“Thanks so much for letting us use your pool,” says Sienna from one of the purple rafts. “Sokind of you. Right, Violet?”
I shoot her a look. “Yeah. Kind.”
“Any time,” says Landon, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
“You should join us,” says Sienna, patting the water’s surface. “There’s a bunch of Coronas in the fridge and a pool raft with your name on it.”
“Oh, I can’t,” Landon says, shifting uncomfortably. “I have more work to do.”
“At least have a beer,” I try.
Landon seems to debate his course of action. Eventually, he nods and disappears back inside the house, returning with a Corona. He takes a seat on one of the more shaded lounge chairs, and I sit down on the edge of the pool, dangling my legs into the water.
“Why don’t you ever use the pool?” I ask him.
“I use the pool.”
I scoff. “Then it must be in the middle of the night because I’ve never seen it.”
“I hate the nuisance of it all,” he says. “Swimsuit, sunscreen, chlorine. I hate getting water everywhere and the way it dries out your hands.” He shudders and takes a sip from the beer bottle. My eyes narrow in on his exposed throat, watching it bob as he swallows.
“You don’t go in the pool because you hate to prune?” I ask, smirking. “Seriously?”
He shoots me one of his patented, annoyed looks. “It’s more thanthat.”
“Then why even have a pool?”
“It’s Florida,” he answers, like that somehow explains everything.
“Well, what about the beach? Don’t tell me you hate the beach.”
“I hate the beach.”
“No onehatesthe beach.”
“I do,” he assures. “The water’s always frigid, it’s either too windy or not windy enough, and sand gets everywhere.”
“I think you’re just a control freak who doesn’t like the unpredictability of the great outdoors,” I tease, trying not to laugh.
“I’m not a control freak. I just like things the way I like them.”
“Hey, Violet!” calls Sienna. “Stop flirting so we can take some photos for your social before Jake and Ollie inhale all the scones.”
My face heats at her completely uncalled-for remark, and I shoot her anI’m going to kill you latersort of look.
Landon, who either didn’t hear her comment or is pretending to ignore it, raises his eyebrows. “Photos?”
“They’re, uh, for my Instagram,” I explain, feeling like an idiot.
“Don’t be shy, Violet. Give him the handle,” urges Sienna. “Every follower counts.”
“I don’t know,” I mutter.
Landon leans forward and nudges me, an almost playful look in his eye. “Ihaveto see it now."
When I don’t respond, Sienna steps in. “It’s baking bikini babe, no spaces or underscores. It was my brilliant idea. She’s already up to five thousand followers.”
“I didn’t know I was in the presence of an influencer,” mocks Landon.
