Page 3 of Just the Pool Boy at Vampire Mansion

It couldn’t be healthy for him.

This was the part where I should leave. Not my problem. But Google said him staying there was a bad idea. If I left now, I’d spend the rest of the day wondering if the news might announce that the Witherborne heir had done something stupid.

Why else was he sunbathing, if he wasn’t torturing himself?

I had to give it one more shot. And if he brushed me off, then I was done. At least I’d have tried.

I stopped at his side again, peering down. Little beads of sweat glistened on his chest now. “Hey, man, so uh . . . whatever this is, can you maybe do it on a different day?”

He snorted and kept his hand over his eyes. “I’m not your problem, pool boy.”

“I get that. Told myself that too. But I’ve seen you, and if something happens to you out here, then I’m on the hook, an’ I really don’t need the heat right now.”

“I’m so sorry my untimely death will be inconvenient.”

Really, was that what this was, or was he being dramatic? I planted a hand on my hip and squinted across the pool, torn between leaving now or staying and talking Theo Witherborne off a ledge. “You got a phone?”

He peeled his hand off his sweaty forehead, squinted at me, and frowned.

I flicked my fingers, urging him to get his phone out.

He dug into his pocket, unlocked his phone, and handed it over. “You putting your number in there?”

“No. I’m putting a number for a therapist in here. He’s good. You should call him.”

He barked a sharp laugh. “You’re giving me your therapist’s number?”

“Sounds like you need it, buddy.” I finished typing the number into his contacts and held the phone out for him to take back.

He looked at the phone, then flicked his gaze up. He jerked his chin. “Put your number in there.”

“What?”

“Go on. In the contacts. Under Pool Boy.”

I half laughed him off. “Why?”

His smile tucked into his cheek. “So I can text you my deepest, darkest secrets at two a.m.”

“Uh, yeah, no. Not doing that.” I waved his phone at him.

He snatched it back. “Wow, so cold. Here I am, crying for help, and you kick me to the gutter. Brutal.”

I chuckled. “Whatever, man. You don’t need my number. Get some help, alright? I need this job.”

He tucked his phone back into his pocket, then looked up at me. “What if I pay you to be my therapist?”

“You want me to listen to how terrible your rich boy life is? Can’t help you there. I look after pools, not people.”

“Right.” He saluted and waved me off. “Go away, then.”

Shaking my head, I left him on the lounger and headed for the path that weaved around the side of the house and back toward the front driveway.

“Hey, pool boy?”

Should have kept on walking.

I didn’t, though, did I? No. I stopped, looked over my shoulder. He’d sat up, legs straddling the lounger, shielding his eyes, and something about him sitting there with the vast mansion looming behind him made him seem small and alone, and even though he smiled, that smile held an edge of sadness that hadn’t been there before. Damn the handsome ones. They got me every time. I sighed and turned. “Yeah?”