Chapter 1: The Poolside Welcome
The hinges on the backyard gate screamed a familiar, rusted protest as Julian pushed it open. The sound was a key turning in a lock he hadn’t touched in years, releasing a flood of chlorine-heavy air and the low hum of the neighbor’s lawnmower.
She was right there.
Lorraine Vance lay stretched on a faded blue lounge chair, a striped beach towel beneath her. The sun was brutal, high and white, and it loved her. It gleamed on oiled skin, on the gold clasp of a bikini top that was more suggestion than garment, on the long sweep of her legs. Her eyes were hidden behind oversized sunglasses, but her mouth, painted a soft pink, curved into a smile before she even turned her head.
“Baby,” she said, the word lazy and warm as honey. “You’re late.”
Julian’s duffel bag suddenly felt like an anchor. He couldn’t move his feet. He’d braced himself for this, for her, during the entire three-hour drive. But the mental rehearsal dissolved like sugar in water. The reality was her body, unabashed and glistening, and the dizzying scent of coconut sunscreen mixed with her perfume, something gardenia-sweet that clung to the thick air.
“Traffic,” he managed, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat. “Hey, Mom.”
She sat up in one fluid motion, the movement causing the triangles of her top to shift precariously. She didn’t adjust them. Instead, she pushed the sunglasses up into her mass of blonde hair, and her eyes, the same clear green as his own, appraised him. “You look thin. Are you eating?”
“I eat.” He shifted his weight.
“Well, come here.” She stood, unfolding herself from the chair. The bikini bottoms were just as minimalist, riding high on her hips. She opened her arms, a beatific, welcoming smile on her face. “Don’t be a stranger.”
It was a hug he couldn’t refuse. A landmine wrapped in affection. He took two stiff steps forward and let her embrace him. Her skin was hot from the sun, slick with oil. The soft, full press of her against his chest, the way her arms locked around his neck—it was overwhelming. He held his breath, his own arms coming up to pat her back awkwardly, his hands hovering just above the bare skin of her waist.
She held on a second too long, sighing contentedly before pulling back, her hands sliding down to grip his biceps. “God, it’s so good to see you. It’s been what, two years?”
“Three,” he corrected, his eyes darting past her to the calm, blue rectangle of the pool.
“Three.” She tsked, finally releasing him. She picked up a tall glass of iced tea from a small table, the condensation dripping onto the concrete. “My fault. Your fault. Everyone’s fault. Water under the bridge, okay? You’re here now. That’s what matters.” She took a sip, looking at him over the rim.
“You must be roasting in those jeans,” she said, her gaze dropping to his dark denim-clad legs. “Go put your bag in your old room. I’ll get you a drink. We’ll catch up.”
She turned, picking up her towel and glass. “Come on, sweetie.”
She led him toward the sliding screen door. Her sandals made a soft slap against the wet concrete around the pool. She walked ahead of him, and the motion was deliberate, unhurried. The string ties of her bikini bottoms sat snug in the deep crease where her thighs met her hips. With each step, the rounded flesh of her ass, barely contained by the scant fabric, jiggled gently. It was a full, frank view, offered without a backward glance.
Julian’s throat went dry. He couldn’t not look. It was a car crash in slow motion—a horrible, mesmerizing violation he committed with his own eyes. He dragged his gaze up to the back of her head, to the messy blonde bun, but it always snapped back down, pulled by a gravity he hated.
She pulled the screen door open with a metallic shriek and stepped into the dim, cool living room. She knew. He was sure of it. There was a certain awareness in the set of her shoulders, a barely-there pause as she crossed the threshold that dared him to keep watching. But she acted as if she didn’t. She tossed her towel over the back of a worn plaid sofa and padded barefoot toward the kitchen, her hips swaying.
“Make yourself at home,” she called over her shoulder, her voice echoing slightly in the tiled space. “It’s still your home, you know.”
He stood frozen in the doorway, the bright outdoor world at his back, this shadowed, familiar space before him. It smelled of lemon polish and the faint, forever-damp scent of the pool filter. And her.
He forced his legs to move, crossing to the hallway that led to the bedrooms. His old room was exactly as he’d left it at seventeen, a museum of his adolescence. The duffel bag hit the floor with a thud.
When he returned to the living room, she was by the kitchen counter, squeezing a lime into a fresh glass of iced tea. She had not put on a robe. She had not wrapped herself in the towel. She stood at the counter, one foot perched on its toe, the line of her body a long, unbroken curve from her heel to the nape of her neck.
“So,” she said, handing him the cold glass. Their fingers brushed. “Tell me everything. How’s school? Are you seeing anyone?” She leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms beneath her breasts, a movement that lifted and accentuated them. Her eyes were bright with genuine interest, but her posture was a performance. It was a question about his life, asked while her entire physical being screamed a different, more primal conversation.
He took a gulp of tea, the tart lime shocking his system. “School’s fine. Just finals. And no. Not really.”
“Not really?” she pressed, smiling. “That’s not a no.” She uncrossed her arms and reached for her own glass, turning slightly to set it down. The profile view was just as deliberate. The swell of her breast, the flat plane of her stomach, the dip of her waist. She was flaunting herself, and she was doing it under the gentle, oblivious cover of maternal concern. “You’re a handsome guy, Julian. You shouldn’t be lonely.”
“I’m not lonely,” he said, too quickly. The words felt trapped in the thick, air-conditioned air. He was pinned there, in the middle of the shag carpet, holding a drink he didn’t want, answering questions while his mind short-circuited trying to find a safe place to rest his eyes. There was none. Everywhere was her.
She nodded slowly, a knowing little smile playing on her lips. She pushed off from the counter and took a step toward him, closing the distance. The space between them crackled with a heat that had nothing to do with the sun outside.