Pool Boys (7 page)

So this is what my life has come to.

On Sunday morning, Caleb gazed up at Eliza von Klaus from a leather armchair in the Silver Oaks parlor, and wondered—for a horrifying, pitiful, surreal moment—what it would be like to hook up with her.

Not that he would ever act on it. Not that he could even attempt to try. But the thought did flit through his mind. And hey, was it really so wrong? Right now she looked pretty good, post-tennis lesson, when she wasn’t all made up, fresh from the court in her white nylons, her red hair in disarray.

I made out with this woman’s daughter. I am going to hell.

“So what finds you here, dear?” Mrs. von Klaus asked. She eased down into the armchair across from him, sipping a bottle of Fiji water. “You know, somebody should really redecorate this room.” She wrinkled her nose at the mahogany bookshelves. “It’s so
drab
in here.”

“Well, I think it was the smoking room once,” Caleb suggested.

Mrs. von Klaus threw her head back and cackled, as if he’d told an outlandishly hysterical joke. “You are a laugh
riot
, sweetheart,” she proclaimed in a shrill voice. “So, tell me. Do you play tennis at all?”

Caleb shook his head, and shifted in the seat. The leather squeaked under his khaki carpenter shorts. Maybe he should leave. Yes. He was here to hide, anyway. Earlier, he’d strolled out toward the cabana, in a carefree mood—nothing on his mind except another day by the pool—and then he’d spotted Brooke and Marcus on some loungers by the shallow end. They looked pretty much as if they’d made a pact to go ahead and do the nasty right there. So he beat a hasty retreat to the dining room, but not before he caught a glimpse of Valerie Packwood chatting up Georgia out on the path by the tennis courts. What the hell was going on with that new friendship? And so he made a beeline for the one place where he couldn’t
possibly
run into members of the opposite sex—this dusty old room lined with books nobody read, and arranged with furniture nobody ever used.

At which point, Mrs. von Klaus showed up.

“Well, my divorce lawyer told me that playing tennis is a great way to meet single, older men,” she was saying. “What do you think?”

Caleb blinked. “Huh?”

“Do you think tennis will improve my love life?” She wriggled her eyebrows.

The leather chair was beginning to feel like quicksand.
“I think your lawyer’s in a better position to answer that than I am, Mrs. von Klaus,” Caleb croaked. “Well, it was nice talking to you, but I should probably be—”

“Nonsense!” She threw her head back and cackled again, then hopped up and patted his knee. “You stay right here. I’m sorry to have barged in on you like this. I’ll see you soon, sweetheart!”

Caleb watched her go.
Yes. Yes, you will. And that terrifies me.

Just as Charlotte’s mom was trotting out, Ethan came in, his hair messy from playing. He nodded politely at Mrs. von Klaus, then spotted Caleb sitting alone in the middle of the room. He stopped and grinned, puzzled.

“What are you doing
here?”
he asked.

“Trying to hide and failing,” Caleb mumbled. He gestured toward the armchair across from him. “Have a seat. It’s lots of fun.”

Ethan shrugged and plopped down across from him. He dabbed his face with the towel he was holding, glancing around at the meticulously arranged coffee tables and Oriental carpets. “I need a break myself. You know, in two years, I don’t think I’ve ever actually
been
in the parlor.”

Caleb smirked. “You look beat, man. Mrs. von Klaus really gave you a run for your money, huh?”

Ethan glared at him. “Have
you
ever tried playing tennis with a beginner?”

“I’ve barely even tried playing at all,” Caleb admitted. “Not exactly the most athletic type, in case you haven’t
noticed. That’s why I like hanging out by the pool. Zero impact. Low stress. Plus, I play poker. I won eighty-nine bucks on Thursday.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I should take up poker, too,” Ethan said. “God knows I could use the money…” He laughed awkwardly. “Or maybe I could be a lifeguard. Look at Marcus. They stuck him with the morning shift, but he’s still got one of the sweetest gigs at Silver Oaks.”

“You really think so?” Caleb asked.

Ethan met his gaze, and then looked away. “I’m just sort of sick of tennis.”

All at once an idea popped into Caleb’s brain. Maybe it was the way Ethan had said the words “sick of tennis”—as if he were trying to hide the fact that he was actually sick of something else, namely Silver Oaks itself. Caleb understood; he was already a little sick of this place himself, and it was only the start of the summer. “Hey, what are you doing right now?” Caleb asked. “I mean, when’s your next lesson or whatever?”

“Not until one,” Ethan said. “Why?”

Caleb pushed himself to his feet. “Why don’t we go check out Kenwood? You know, crash the place? Picture it! We’ll just march right in there like we’ve always belonged. It’ll be awesome. Like a movie, right? We’re the two zany new guys who just show up unannounced, and scope out the scene…” His voice dwindled to silence.

