Page 82 of Maybe You

You don’t suspect a thing. You don’t even really pay attention at first.

But then there’s laughter and talking and teasing, and most of all, there’s fun! And God, when was the last time you really had fun?

It’s been ages. Forever.

And it’s not that your life so far has been some destitute hellscape. You do like your life. It’s a good life. It’s got the usual ups and downs, and some of the low points have been really low, but all in all, it’s a good life.

But now it’s just a smidge brighter.

It’s not glaringly obvious. It’s not something you consciously acknowledge or attribute to something, but there is some vague awareness every morning now that it’s going to be a really good day.

There’s no stress. No expectations. No need to hide any part of yourself because it’s all just for fun.

You don’t question it.

You don’t suspect anything.

You don’t overthink or overanalyze.

Why would you?

Rules are set.

Expectations are voiced.

And it’s all.

Just.

So.

Easy.

“You know you don’t work here, right?” I ask when, as is becoming a habit by now, I get to the pool and find Sutton hanging out on the front steps again.

“It’s a good thing, too,” he says with a serious nod. “Even the thought of regular employment gives me hives.”

I cross my arms over my chest and suppress a smile. “How have you survived this far?”

“With copious help from people I pay to do stuff for me,” he says flippantly, then he gets up.

It should really be more annoying when he says things like that. Talk about being an entitled ass.

“And yet you’re here,” I say. “Preparing to do manual labor. Again.”

“I’m mostly here to look at your ass when you bend over. Work is just an unfortunate byproduct. A price I have to pay for the privilege, if you will.”

“So with the right incentive, you’ll ignore the hives?”

“Seems so.” He nods toward the door. “Come on. Let’s get this over with. I’ve got a blow job with your name on it locked and loaded.”

I blink at him for a moment, then scramble to get the keys out of my pocket and into the lock. When I look over my shoulder, his eyes are on my ass, as promised. He looks up, waggles his brows, and sends an unapologetic grin my way, and my insides feel like I’m looking down from somewhere up high—a dash of apprehension with a whole lot of excitement.

I motion for him to get inside. “Tick tock. Time’s a-wastin’, Holland.” He laughs and salutes me when I snap my fingers in front of his face.

We go through the locker rooms swiftly, and once we get to the pool, I’m full of determination to get that out of the way as soon as possible, too. Apparently I’ve got a blow job to look forward to, and that does wonders for my productivity. Sutton doesn’t seem to be in a hurry once we reach the pool though.

Instead, he glances at the water thoughtfully, then at me.

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