“There’s already a lot of dicks in here,” I say, gesturing to the graffiti on the fence. “I’m sure I won’t even notice one more.”
He laughs and steps through the gap, his long legs taking him across the grass to join me in moments. I try not to ogle the way he moves; the way his jeans sit low on his hips; the wallet chain that swings casually against his thigh with each step or the earrings glinting in each ear; the way his sweat-soaked white t-shirt clings to the lean muscle underneath.
Trybeing the operative word.
“Looks like a good day for a swim,” he says, planting his hands on his hips and gazing down into the pool.
I jerk my attention back to the task at hand. Just because he’s hot—volcanically so—doesn’t mean he’s interested, or that I’m interested in him. Besides, the guy looks at least twenty. I’ve had my share of catcalls from gross old guys, but I’m not used to them making me flustered. It’s just thrown me for a loop because he’ssonot gross.
“You first,” I say, trying to shake off the star-struck moment.
“What, you chicken?” he taunts.
“Um, yes,” I say. “That’s a festering vat of disease.”
He laughs again, the sound rich and rolling through the dense heat like it’s part of it, like he’s part of the air itself, the town, the rustle of the oak tree swaying lazily in the summer evening.
He makes his voice dramatic, like he’s reading Shakespeare, and sweeps his arm wide. “Who knows what rusty needles and used condoms lurk in ye murky depths?”
A snort starts to escape me before I realize how ugly that sounds and try to change it to a giggle, which I’m pretty sure is a sound I’ve never made in my life. The hybrid snort-giggle is less attractive than if I’d just gone all in for the snort.
The guy laughs again, the warm sound making me want to disappear into the ground after my failed attempt at sounding cute.
At least someone’s finding humor in the situation. I turn my attention back to the half-foot of sludge at the bottom of the blue rectangle. A mixture of rainwater, rotten leaves, acorns, dead mosquitos and their larvae, and other sticks and bugs forms a thick stew of nastiness in the pool that should be full of clear, sparkling, Beverly Hills water.
The guy sobers but smiles sideways at me, a dimple sinking into his cheek. God, it’s not even fair how fine he is. “Well, I just saw you over here and figured I’d come by and introduce myself, since it seems we’re neighbors,” he says. “I’m Lennox.”
“Like Annie?” I ask, smiling up at him.
“Sure,” he says, tipping his chin toward me. “What about you?”
“Rae.”
“Like Billy Ray Cyrus?” he asks. “Ray Charles? Ray of Sunshine?”
“With an E,” I correct.
“You look like a ray of sunshine to me,” he says, and I’m startled to see him checking me out from the corner of his eye.
“It’s actually Rae West, like Mae West. My mom’s a big fan of old movies, and we have the same last name, but she wanted to add a little Southern flare so…” I realize I’m rambling, thrown off by having a guy who looks like him looking at me like he is.
“Wait, your last name is West?”
“Yeah,” I say. “So?”
“No way,” he says with an easy laugh.
“What?” I insist, halfway embarrassed and halfway irritated that I’m not in on the joke.
“Lennox North,” he says, pointing to his chest. “Just think, if we got married, we could be the North-Wests.”
I laugh, flustered by a guy I just met talking about us marrying, when he’s clearly older than me and a million times too hot.
“The neighborhood could use some fresh blood,” he says, his manner turning more serious. “Fresh faces. A pool…”
I roll my eyes. “So that’s why you’re really here? To ask if you can use our pool?”
“Not just me,” he says, his eyes lighting up as he paints a scenario in his mind. “A lot of kids around here… They don’t have stuff like pools. It might be cool if they could come swim here. You could be the neighborhood hot spot, where we all hang out.” He gives me such a winning smile my knees nearly melt, and I want to give him everything he’s asking just because he said he’d come hang out with me.