“Since when?”
Julie clucked her tongue. “In high school, so what?…Soishe cute?”
Amy sighed. “Very. He’s tall and has these gray-blue eyes. Sort of dark, sandy hair.”
“Beer gut?”
“You know what?” Amy said, thinking about it. “No.”
“You should totally hit that,” Julie said.
“I’m not going to hit that,” Amy said. “I’m a mother. And a daughter. And I haven’t been with anyone but Ryan in years. I probably don’t even remember how.”
“It’s like riding a bike—”
“No, it’s not,” Amy said, cutting her off before she could finish that sentence. “Anyway, here’s the other problem. The Christmas music.”
“What Christmas music?”
“The music that starts blaring through speakers on full volume when you least expect it. I almost peed myself the first time it happened. And the only thing you can do is turn it down. Otherwise, you’re without Christmas lights.”
“Oh my God, I’m going to kill Sam, and this time I mean it. She set all that up because she thinks she is a tech wizard. I’ll try and get hold of her.”
“What do you mean, try?” Amy asked.
“She and John are on their way to Canada for a ski trip. You know how she gets on vacation.”
Amy had no idea how Sam got on vacation, but she would take Julie’s word for it.
Julie continued to make promises about getting rid of the music and finding an alternative booking for Harrison Neely, Cute Professional Golfer, until Amy finally eased her off the phone. When they hung up, she picked up a small canvas to set on the easel. That’s when she noticed a dull but steadythwackoutside.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
She put the canvas on her easel, then leaned around it to look out the window.
Harrison Neely was on the pool deck. He was dressed in sweats anda long-sleeved T-shirt, a sleeveless zip-up vest over that. There was a breeze off the lake that kept lifting his hair. He had placed a small green mat before him and a bucket behind him. He was holding a golf club, but he wasn’t moving. He was leaning against the club, one hand on his hip, one leg crossed over the other, staring out at the lake.
He looked sort of majestic, standing like that. Amy thought of his eyes—so pretty. She felt a bit of heat start to creep up her spine because Julie was not wrong—he was definitely cute. And honestly? She was surprised to realize she was not opposed to the actual hitting of that. In fact, she found the idea titillating.
Okay,whoa.It had been so long since Amy had thought about sex in the immediate that she almost didn’t know how to fantasize. What she was strongly opposed to was any entanglement that would come with any shenanigans. Men always came with entanglements, didn’t they? And furthermore, she wouldn’t hit anything until she did a full body check. Of herself. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had seen her naked, and frankly, she’d let some parts go.
But wait, what was she thinking about? He would not want to hither.He’d seen her flabby mom thigh this morning. He was not thinking of sex.
She did wonder what he was thinking about, staring so seriously into the distance as he was. After a moment, he leaned over and took a ball from the bucket and placed it on the mat. He stood behind the ball and took a swing. It was smooth, like a sword slicing through air. The ball sailed long and into the lake.
He got out another ball and repeated the motion.Thwack.And then another one.Thwack.
Amy was slightly appalled by his apparent lack of consideration for the environment, just hitting balls into the lake…but at the same time was enjoying watching him.
But then he abruptly stopped. He went to the edge of the deck andsat, rubbing his knee. Then he leaned forward, placed his elbows on his knees, and his face in his hands. She watched his broad shoulders lift, then fall, with a sigh.
The sudden shift in his mien fired her imagination. Was he upset? Worried? Did he have cancer? Money problems? Because what could a guy like him have to worry about? He was good-looking and probably had money if he was a pro golfer. He was fit. He didn’t have a wedding ring on, which probably meant no trouble at home. She wouldn’t be surprised if he had a Lamborghini and a blonde Barbie waiting for him somewhere. He was…Well, she didn’t know the word for what he was anymore. Not hot, exactly, although he was that. More like someone suffering from an overabundance of sex appeal.
Okay, enough. She turned back to her canvas. She knew nothing about him; she was pulling assumptions from thin air. She was constantly advising her sons not to do that. And anyway, she could not spend her time ogling him. She had to produce three paintings that she was happy with, which meant a few bad starts, which meant she really didn’t have time for any distractions. And anyway, since when did she think about men? Those days were behind her.
She managed not to think about him that afternoon. Or not much. He sort of hovered in the back of her mind, but, she was pleased to note to herself, notonher mind. The two trips to the little bathroom to study her face and decide what makeup she needed to use or if maybe it was time to get a blowout were just standard woman stuff, and therefore did not count. It had nothing to do with him.
Oh God, who was she kidding? What was she even doing?
