It feels like a curse. “Yes.”
Micah moves beside Dad as he looks at the house behind ours. “Looks like we have a new neighbor.”
“Yep.” And I don’t want to share the view with him any longer. “Going for a swim.”
When I walk past him and head into our house, he states, “You’re going the wrong way.”
“Agreed.” But I don’t plan on taking a dip in our pool. There’s one that’s much more appealing on my mind.
9
IVY
I’ve dozed back off. Or at least I think I did. I’m in that weird place where I feel like I’m asleep, but I can still hear what’s going on. And once I hear a loud splash, I’m awake and glance around the backyard.
Am I conscious though? Because the source of the sound was someone jumping in the pool. And they’re still in it.
Standing from the lounge chair, I make my way poolside and watch as the person moves through the water. I’m one hundred percent certain about one thing: I don’t know who he is. But all I can see from this viewpoint is his dark hair and the muscles of his body gliding through the water with great precision and control. The motion looks natural, like that of a swimmer, but his build doesn’t conform at all. I mean swimmers are all muscular, but it’s in a lean, well-defined powerful way, whereas this guy’s back looks like it’d fit better in a sport like football. He definitely has a similar physique to Everett. But the more I gawk, the more I notice he’s bulkier than my best friend.
His attire unquestionably doesn’t give swimmer vibes since it looks like he’s wearing black boxer briefs and not swimwear. Judging by the pile of clothes nearby, he stripped down and jumped in a pool that isn’t his.
Just before he makes his way back, it dawns on me. I know exactly who he is. He’s the crazy, voyeur neighbor. Except he’s traded his balcony for our pool.
When he stands and runs his hands through his hair, pushing it back, he looks relaxed and confident in himself. No doubt he is aware of his flawless, well-defined abs, which are certainly not like Everett’s because they’ve never made me gape like a speechless fool. However, that’s where the guy’s appeal stops. He’s intrusive, and the arrogance is oozing off of him.
And I need to snap out of my silent analysis of the prick. “What the hell are you doing?”
He just stares back at me. Yeah, I studied him for a bit longer than I should’ve. But he’s the trespasser who doesn’t seem bothered at all, and his presence is annoying me. “We don’t need a pool boy. You can go now.”
I think I almost see a hint of a smirk on the corner of his mouth, but I don’t get a chance to be sure before he finally speaks. “I’ll leave when I’m ready.” Then he resumes his laps.
What is wrong with this dude? I’m sure he gets away with plenty due to his looks alone, and I’m sure his money buys him the rest.
Once he completes a few more laps and stops nearby, I ask, “Is this some kind of rich kid hobby? Y’all just intrude and hop in whatever pool you feel like?”
He doesn’t answer, just remains standing in the pool. Maybe he’s less crazy than I originally thought and is just plain rude. “Seriously, why are you here? Don’t you have a pool at your fortress?” I wave over at the balcony.
“Yeah. It’s smaller than this and not good for laps.”
“Okay. Sounds like a personal problem. Jumping the fence to swim in another person’s pool isn’t the solution.” Speaking of, how did he get in? I look around the yard. Maybe he knewthe people who lived here before. “Were you friends with the previous owners or something?”
“Yes,” he replies.
Oh my God. His nonchalant, carefree attitude is grating on my nerves.
“Well, you’re not buddies with the current owner. So, bye.”
His assurance doesn’t waver as he casually walks out of the pool and stops in front of me. That’s when I notice he’s got about six inches of height on me, as I have to look up to meet his arrogant stare. “I’m not here to make friends. I’d pick a different pool if that were the case.”
What the hell is his deal? “You should pick a different one anyway.”
“Why? Yours hasn’t been used in weeks.” He remains resolute and unwavering in all his egotistical glory. And how big does your ego need to be to exude such confidence while soaking wet in only your underwear? If he thinks he’s intimidating me, he has another thing coming. I don’t care if his body is that of a Greek god, he has the brain of a nitwit and the attitude of a barbarian. And he’s really pissing me off.
“I haven’t used my swimsuit in weeks either, but that doesn’t mean you’re free to help yourself to it.”
“Why don’t you put it on? Or better yet”—his eyes do an unhurried, deliberate scan over my body—“take your clothes off and jump in.”
Folding my arms over my chest. “Oh yay. Swim time with the psycho from next door. Hard pass.”
