“And how old is this rich girl? Don’t let her make you feel like you’re below her, mija.” She means well when she says these sorts of things but half the time they hurt. I don’t think like she does, like everyone looks down their noses at us. But she says a few things and boom I’m worried. Self-conscious.
I don’t like it.
“She’s around my age.” I have no clue how old Mr. GQ is. I’d guess early twenties like me. “And she’s really nice. I know she won’t make me feel like the maid or anything like that.”
“Good because if she found out you are the maid…”
“But I’m not. I’m the house sitter. Big difference,” I say tightly, hating how she puts me down. How she puts herself down. “Mama, there’s no shame in your profession. You work hard. Don’t let that trip you up.”
“I work hard for you. All of this, working two jobs, socking away every dime I made, is for you, Luciana.” Oh, she’s busted out the full name now, trying to make me feel guilty.
It’s working.
“I know, Mama.” My throat gets tight and I try to clear it. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” I repeat, ending the call before she says something else and keeps talking for another twenty minutes. I don’t have any time to waste.
I have a boy to dress for. And I have no clue what to wear.
I press on the doorbell. Lean on it really and it seems to go on forever, all of these chimes and bells that are like a damn song. I start to chuckle, shove my hands into the back waistband of my swim trunks and tilt my head back to stare up at the ceiling of the front porch.
But yeah. That makes my head spin so I stop.
She doesn’t answer the door and I wonder if she’s mad because I’m late. No one does and I figured a house this big would have a servant or five. I step close and peer through the narrow, clear glass window that runs the length of the door but there’s no movement within.
Disappointment crashes inside me. The most beautiful girl in the world with the hottest ass I’ve never touched is ditching me? No fucking way. She was the one bright spot that got me through the shitty country club dinner I had to attend with the family earlier. Mom got invited by some snobby bitch she met at the beach and next thing I knew we were all swept up and going along with her dinner plan.
There was a girl there. About my age with perfect blonde hair and fake tanned skin and pretty blue eyes. The daughter of my mom’s new friends, I had to sit next to her, make small talk, pretend I was interested.
All the while I could only think of Lucy. Pretty little Lucy with the bikini top that barely contained her spectacular rack, and the dazzling smile that just about blinded me. Oh and that sassy yet cute attitude. She’s adorable.
I scrub a hand over my face and rest my hands on my hips, contemplating my next move. I know I’m freaking late when she told me specifically not to be. She’s probably pissed but damn it, I couldn’t help it. I don’t even have her cell number.
I need to rectify that. Stat.
Giving up on the doorbell, I start knocking. As in, I don’t stop. I’m annoying. And a little drunk. Okay, maybe just buzzed. I’m harmless. I needed to have a few beers and a couple of shots of tequila to get through the shitty dinner. And now I want to see Lucy. I’m desperate to see her and apologize. Offer to make it up to her. In any way possible.
I can come up with all sorts of ways I could make up my being late to her…
The giant door swings open and I’m greeted with icy cold silence. Lucy stands there, looking small in the overly grand foyer, her arms crossed in front of her chest, her chin lifted with a hint of impatience. Her hair is down, falling past her shoulders in long, glossy black waves. She’s wearing a bright red T-shirt and white shorts that are super short.
Like really short. Showing off a pair of thighs I can imagine putting my hands on as I spread her wide…
Mind out of gutter, asshole. Focus!
“You’re late,” she says, sounding disappointed.
Which is way worse than mad. Mad I can deal with. I can charm my way out of mad all the time. Disappointed?
Yeah, not as easy.
“Sorry, I, ah, had to go to dinner with my parents and it ran late.” I rub a hand along my jaw, trying to push past the dizziness that threatens. All from the beers—and the two shots of tequila—that I consumed earlier. Stupid.
Really, really stupid.
Her gaze flickers down. Along my chest, my stomach, landing on my legs. My swim trunk covered legs. “You look ready for a swim.”
“You have a hot tub, right?” I smile at her. My most winning smile. The one that usually gets me out of every bad situation but this time, I don’t think it’s gonna work. I’ve blown it before I even got my chance.
“Yeah,” she starts and I don’t hesitate. Don’t give her a chance to say no or shut the door in my face.
I push inside the house, causing her to step back with a startled look on her face and I close the door for her, turning the lock. It snicks into place with a resounding click and I turn to smile at her, pushing my hand through my hair as I glance around the house. “Well, after the night I’ve had, a good, long soak in a hot tub sounds like heaven.” Not to mention having a pretty girl to soak in the tub along with me.
Though I don’t say that. From the look she’s giving me, I figure I’d lose points for saying it versus gain any.
“You want to go in the hot tub?” She glances from me to the front door, back to me again. “Um…I don’t have on my suit.”