Chapter 2: The European Cut
The guest room smelled of cedar chips and regret. Will unzipped his duffel bag like he was dismantling a bomb. On the neatly made bed, a tiny scrap of electric blue fabric lay folded with theatrical precision. The "European" trunks. He picked them up. They were basically a Speedo with commitment issues. The lining was suspiciously thin.
From the backyard, he could hear the low groan of the hot tub’s jets kicking on, followed by the splash of water and Bunny’s audible, pleasurable sigh.
“You alive in there, kid?” Her voice, muffled through the walls, was a taunt.
“Almost!” he called back, his own voice cracking. He stripped off his jeans and t-shirt, his pale, lanky frame reflected in the dark windowpane. He looked like a question mark rendered in flesh. With a grimace, he shimmied into the blue trunks. They were worse than he’d imagined—tight, high-cut on the thighs, leaving his legs looking like blanched asparagus. He grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist like a shield, and took a fortifying breath of mildewed air.
The back patio was a riot of neglect. Sun-bleached wicker furniture was being swallowed by aggressive hydrangeas. In the center, the hot tub churned, its water a chemical, neon blue. And there she was.
Bunny was submerged to her shoulders, her arms stretched out along the rim. The white bikini was an act of engineering defiance. The top, two tiny triangles, strained against the volumetric pressure beneath. The bottoms were sheer white fabric stretched taut over the dramatic, shelf-like curve of her hips. Her makeup was still perfect. A unlit cigar and a frosty salt-rimmed glass sat on the edge beside her.
“There’s my boy,” she drawled, her eyes sliding from his face down to the towel and back up. “Lose the cape. Get in. Water’s just right.”
Will’s legs felt mechanical. He dropped the towel on a damp chair, kept his eyes on a cracked patio stone, and moved forward. The air was thick with the smell of her perfume, now mingling with chlorine and the sweet, cloying scent of the hydrangeas. He stepped over the edge, the hot water shocking his skin. He sank quickly, sitting on the opposite bench, putting as much bubbling water between them as possible.
“See? Isn’t this nice?” She smiled, sipping her drink. “A little civilized relaxation. You want a margarita? It’s mostly tequila.”
“I’m good,” Will mumbled, pushing his glasses up his nose. They immediately fogged.
“Suit yourself.” She adjusted her position, a slow, deliberate motion that made the water slosh. Her knee brushed against his under the foam. He jerked his leg back as if shocked. Her smile widened. “So. Tell me everything. Any little girlfriends waiting for you back home?”
Will stared at the jets. “Not really.”
“‘Not really’ is a ‘no.’” She clicked her tongue. “Those girls your age, they don’t know what they want. All phones and attitude. No… appreciation.” She let the word sink into the steam. “It’s a shame. A handsome, smart boy like you.”
He almost laughed. Handsome. Right.
“You’re in luck, though,” she continued, her voice dropping to that conspiratorial purr. She leaned forward slightly. The water level dipped, revealing more of the dizzying topography the bikini pretended to cover. “This neighborhood is just packed with women who’ve been around the block. Who know how to treat a man. Who aren’t afraid of… experience.” Her eyes locked on his. “Most of ‘em look just like me, sugar. Maybe a few more miles on the odometer, but the same classic model.”
Will’s mouth was desert-dry. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say. The bubbling water felt suffocating.
Bunny watched him squirm, her expression one of rapt enjoyment. She took another slow sip, then set the glass down with a definitive click. “You’re nervous. That’s sweet.” She moved then, not across the tub, but simply shifting her weight, turning more fully towards him. The water swayed. A powerful, musky, deeply organic scent cut through the chlorine and perfume—an earthy, unmistakable smell of female arousal. It was blunt and overwhelming.
“Don’t be,” she said, her husky voice barely above the rumble of the jets. Her foot found his under the water, the pressure light but insistently present. “Consider this your summer curriculum. Theory and… practical application.”
She let the statement hang in the humid air between them, a stark, undeniable proposition. The neon water bubbled. A bee drunkenly bumped against the halo of her blonde hair. Will felt completely paralyzed, his heart hammering against his ribs, trapped in the warm, scented blue water with a woman who was dismantling his world one loaded sentence at a time. The only sound was the mechanical churn of the pump and the faint, wet slide of her foot against his calf.