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And, there’s everything else lurking in the background.
As I open my eyes, my gaze drifts toward the house. That's when I see him. Austin. He's standing just inside, his piercing blue eyes locked on me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
The heat in his stare is unmistakable, a stark contrast to his usually cold demeanor. It's as if he's undressing me with his eyes, and suddenly, I'm acutely aware of every inch of my body beneath the water's surface.
"Enjoying the view, Mr. Rhodes?" I call out, my voice steadier than I feel.
He doesn't respond, but his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. I can't help but remember our last encounter by this pool, when he caught me skinny-dipping. The memory sends a wave of heat through me that has nothing to do with the warm summer day.
Emboldened by the distance between us and the shield of the water, I decide to push his buttons. I maintain eye contact as I reach for the strap of my bikini top, toying with it between my fingers.
"You know," I say, my voice low and teasing, "I could give you a repeat performance of the other day. No one else is around."
I let the strap slip down my shoulder, revealing just a hint more skin. Austin's eyes follow the movement, his gaze darkening. For a moment, I think he might actually take me up on my offer. But then he turns abruptly, disappearing into the house without a word.
I'm left alone in the pool, my heart racing. What am I doing? This is my employer, for crying out loud. But the way he looks at me...it makes me feel things I shouldn't. Things I can't afford to feel.
The sliding glass door opens again, and I instinctively pull my bikini strap back into place. But it's not Austin who emerges—it's Cohen. My stomach does a little flip as he approaches the pool, his tattooed arms on full display in a fitted t-shirt.
"Hey," he calls out, his deeper blue eyes scanning the yard. "Where are the kids?"
I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice neutral. "Birdie took them to see her butterfly garden. They should be back soon."
Cohen nods, then settles into one of the lounge chairs near the pool's edge. I can feel his gaze on me, and it takes everything I have not to squirm under its weight.
"How are they doing?" he asks. "Lucas mentioned something about a new game you taught them."
"They're doing well," I reply, my tone clipped. "And yeah, just a simple card game to keep them busy."
I watch him from the corner of my eye, searching for any hint that he remembers our weekend in Vegas. But his face remains frustratingly neutral, almost carefully so.
"That's good," he says, leaning back in the chair. "They seem to really like you."
I shrug, treading water. "Kids are easy. It's the adults that complicate things."
Cohen raises an eyebrow at that, and I wonder if I've said too much. But instead of pressing, he just chuckles softly.
"Fair point," he concedes.
We lapse into silence, and I can't help but think about how different this is from our time in Vegas. Back then, we couldn't stop talking—or doing other things with our mouths. Now, every word feels like a potential landmine.
Is he fucking with me? I wonder, studying his relaxed posture. Does he really not remember, or is this some kind of game?
Cohen shifts in his chair, his eyes suddenly taking on a more serious glint. "So, Skylar," he begins, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of curiosity, "Theo mentioned you two have some history."
My body tenses involuntarily, and I sink a little lower in the water, grateful for its coolness against my suddenly flushed skin. "Did he now?" I keep my voice neutral, but inside, my heart is racing.
"Yeah," Cohen continues, seemingly oblivious to my discomfort. "He didn't go into details. So, anyone serious in your life now?"
I let out a short, humorless laugh. "Serious? No, not since Theo." I pause, debating whether to continue. Screw it. Let's see how he reacts. "I did have this amazing weekend in Vegas last year, but he probably doesn't even remember it."
My eyes lock onto Cohen's face, searching for any flicker of recognition. My heart pounds so loudly I'm sure he can hear it echoing across the water. For a split second, I swear I see something flash in his eyes—surprise? Guilt? But it's gone so quickly I can't be sure it was ever there.
It hurts that he doesn’t remember. But, at the same time, I can’t exactly fault him. Neither of us shared our names—we did that on purpose. And while he looked like he does now, I had looked different. Full makeup, shorter hair, and thanks to the bride’s demands, a temporary dye job that left me with bright bubblegum pink strands for the bachelorette party weekend.
I tell myself it’s better this way, that it’s a sign our weekend was meant to stay in the past. But as Cohen's gaze lingers on me, a shadow of something unreadable in his expression, I realize—maybe it’s not just the past I should be worried about.
Chapter 12