Page 15 of Pool Girl - An Instalove Possessive Age Gap

“Whatever you want,” I whisper, pecking her lips and jumping a little as she squeezes me one last time before letting me go.

“How many do you have to do?” I ask her, deliberately distracting my own body and mind from what it would rather be doing right now.

“I’d have to check the schedule, but I think three. If I include the swamp but I think we can skip that one,” she says, quickly looking away, looking like she wants me to change the subject too.

“Oh no you don’t,” I say loudly, wagging my finger again with a smile.

“Who’s number three? What the hell’s the swamp?” I ask, noting her ‘remind me to tell you later’ look.

“You’ll see,” she sighs. “But we’d better get moving if you’re serious. It’ll be dark out in a few hours.

“We’ll make it,” I tell her confidently. “But only if you feel up to it?” I ask, again.

“You’re going to be doing all the work, remember?” she says wistfully, pecking my lips before whispering thank you into my ear, making my heart sing and me feeling like I could clean a thousand pools if only she was there to watch.Chapter ElevenPiperI don’t mean to overreact, but hearing that it was Will who got my dad started… that he still helps him out.

It’s clear to me now, why the pools are both so clean, making it easier for dad when he has to come to do Will’s. Why dad was able to put me through college… a hundred, a thousand other things suddenly making sense now.

Except one.

Why didn’t dad tell me?

He let me think it was just his good luck or the name of his business that drew the customers in, whereas now I can see, it was all floating on Will’s money.

I want to ask Will why. Why would he help anyone so much? But thinking about it, dad has no real friends, only pool clients and me of course, but that’s different.

I want to ask him, but I also figure it’s none of my business. It hurts a little that dad never mentioned a lot of things, but I figure he must have his reasons, and I’m sure Will does too.

A piercing electronic sound breaks our thoughts, and I look to Will, almost worried.

“Your clothes, M’ lady. Dried but not pressed if that’s alright?”

I nod excitedly and following Will as he moves to stand, I sway a little, almost losing my balance, hoping he won’t notice.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, scanning me from head to toes as if he’s an x-ray machine.

“I feel fine,” I chuckle. “Really, I am.”

Those spots are back again, in front of my eyes but it isn’t until we reach the laundry room that I realize I haven’t eaten today, and also that my puffy parka is the drip dry kind… and not in the dryer.

“Does that mean you want me only wearing this?” I ask, holding up my white tee which looks like it’s shrunk.

Will growls thoughtfully, holding it up against his own huge body, making it look like baby clothes.

“I think you’ll wear this and nothing else once we get home, for now, I’ll find a jacket or a sweater that fits,” he says with a firm tone, leaving me to get dressed and hearing him disappear upstairs again, it hits me.

Home.

He said, ‘Once we get home again…’

I feel my face scrunch up l as I hold my hands to the sides of my head.

I can’t stay here. I have to go home to dad after the pool round. He’s still sick and I need to take care of him.

I have to push it to the back of my mind, for now, being with Will is far more interesting and he’s gonna help get the pool route done. That’s where I should focus my attention for now.

I’ll worry about dad once we’re done.

We.

It sounds so natural, so permanent when I think of Will and me, together.

As a ‘we.’If anyone saw how quickly this guy can clean and maintain any pool to a professional level, my dad and I would both be out of a job.

He won’t even let me drive and insists I stay wrapped and covered up. After the last of the three pools we have to do, I feel sweaty, hot.

“It’s not a fever or anything else, Will,” I complain, yanking my blanket open as I sit in the passenger side of the van on the way to our last job.

“It’s being wrapped up like a bug in cotton wool. Anyone would think it’s because you don’t want anyone to see me or something,” I announce, a slight sting in my voice.

“I don’t,” he says dryly. “Not wearing that T-shirt anyway. If anyone sees more than your ankles, it’ll be over my dead body.”

I think I feel flattered, but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wrapped in a blanket either, even if it does smell like Will.

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