Page 28 of Beach Reads: Three Summer Scorchers

When I tell people I’m a mermaid, they think I’m crazy. Then they see my employee badge from the aquarium, and the shimmering fabric tail slung over my shoulder, and they relax.

Not crazy… just water-mad.

I love to swim. To surf and dive. To choreograph synchronized swim dances; to paddle at the beach; to jump and whoop in the waves. My job is a dream—I get to spend my whole day dipping my fabric fins in the water tanks, and slipping down beneath the surface to swirl and play with the fish.

More than anything, though, I love to float.

Sounds kind of boring, right?

Wrong .

In the apartment complex where I live with my sister, there’s a big community pool. The apartments loom up on all sides, towering over the turquoise waters, and people sit out on their balconies, waving fans at their flushed, sticky cheeks.

It’s hot here. So hot I toss and turn at night, my limbs burning with all the energy I’ve soaked up from the sun. But the water in that pool is cool, gliding like silk over my blushing skin. When I dip in so much as a toe, I sigh.

My sister can’t believe I like to swim after work. It’s what I spend all day doing, after all. But I belong on the water, and nowhere else feels like home, so every day after dinner, I change into a fresh bikini and head down to that pool.

My flip-flops slap against the stairs. I’ve got a glossy fashion magazine, my sunglasses perched on my head, and a chilled bottle of soda sweating under one arm.

And I know, as sure as I know my own name, that when I get down there…

He’ll be there.

The caretaker.

He minds the pool and the apartments. Fixes the leaks; changes the locks. He’s the security guard and handyman, all rolled into one, and his office is right by the pool. His window looks out over the water.

Over me.

“Are you going to stare at him again?” Olivia asks as I leave, jiggling my key in our sticky lock. I poke my tongue out at her over my shoulder, but I don’t deny it.

Yes. I’m going to stare at him.

We’re going to stare at each other.

The thing you have to know about the caretaker is that he’s out of place.

He’s nothing like the other men around here, with their slicked-back hair and fitted shirts.

The caretaker is rough and wild, completely unpolished.

Seeing his big, scarred bulk, with his muscles and his beard and the hard set to his mouth—seeing him by the pristine white tiles and sparkling turquoise water is… unsettling.

Like seeing a tiger stalking down the street.

Or a bear at the beach.

You get the picture.

And every time he limps past the water’s edge, carrying a toolbox or a ladder, I go completely still on my float. There’s nothing but the gentle slosh of water and my quick, shallow breaths. Just the sight of him makes my belly tighten. Makes heat and slickness build between my thighs.

The caretaker is a sight to behold.

He pretends not to look at me too, and for a long time I believed it. I thought I was all alone in my fascination with him, and that he didn’t know I was alive. It made my chest ache, feeling that lonely. Having my body light up for someone who didn’t look back.

But two weeks ago, I caught him. I saw his dark eyes flick in my direction, saw his tongue flick out and wet his lip. As I watched, a bulge grew in his pants, and lord, I nearly trembled right off my float.

So now I know. The caretaker is not so blind to me as he pretends. And if he looked at me like that even one time… he could do it again.

I could tempt him. Oh, I want to, ever so badly.

My sister’s voice rings in my head as I stroll across the paved courtyard. He must be forty! He’s twice your age! He’s too scary, Elsie!

Even here, in the shadows of the buildings, it’s so hot the air bakes my lungs. Most people are inside, sheltering in the AC, or lazing on their balconies, listening to quiet strains of radio.

The pool is empty. I’m alone.

I risk a glance at his office window as I make my way past to the loungers. It’s dim inside, the blinds all the way down.

He could be watching right now, and I’d never know. The thought sends shivers over my bare skin.

I drop my rolled-up towel on a lounger. Slide my sunglasses down to rest on my nose. Then I crack the top of my soda bottle and take a long, thirsty sip.

My throat bobs as I watch the caretaker’s window out of the corner of my eye. The blind twitches.

Yes.

He’s here.

He’s watching. My nipples bead under my bikini, hardening into little points. It’s shameless, the way they stick out under the fabric, but even though I blush, I don’t cross my arms. I want him to see them. I want him to see all of me.

My float rests against one wall, propped behind a lounger where I store it every night. Sometimes the neighborhood kids swipe it, play on it, then stuff it back like I won’t know, but I don’t mind. I’m glad they’re having fun.

But I’m relieved now to find it fully inflated and intact. It lolls against the wall, the hot pink plastic warm to the touch. The corner whispers over the paving stones as I drag it to the edge of the pool.

Up… and down. The float always flies up so easily as I swing it over the water, like it might catch a breeze and whip away. Then it drifts down, settling on to the rippling surface.

Home sweet home.

I’m good at this part. Getting on gracefully.

I never used to be—I used to topple in half the time, splashing and spluttering—but the aquarium has made me slick.

Practiced. I slide onto the float, my drink and magazine tucked under one arm, the inflatable dipping under my weight, and I barely make a ripple as I do it.

I push off from the edge. Spin into the center, stretching out my legs and crossing my ankles. I spread the magazine out on my stomach, ready to read, and wedge my soda down by my hip.

The water carries me. Holds me aloft, like an offering to an ancient god. And I sigh, the tension seeping from my muscles as I melt down onto the float.

I’m here. He’s here. We’re together again, even with the glass of his window and thirty feet of tiles separating us.

Feeling his eyes on me is the best balm to my soul. I tip my head back, close my eyes, and smile.

* * *

Check out Pool Girl , or go straight to the whole Long Hot Summer collection!

xxx