drain was his least favorite part of the job. It was fair to say that watching him strip and jump into the water probably made it Mrs. Murray’s favorite. He did his best to ignore her piercing gaze and how it tracked his every move. Sam loved working on rich people’s pools. The heated water wasn’t as much of a shock to jump into. Not that there were many pool owners in Elsbury who weren’t rich. The water was warm, but not so warm that it wasn’t refreshing against his overheated skin.
After clearing the drain, all Sam had to do was check the heat pump. Luckily, what little mechanical knowledge Sam had was limited to pool heating and filtration systems. If the Tercel ever broke down—actually, it was more a matter of when, not if—he was screwed, but he could keep pool systems running. Sam had completed the annual maintenance on the Murrays’ heat pump last time he was there, so this time was really just a cursory inspection.
Within a few minutes of finishing, Sam had collected his gear and was standing at the Murrays’ back door, dripping onto the patio. “I’m all done, Mrs. Murray. I forgot to bring a towel, and I don’t want to track water everywhere.” There was no response from the house.
“Sam.”
He jumped and twisted, only just remembering the collapsed eight-foot pole he carried and stopping it before he brained Mrs. Murray with it. “Jesus! You startled me.”
She smiled, and for the first time, he realized her cheeks dimpled. Sam was already taller than her, and being on the top step of the deck, he towered over her. The strappy bikini left a wide expanse of cleavage exposed, impossible to ignore when looking down at her.
“Can you get me a towel, please? I don’t want to track water into the house.”
“Sorry, no can do. The chlorine will wreck the new carpet. You’ll have to shower off first.” She didn't even try to conceal it as her eyes roamed up and down his sodden shorts.
He gulped.