Page 1 of Pool Girl - An Instalove Possessive Age Gap

Chapter OnePiperGrowing up it was kind of fun, having a dad who was the local pool guy. He had a lot of clients and it was good money. Even better for me when I needed some work during spring break from college.

It was dad’s business that helped put me through college. I owe him one, big time.

Dad’s a fit, strong guy. He never gets sick. Almost never.

But when he does, there’s only one person he trusts to fill his shoes. Only one person who knows what he knows.

And today, I’m it.

It’s a chilly early spring morning, but the seasons don’t seem to know what they’re doing anymore and a lot of dad’s clients have set dates in advance when they want their pools done.

My first job of the morning is looking like my last. I’d forgotten how difficult some people can be, how downright mean too.

“I’m not paying good money to have some Oompa Loompa waddle around my poolside. I want the hot guy, where’s he at?” she spits, looking past me, covering her thick chest with a flimsy whatever the hell you’d call it… a handkerchief?

“Ms. Vanessa Perkins?” I ask, trying to sound polite, checking the schedule to make sure I actually do have the right house. “My dad’s sick. I’m just filling in for him today,” I say between gritted teeth as she looks me up and down with contempt.

It’s cold out, but Malibu Witch Barbie here has dolled herself up to the nines. Up at eight in the morning, obviously hoping for an eyeful of my dad.

I don’t see my dad that way, but I’ve been told he’s hot for a forty year old. Pool cleaning does keep him in shape.

And I definitely haven’t inherited those genes.

I hope pools are the only thing he’s been dipping his net into. Ew.

I politely ignore her, making my way around the side of her house, which is locked. Heading back to the front, I can already hear her through the front door she’s slammed shut, on the phone to my dad.

After what feels like an hour, but is most likely a few minutes, the side gate pings open electronically and I hear her muffled, whining voice from inside as I pass the kitchen.

“I’m getting a discount!” she wails.

I roll my eyes, and once I see the state of her slimy and neglected, very dirty pool, that’s it.

I’m done.

“Honey it’s why it’s called being a pool boy, guy, uhh… girl. Whatever,” My dad sighs, sounding like someone else, his sinuses are so backed up.

I’m calling to tell him I quit, I can’t do this. It was fun as a kid, necessary when I was in college, but I’m a grown woman now.

Sort of.

Almost.

“I told you, sweetie, I need you more than ever now, pleeease?” he asks, sounding sicker, and more fragile than when I left the house earlier.

I wince as I feel the stab of parental guilt working its way into my chest through the phone.

“Alright, dad. But just tell me cleaning Barbie’s pool is the only thing you’ve been doing here?” I ask him, fighting to unsee the mental image my imagination has generated.

Noting her pool looks like it hasn’t been cleaned for several years.

“Wha-?” My dad asks, instantly setting my mind at ease.

I know he’d never do anything like that. The whole pool boy fantasy thing… it’s a myth, a story.

Like an urban legend.

Barbie probably tipped kitchen grease into her pool just to make more work for my dad, so she could watch him work up a sweat.

With dad’s permission, I put off the first job. I tell wind me up Barbie I need more chemical that I don’t have, that her pools algal bloom is just too much for me, which isn’t too far from the truth.

Her near screeching complaints as I pull out of her drive, waving politely and calling her a witch under my breath ring in my ears until I’m halfway to job number two.

Mr. Will Emmet.

Sounds more like Elmer Fudd.

Puffing air out of my cheeks and stamping my feet on the frozen steps as I press the doorbell, I know just from looking at this guy’s house that his pool is gonna be huge.

The place is like a mansion.

I ring the bell a second time, waiting a full minute.

Ah well, nobody’s home. I guess I can-

Once the huge wooden door opens, I think I hear my jaw shatter as it hits the ground.

His eyes are the first thing that grab me, but my own are hungry to take in the rest of his half naked body that is undeniably perfect.

“Uh… I didn’t hear you ring… I was out back…” he stammers, those piercing dark eyes scanning me before they narrow. A low sound escapes him and I feel suddenly lightheaded.

Will Emmet, if that’s the man in front of me, is no Elmer Fudd.

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