Page 59 of Emmett
“How big is this place?” I finally ask.
“Fifteen thousand and some change.”
“Christ,” I breathe. “That’s a lot of space for one guy. Don’t you get lonely in here?”
“It isn’t just me,” he shrugs, and my eyebrow arches in response. “There’s almost always someone on staff here. They rotate out.”
“Staff?” I scoff. “Nash. You havestaff?For yourhouse?”
He almost looks like he’s shocked that I would ask such an incredibly stupid question. “Well, of course I do. I can’t take care of this place by myself.”
“Oh my god.” I pinch the bridge of my nose with a laugh and tell him, “The point is so close and you’re still missing it. That’s why you get a smaller place.”
“You won’t say that when you see the pool. Come on.” He turns to his dog, who sits faithfully nearby. “Moose, go to bed.”
I watch as the dog diligently does exactly as he’s told; he turns on his four little paws and traipses out of the room, seemingly headed straight for bed. Are dogs supposed to have a bedtime?
I follow Nash back through the main floor of the house, behind the curved staircase and through the mudroom to a large door that leads to what I believe to be the back yard. The pool takes up most of the space, bordered by stones of varying size and shade. At the far end of it sits a massive stonewaterfall, and a path leads to a recessed lounge which sits at the center of the pool, complete with couches, a small bar, and an unlit fire pit. The water in the pool surrounding it is so blue that it practically glows.
“This is your happy place.”
It’s the only place on the property that truly has any life to it. He probably spends most of his free time out here – except for the time that he’s been spending with me, the realization of which tugs at something in my chest, leaving an ache in its place.
“Come on,” Nash tells me, smacking me on the ass. “Strip.” I watch as he slips off his jacket and unbuttons his shirt, peeling it off and dropping it in the grass next to him. “It’s heated,” he promises with a wink.
He reaches for the buckle of his belt and I play catch-up, shrugging off my suit jacket and stripping off the shirt beneath it. The quiet of our disrobing is almost intimate, and it isn’t until we’re both standing in our underwear and headed for the water that he finally touches my skin, pressing a warm hand between my shoulder blades to guide me into the pool.
The water is warm and relaxing, lapping against my body as I step further into it until I’m covered up to my chest.
“None of this was here when I bought the property,” Nash explains. “It was all just empty land back here. It took a year of planning and another two to get it finished once I knew what I wanted.”
“It was your passion project,” I smile. “It’s really beautiful, Nash.”
The water is his safety net, just like it is mine.
It brings him life, while it makes me want to fight for mine.
He slides into the pool, looking like a fucking modern day Poseidon, and he moves closer to me. My mouth quirks to the side as I glide further away, staying just out of his reach and making him follow me.
Our little game of cat and mouse comes to an end near the recessed lounge when Nash catches up to me and pushes my back against the wall of it.
His hand snakes around the back of my neck, squeezing, and he brings himself in to meet my lips with his. I smile against his mouth and he moves his hand just slightly to trace his fingers along the side of my neck, tickling me, and I can’t help but break away from him to laugh.
“Let me get someone out here to make us some drinks,” he tells me.
“From the bar right behind us,” I chortle. “Have youevermade your own drink? Actually, don’t answer that.”
I slide past him and out of the pool to pull my phone from the pocket of my discarded slacks before making my way toward the small bar. Crouching behind it, I pull out the bottles of liquor and mixers, reaching into the mini fridge beneath it to get a lime.
“What are you doing?” Nash asks, resting his arms over the wall of the lounge.
“Get your ass in here,” I tell him. “You’re gonna make your own drink.”
“I don’t know what I want. My staff usually surprise me.”
I pull open the web browser on my phone and punch in a search before opening a webpage full of recipes. “Well would you look at that,” I tease him, “all I had to do was type in ‘classic cocktail recipes’ and there are about fifty different pages for it. I didn’t need staff or anything.”
“You’re a real smart aleck,” he teases as he climbs out of the water and into the lounge.