Page 2 of Just the Pool Boy at Vampire Mansion

His face was angular, you know the type—all sharp smiles and cheekbones, lips made for pouting at cameras. I kinda hated him. Pretty, popular, successful, rich . . . And he indirectly paid my rent.

I sighed. “Hey, man.”

Nothing.

“So, uh . . . Google says you’re gonna die out here, so . . .”

Still nothing. I rolled my eyes.

His chest rose and fell. Not dead, yet. Man, those lean abs. Not jacked, just . . . enough. And they went all the way down to narrow hips. My gaze trailed lower still. It had been a really, really long time since I’d gotten any, so yes, I was looking. A man could look. It wasn’t a crime.

I lifted a boot and poked his leg, and a low moan escaped from between his lips. His hand flopped down from covering his eyes to his side, and his head lolled. Thick, dark lashes fluttered, but his eyes stayed closed.

What was I supposed to do with him? I could see if anyone else was home, but that would mean meeting the rest of them, and . . . well . . . I really didn’t want to. Not today, hopefully never. I worked for the Witherbornes, and that was as close as I’d planned to get.

I chewed on my lip. “C’mon, man. Don’t do this to me. You might wanna fry your brains in the sun, but I’ve got work to do, and I need this job . . . Like, a lot.” I let my gaze wander toward the rows of dark windows and my reflection staring back. “What do you know about needing things, huh?” I mumbled. “Guys like you get everythin’ handed to ’em on a silver plate or something.”

“Wow.” Mr. Vampire Heir said, voice clear.

I jolted back, my heart leaping into my throat.

He still lay there, but now his eyes were open, his gaze fixed on me. “Your judgment’s showing, pool boy.”

Social media images don’t tell you what people sound like, and this man had a voice that came from somewhere cool and dark, and a little bit filthy. It did things to my skin, like make it prickle. I wanted to hear it for hours, but at the same time, run for the hills.

“Pfft. What? I didn’t mean you. Obviously.” I shrugged and smiled and did all the things with my body that I hoped would make him think I’d been joking this whole time. What had I just said out loud? Something about him being rich and spoiled and an asshole?

A dark eyebrow arched. He rolled onto his side and propped his head on his hand. “Can’t a man bask in the sun without getting shade thrown his way?”

“Sure. I mean, sorry.” I stumbled back a step with every new word falling out of me. “I’ll just . . . go back over there.” I thumbed over my shoulder. “Do my job. Just over here.” I slowed. “But uh . . . isn’t it . . . kinda bright out here for you?”

“Is it?” His eyebrow had stayed arched. Permanently hooked up there. “Hadn’t noticed.”

I winced. “I was trying to help, is all. Google said that vampires and sun . . . well, you know. I guess.”

His smile grew, then slid off his lips. “Right. I know. Thanks for pointing out the obvious.”

Uhm . . . okay. So, he wanted to bask in the sun? That was a thing vampires did for fun, I guessed. I really needed to research my employers. Right after I was done looking after their pool.

I went back to doing my job, which became a whole lot more difficult with his gaze stuck on me. Filter reassembled, and the pit cover back in place, I grabbed the net and scooped debris from the pool’s surface, while his gaze burned my back. Or maybe that was the sun beating down. Either way, I’d preferred it when he’d been out cold and ignoring me.

“What’s your name?” he asked, after fifteen minutes of silence. “Never mind. I don’t wanna know.”

I straightened, leaned on the net handle, and frowned across the glittering expanse of cool blue water. He’d gone back to the on-his-back pose, hand thrown across his eyes.

Telling him my name was probably a bad idea. But since he’d asked so nicely. “It’s Owen.”

“Don’t care,” he called.

So, my earlier snap judgment had been right. He was an asshole. What did I expect from a social media’s darling out-and-proud vampire playboy?

I went back to scooping leaves. Look at him over there. Designer boots unlaced, too special for knots. I hope he trips on them. Sparkly nail varnish—and that shirt . . . Who wears a pale green and pink flower-print shirt and makes it look good? So rock star. So gorgeous. Ugh. How does he look at that face in the mirror every morning?

Maybe he didn’t like it, that’s why he was slowly frying himself alive?

I continued to side-eye the sunbathing vampire. Maybe he liked the bad? Maybe he was punishing himself? No, do not go there. I didn’t need to get involved.

I went back to my work, finished up, packed the gear, and stored it back in the shed behind the pool house. When I came back out, he was still there.