Ethan stared back as if Caleb had just suggested that they hold somebody up at gunpoint. “Have you ever
been
to Kenwood?” It almost sounded like an accusation.

Caleb swallowed. “Uh…well, yeah, once. When I was seven. Robby Miller had his eighth birthday party there. You know, the Millers were members at Kenwood before they became members here.” He flopped back down.

Ethan took a deep breath. He scooted forward in the chair and perched on the edge of the cushion. “Can I ask you something, man?” he whispered. He shot a quick glance toward the hall, making sure they were alone.

“Yeah. Of course.”

“Are we friends? You know—like you and me?”

Caleb started to smile, and then quickly stopped himself. Ethan’s face was deadly serious. He wasn’t kidding around. Caleb didn’t quite know how to deal with the question. Guys didn’t ask questions like that. At least, not the guys Caleb had grown up with. They asked questions like: “Where’d you get that pansy-ass sweater, Ramsey?” (Robby Miller had asked him that exact question just last night, which was why it sprang to mind.) “Are we friends?” was a question a girl would ask. Guys didn’t probe each other’s innermost feelings. They conversed only to exchange vital information: point spreads, profane jokes, violent threats, et cetera.

“What I mean is,” Ethan continued, “do you think of me as somebody who works for you, or somebody you actually like hanging out with?”

Now Caleb felt offended. “Wait. You think the only reason I hang out with you is because you
work
here?” He’d
never
been one of “those” rich boys.

“No. It’s just…” Ethan inched forward a little farther.
“I want to tell you why I don’t want to go to Kenwood. And I could make up some BS or whatever, but there’s something I want to get off my chest. And I figured you of all people would understand.”

Caleb nodded. His pulse picked up a notch. “Sure. Go ahead.”

“I applied for a job there.” Ethan stared straight at Caleb, his face devoid of expression. “They turned me down.”

“Whoa.” Caleb leaned back, floored. “Are you
serious?
Why?”

Ethan chuckled sadly. “Maybe because they already have a better tennis pro.”

“No, that wasn’t what I meant. Why did you apply for a job there? You—”

“Because I can’t be with Georgia if I work
here,”
Ethan interrupted in a hushed voice. “I didn’t
get
the job, Caleb. And I need a job. That’s why I’ll be giving Eliza von Klaus tennis lessons until the day I die.” His eyes darted furtively toward the hall once more. “Listen, just make sure Georgia comes to the Midsummer Ball, okay? It was stupid of me to ask her…I just—I don’t know. I couldn’t stand the thought of her going with someone else. And I know that nobody at Silver Oaks cares about the ball, and whatever.” He bit his lip. “Just make sure she comes, all right? Please?”

“How am I supposed to make sure she comes? You should talk to Brooke or Charlotte. Seriously, Ethan, I’d help you out, but—”

“You
ask her to the ball,” Ethan cut in.

Caleb raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Ethan whispered.

“I thought you said that you couldn’t stand the idea of her going with someone else,” Caleb replied, baffled.

“That’s why it has to be
you,”
Ethan insisted.

Hmm.
That sounded like a put-down. But Caleb knew it wasn’t. At least he hoped not. “Dude, you’re not making any sense.”

“If
you
ask her, then she’ll know it’s innocent,” Ethan explained. “She knows you don’t like her like that, Caleb. I know you don’t like her like that. Everybody knows.”

Caleb suddenly realized he was perched on the edge of his own armchair. Did Ethan mean that Charlotte knew? Caleb’s heart kicked. “Don’t you think it’ll be weird, though?”

Ethan shook his head. “Just do me this favor, all right?”

“But what if she says no?” Caleb asked.

“She won’t,” Ethan stated. He brushed his tousled hair out of his eyes. “She’ll just be glad to have an excuse not to go with me. I know it.”

Caleb bit his lip. “I don’t know, man.”

“You’re not going with anyone else, are you?”

“Well, no.…It’s just that…” Caleb drummed his fingers on the rumpled legs of his shorts. “I mean, no. But—okay, yes. Well, yes, depending.” He spun in the leather chair and peeked over the seatback into the hallway, just to make extra certain he and Ethan were alone. Then he turned back to Ethan, feeling his face grow warm.
“But the truth is, if I was going to ask anyone, I would ask Charlotte.”

“You would?” He grinned. “You guys aren’t, like, friends with benefits, are you?”

“NO!” Blood pounded to Caleb’s face. He knew he must have been bright red. He kneaded the armrest. “I…mean, no.”

“So what’s the problem, then?”

“Nothing.”

“Caleb, it’s gotta be something. You’re losing your shit for
some
reason, bro.”

Oh, Jesus.
Caleb sighed and leaned back again. How had he even gotten himself into this little interrogation?

