Spluttering and spitting, I scramble backwards, only for my foot to slip. I go down, planting on my ass for the second time in front of him. He smiles wider, dousing me with water until I’m thoroughly soaked, my shirt clean again and plastered to my skin. Lennox holds out a hand, pulling me to my feet, and turns me around so Maddox can rinse my back.
All four of them are staring at me with expressions ranging from resentful—Maddox—to wolfish hunger—Tommy. I cross my arms, aware that they’re all staring, that my nipples are pebbled from the cold water and my clothes are painted to my skin, leaving little to the imagination.
“Damn,” says an unfamiliar voice behind me. “Looks like we missed all the fun.”
Lennox pulls me into his arms, as if sensing my discomfort, and the cold water stops. I turn my head and see two more men standing beside Maddox, holding a heavy cooler between them. One of them is a stocky guy with hair that’s short on the sides and squared off on top, and the other is an Asian guy with a grey bandana around his head.
“Beer time,” Tommy whoops, pumping his fist. He starts out of the pool, Billy following.
“Let’s grab a beer and then finish this up, Sunshine,” Lennox says, his hands circling my waist before he hoists me up.
Maddox grabs my hands and pulls me out of the pool, setting me on my feet.
“You good?” he asks.
I nod. I’m only inches from his chest, from the bulging muscles of his pecs, the smooth skin, the ink. I gulp, my eyes slowly rising, taking in the delicate dagger on his sternum, nestled between his powerful, bulging pecs, to the crow with outstretched wings on his neck.
My heart does a little flip. As soon as I see it, everything clicks into place. It’s a gang tattoo. There are words in another language circling his neck below the tattoo, but aside from that, it’s the same design that’s on Lennox’s chest and on Billy’s back—a crow like an avenging angel with its wings spread over his shoulder blades.
“Go get changed,” Maddox says, frowning down at me.
His eyes are heated when they meet mine.
“You’re wet, too,” I point out, feeling brave.
“I don’t look like… that,” he says flatly, his eyes raking down me again.
I swallow hard.
He’s wrong.
His lips pull into a smirk. “Unless you want six guys jerking off thinking about wrecking your tight little ass later,” he says. “Maybe you’re into that kind of thing. In which case, you can strip for us and hang out in your panties. We can see everything, anyway.”
“Jerk,” I manage. I can’t meet his eyes, so I turn around and flee into the house to catch my breath. Mom is on the couch watching one of her soaps and smoking a cigarette. She doesn’t even look up when I grab a crust of bread from the end of the loaf before sneaking up the stairs, dripping wet. She must have heard us in the back, as we got pretty loud during the mud fight, but she doesn’t say a word.
I’m disappointed to see the porch roof empty beyond my window. I missed Poe’s visit. I slip the piece of bread out, though, hoping she’ll come back for it, even if she’s not here to calm my nerves. I’ve taken to talking to her like the crazy person I am.
I hurry to the bathroom after closing the window. There, I try to steady my breathing and let my heartbeat return to normal as I peel off my wet clothes and hang them over the edge of the clawfoot tub. Of course those guys are going to talk rough. They’re gangsters, for fuck’s sake, and a lot older than me.
I stand in front of the full-length mirror and examine my bare body, running my hands over my slight curves. I’m built more like an athlete than a stripper, with small boobs and hips, a boyish figure that I’ve never really thought was sexy.
Do they really think I’m sexy?
I quickly towel dry my hair and pull on a pair of cut-offs, the shortest pair I have, that show off my muscular runner’s legs. Then I slip into a black baby tee that says, “Strangers Have the Best Candy,” on the front. I think about a pair of chunky sandals, but that feels like trying too hard, so I twist my hair up into a bun, secure it with a handful of butterfly clips, and head back out. I still smell like a swamp, but I’m afraid I’ll miss something if I take the time to shower. Besides, they’re all filthy and stinky.
I hurry back downstairs and along the back hall, ducking out onto the porch. Maddox is still at the end of the pool, rinsing mud from the bottom with the hose. The buckets are stacked along the edge of the pool, now emptied. There’s barely anything left at the bottom. The Asian guy is standing at the far end, where it’s deepest, scooping up anything that clogs the drain and tossing it into the lone bucket that remains, the yellow one I brought.
Feeling both guilty and so grateful I could cry—they did all this in one day—I start toward the ladder, about to go help.
Billy holds out a can of beer toward me before I can climb down.
“Vení,take a load off,” Lennox says, patting the spot beside him. They’re all sitting along the edge of the pool, their feet dangling in.
“I should help,” I say, nodding toward the two still working. “It’s my pool…”
“It’sourpool,” he says, flashing me that smile that makes my knees nearly buckle.
“I told you, my stepdad…”