“Look around you,” I whisper, wanting to break the sexual tension building between us. “The answer is evident.”
“Hmmm, you might be right.” His lips lift into a wry grin before twisting with a hint of bitterness. “You’ve been branded the good girl and I’ll always be the bad boy. Right, Mia?”
The question arrows painfully to the heart of me. I’m not good and he’s not bad. We’re just different. Both of our families have money and we have all the trappings of wealth at our disposal, but our viewpoints and experiences are vastly unique.
Before I can collect my scattered thoughts and summon a response, a loud noise breaks the silence. Air rushes from my lungs as Beck releases my hair and peers through the French doors.
The moment his gaze flickers away, relief rushes through me, and my knees weaken. I glance at the large inflatable swan floating in the middle of the pool. A soft breeze pushes it lazily across the water. I squint and realize that a guy is sprawled on top of it. Arms and legs dangle over the rounded edges. His mouth hangs open as a snore rents the air again. He makes a few grumbling noises as he turns onto his side. The float wobbles, sending ripples throughout the calm water.
I glance at Beck. He shakes his head as if this is beyond even him. We step through the door and walk to the edge of the pool. Placing his thumb and forefinger together, he brings them to his lips. I flinch when the sharp whistle pierces the silence.
When that does nothing to rouse the jackass floating in the pool, Beck yells, “Hey! Wake the fuck up, man!”
There’s not even a twitch from the guy. His total unconsciousness is almost impressive.
Beck grumbles under his breath before stalking to the pool house. He grabs a long metal pole with a net attached to the end and brings it to the edge of the pool before jabbing the float.
“Time to rise and shine,” he mutters.
It takes another five minutes and a handful of none-too-gentle blows for the guy to rouse from his Sleeping Beauty-like slumber. With his hair sticking up in all directions, he gradually pulls himself to an upright position before rubbing his face and staring at us with eyelids at half-mast.
He plows a hand through his mussed hair and yawns. “Hey, what’s up?”
Beck hikes a brow. “It’s eleven o’clock in the morning. Party’s over.”
The guy blinks and glances around as if only now noticing his surroundings. “Ummm…how did I get here?”
Beck shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Sorry about that, man. Must have passed out.” He scratches his head and glances at the float. “In the pool.”
“No problem.”
Beck extends the net and tows the guy to the edge of the pool. Once he’s been assisted from the blow-up swan, he takes off around the side of the house and disappears from sight.
I shift my weight and stare after him. “Any idea who that was?”
“Nope.” With one side of his mouth lifted, Beck shakes his head. “Never seen him before.”
We both chuckle before looking around us. The patio is more trashed than inside the house. Beer cans and red plastic cups litter the cement surrounding the pool. One of the loungers is flipped on its side. Cushions and clothes are scattered around the yard. It’s enough to make me wonder what people left the party wearing because it wasn’t T-shirts and shorts.
Or shoes.
How do you leave without shoes?
It’s a mystery.
I shake my head and huff out a sigh of resignation. “This is only a suggestion, but maybe you should consider dialing down the parties from now on.”
“I’ll take it under advisement.”
Beck uses the net to scoop up a couple of beer cans that bob in the water, and I pick up the cups and trash littering the cement and lawn. He runs the pool vacuum and adds a few chemicals to the water. Four trash bags later, and the backyard looks as good as the inside of the house.
I survey the area. “It appears we’ve accomplished the impossible.”
“Yup, looks pretty damn good.” He glances at me and surprisingly, there’s no smirk in sight. “Thanks for all your help. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Consider it my good deed for the year. Although, next time, you’re on your own.”
“Noted.” The word is barely out of his mouth before he’s yanking off his T-shirt and tossing it to a chaise lounge. “Interested in a quick dip?”
I glance from him to the freshly cleaned pool as the crystal-clear water sparkles in the bright sunlight. It’s not even noon, and already it’s eighty-five degrees. It’s shaping up to be a gorgeous day. A swim in the pool after three hours of cleaning would feel oh-so-good.
But after everything that’s transpired between us, is it necessarily a good idea?