“What could be that big a deal?” Ethan prodded. “So, you’re not sleeping with Charlotte? Fine. You
want
to sleep with her? Fine. You’ve never slept with her…” He stopped.

Caleb shut his eyes and prayed that Ethan wouldn’t guess.

“Let me guess,” Ethan finally said.

“What?” Caleb’s eyes opened. He frowned.

“You’re a virgin.”

“Jesus!” Caleb hissed, whipping around in horror to check the hall, straining his ears for the sounds of footsteps. “Lower your voice!”

But Ethan kept right on grinning. “Wow-ee. You’d better do something about that before you’re cast in the sequel to
The Forty-Year-Old—”

“Ethan, shut the hell up.” Caleb wasn’t having it.

Ethan sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Listen, Caleb, I’m just playing. Who the hell
cares
if you’re a virgin?”

Caleb’s nostrils flared. “Spoken like someone who doesn’t fall on the same side of the virginity fence as I do.”

“I’m serious.” Ethan laughed, sounding to Caleb much older than his years. “Anyway, I still don’t get it. What does losing your virginity have to do with inviting Georgia to the Midsummer Ball?”

“I…” Caleb didn’t have a response. The Midsummer Ball wasn’t like a prom. It wasn’t like a debutante ball, either. It wasn’t even really
anything—other
than an excuse for every grown-up at Silver Oaks to get drunk again as they toasted their seventeen-year-old children (who also got—not-so-secretly—drunk).

“Because you
really
want to go with Charlotte,” Ethan pronounced.

“Yeah, I guess I do,” Caleb admitted. “See, a couple of years ago, we all went on this field trip to Washington. You know, when Charlotte came up with the nickname for Old Fairfield? The Tombs?” He hesitated. He’d never talked about this before with anyone, not even Charlotte herself. “Ethan, you have to swear you won’t tell—”

“I won’t. God, you’re so paranoid.”

“Okay.” Caleb’s voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. “See, Charlotte and I fooled around that night. We got separated from the group, and we were all alone, in
this bar, The Tombs, and I got drunk and brave and I kissed her. I honestly thought we would go back to the hotel…but then Mr. Lowry caught us. The good part was that he was all freaked out for losing us, so he said that he wouldn’t tell anyone what we were doing—if we swore to stay with the group from then on. Charlotte and I never talked about it again…but I don’t know. It sounds really lame, but I’ve just always felt that Charlotte would be—the one. And that it would be this summer. And the night of the ball…”

Ethan sighed. “It’s cool, bro,” he said encouragingly. “You’re into Charlotte. Maybe she’s into you, too. Either way, we’ll get you laid this summer. But here’s the thing. I bet you taking Georgia to the Midsummer Ball could even be your ticket. I bet because if anything, she’ll—”

“Hey, Caleb?” a sweet, melodic female voice interrupted.

Caleb winced, gripping the armrests. He spun around.

Valerie was standing in the parlor archway, her racket over her shoulder and her blonde ringlets spilling down her back. He had no idea how long she’d been there, or how much she’d heard. For all he knew, she’d heard the whole thing.

“Yeah?” Caleb croaked.

“Do you know where I can find some golf clubs?” she asked, her smile giving away nothing at all.

Tiptoeing down the stairs to the sauna with Marcus Craft filled Brooke with delicious pleasure—and a little nostalgia.

She’d snuck two other boys down here in the past. The first had been Johnny. Yes, as much as it pained her to admit it, in ninth grade she’d made out with Johnny of the Robby Miller Posse—i.e.: the wannabe gangsta with the SNOOP chain. To Brooke’s credit, though, Johnny actually had been shy and cute before he discovered the world of hip-hop and poker, and he’d been an amazing kisser. The second had been Clesthenes Demetriou, the son of a Greek diplomat. Tall, olive-skinned, and mysterious: the boy who’d proved to Brooke that there could be “the one who got away.” (Or he would have proved it, had he been able to speak English.) He’d said maybe fourteen words total during the entire summer—but when he smiled, she couldn’t help but pounce on him. They’d spent morning after morning sneaking off together until his family vanished in late August. After days of inconsolable sorrow, Brooke had received the following e-mail:

brook: ur kisses in sauna made summer very plesent. i back in athens. i wish to maintain letters. i missing u. i also kissed girl named haley burns in sauna. thought u to know. apologies.

SINCERITY,

CLESTHENES DEMETRIOU

All right, so in the long run, maybe it was okay that he got away. Not to mention the fact that Haley Burns was a dyed-platinum blonde with faux boobs. But thankfully, she’d vanished, too, off to LA or something. The lesson learned: Brooke would not allow herself to be that vulnerable again.

“Hey, Brooke?” Marcus asked.

