Page 31 of The Boy I Hate

He took a good minute, and Samantha turned back around to see if he’d heard the question. “How about you?” she repeated, but her eyes drifted down to his shoulder, where she knew the scar lay just under hisclothes.

“I run my own business,” he finallystated.

“Doing?”

“Cleaningpools.”

She pressed her lips together and looked up to see if he was joking. “You’re apoolboy?”

He glanced over again, clearly not finding the humor in thequestion. “Yes.”

“Oh,” she whispered, but she was mentally kicking herself for being an ass. She couldn’t help it! Not really. All she kept thinking about was that movie with David Duchovny as a pizza boy. Where the word “anchovies” indicated an orderforsex.

She turned to study his profile, noticing he hadn’t shaved since yesterday. “So you’re a pool boy. What happened to football?” A lump formed in her stomach, but she had to ask the question. It had been bothering her all day. Killing her that she didn’t already know theanswer.

The Mustang lurched forward, and she gripped the bottom ofherseat.

“I got hurt,” he answered. It was curt and to the point, and so much different from the open demeanor he used when talking aboutanythingelse.

She took a quick breath, because the confirmation made her heart hurt a little. “Oh…” she said. She wanted to ask more. To ask how it happened, to ask if his injury still bothered him. Because she knew all too well what it felt like to have a dream yanked from under you like that. But she adjusted in her seat instead, deciding it was much too personal a question to ask. “How did you get into your lineofwork?”

His shoulders visibly relaxed, as if he’d been anticipating something different. He opened the pack of gum between them and slid a piece from its sleeve before folding it half and popping it into his mouth. “A year ago I was hanging out at a bar.” He cleared his throat, raising his brows an inch as though indicating he knew this wasn’t a surprise to her. “Some lady was complaining about her husband and their disgusting green pool. It all started fromthere.”

She smiled, the scent of winter-mint gum making her shiver. “Goon.”

“Well, people started joking around. And someone mentioned she should get a pool boy—one who was good looking enough to make her husband jealous. Some guy mentioned my name.” He fanned over his body sarcastically. “One thing led to another, and what started as a joke, quickly became my newcareer.”

She raised her brows and turned to look out thewindow. “Oh.”

“What?” he asked, obviously confused by heranswer.

She bit her bottom lip, hating the fact that she showed everything onherface.

“You better tell me or I’ll assume the worst,” hemuttered.

She squeezed her eyes shut, took a stick of gum and popped it into her mouth. “Fine. I just realized that’s why you’resotan.”

He laughed. Something she hadn’t heard in a long time. But then he went sober, so much so she turned to see his expression. He wore the barest grin at the corner of his mouth, and he had a sultry look about him that made her heart skipabeat.

“Glad to hear you’ve been paying attention,Samantha.”

She hit his chest, not hard, but in a way that was playful. “Oh stop it.” She laughed. She adjusted in her seat, dragging her feet up to her lap to sit crisscross. “So you’re saying there’s no sexinvolved?”

His chest began to shake again, and he shot her a “What the hell are you talking about?” expression. “No, there’s no sex. I don’t know what kind of pool boy you have, but I hope you tiphimwell.”

She immediately blushed, then started laughing too. “Haven’t you seen that movie? About the pizza boy? Andanchovies…”

Her words trailed off, and she shook her head feeling embarrassed. But he must have taken pity, because he immediately started talking again. “Actually,” he said, cupping his hand over his face, trying to mask his laughter, “I don’t even clean pools anymore. I have a crew under me, so only when they’re sick do I go out on the field—which is why I’m able to be here with you. The tan is because I like to surf. Most of my job is paperwork, which surprisingly isn’t sexyatall.”

She played with the paper wrapper between her fingers, grinning at the fact he was trying to make her feel better, and glanced down to her lap. “You’d besurprised.”

“By what?” He turned to look at her. “You think paperworkissexy?”

“I don’t know…” She lifted her shoulders. “A man with brains…it’s not a badthing.”

He only grinned, as though some unspoken understanding had transpired between them. A small bud of tolerance had blossomed. It was tiny, and would likely blow away with a gentle breeze, but for that moment, she decided he wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. Maybe she could do this. It was only for a few more days,afterall.

* * *

---