She paused at the bottom step and turned, her pool robe falling seductively off one shoulder. “Yeah?”

“No one’s gonna find us here, will they?” he whispered, stepping down toward her. There was a slight wrinkle of concern between his perfect golden brows. “Mr. Farnsworth came to the staff meeting this morning and really drilled into our heads that there was to be no ‘fraternizing’ between the staff and—”

Mr. Farnsworth.
Could there be anything more moodkilling than hearing the boy you were about to make out with mention your
dad?
Brooke rolled her eyes and put a hand against Marcus’s soft, warm lips. “It’s fine,” she assured him. “Trust me?”

“I trust you,” Marcus said, raising one eyebrow, his mouth curling up in a teasing smile. Brooke could hear the
excitement in his voice. Ever since that morning, when she’d convinced him to get off his lifeguard throne and join her by the pool, she’d known that they’d be alone together by that afternoon. Brooke’s only regret was that Valerie wouldn’t be around to witness her triumph.

And it kept nagging away at her that Georgia had intruded on their little interlude. But Brooke was
so
not dealing with that girl right now.

With a small smile, Brooke whipped around and headed down the narrow hallway, already imagining that she could feel the hot steam from up ahead. God, she loved sneaking to the sauna. On the brick wall above the sauna door, in three-year-old ruby-red Chanel nail polish, her eyes drifted to the familiar, tiny graffiti scrawled there:

WHAT HAPPENS AT SILVER OAKS STAYS AT SILVER OAKS—WHERE ELSE WOULD IT GO?

One rainy afternoon, Brooke had written those words, as Charlotte and Georgia laughed and egged her on. They’d been fourteen back then, and boys were in the picture, but not as much as now. Things had seemed so much simpler then, Brooke thought with a sigh.

Marcus chuckled at the words, not knowing that Brooke herself was the author.

“Is that true?” he murmured as Brooke rapped on the heavy wooden door.

“Of course,” Brooke replied, listening for a response. Silence.
Perfect.
She turned the knob and she and Marcus
slipped into the room, the steam hitting them like a wall. Brooke took a deep breath. The heat was intense, almost too intense, but also sublime. The moisture made her skin feel all glowy and sent tingles of delight down her arms.

Or maybe that was Marcus, walking up behind her.

“The thing is,” Marcus was saying, his hand brushing the nape of Brooke’s neck. “I just started working here, so I really don’t want to screw up.”

Brooke spun toward him, her pool robe slipping off almost entirely. “Marcus, if anybody finds us,
I’ll
get blamed for dragging you down here. People at Silver Oaks don’t fire employees like you.”

Marcus stepped closer, grinning, one hand tugging on the bottom of the thin, blue T-shirt he’d thrown on over his swim trunks. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because Ethan Brennan hooked up with Georgia last summer,” Brooke replied mindlessly, tossing her hair over one shoulder. “And he’s not even half as—” She broke off.

“Ethan hooked up with Georgia?” Marcus asked.

Brooke swallowed.
Oops.
“Yeah. I thought you knew.”
After all, isn’t Georgia your new best buddy?

Marcus shook his head slowly. “No…I had no idea.” His expression was unreadable.

“Let’s not talk about Georgia, okay?” Brooke whispered. She slowly lowered herself down onto the tiny two-person bench, the hot rocks sizzling and crackling below. “Let’s not talk about anything.”

Marcus didn’t need any more persuading. He eased himself down beside Brooke on the bench, moved in very
close, and wrapped one arm around her. They gazed at each other for one brief, hot moment, and then Marcus leaned in and ran his lips along Brooke’s long, pale neck, moving up toward her earlobe. Brooke let out a sigh of pleasure, arching her back, and then she lowered her face and let her lips meet Marcus’s. The kiss was long and deep and fierce, and they kept going, Brooke wrapping her arms around Marcus, welcoming the feel of his lean, muscled body against hers. As Marcus’s deft hands pushed off Brooke’s pool robe, she helped him get his T-shirt over his head. His skin was slick with steam. Marcus broke the kiss and drew back for a second, his breath ragged.

“You know,” Marcus whispered, his blue eyes full of longing, “there are so many beautiful girls in this club. But you’re…you’re different, Brooke.”

“I know,” Brooke whispered back, shivering with joy at Marcus’s words. Brooke
had
always felt different from Georgia and Charlotte, as if she were worlds beyond them.

And then Marcus leaned in once more and their mouths locked in another passionate kiss. Brooke drew Marcus back with her along the bench, her nails digging into his bare back, murmuring words into his ear, as he kissed her and kissed her as if he’d never stop. The steam and the heat and Marcus’s fingers on her skin were enough to make Brooke dizzy with desire.

This was exactly how she wanted to spend the rest of the summer.