The Pool Boy (Nashville Neighborhood 2)

It meant the building was an oversized storage shed where we kept all the pool supplies and Christmas decorations. For a brief time after Clark had moved out, I’d considered turning it into a studio, but it didn’t make financial sense. Eventually, I would realize the house was too big for me, and if I were going to invest in it, a guest house was more practical.

My flip-flops slapped against the concrete patio as I carried my margarita, my phone, and a towel tucked under my arm toward the loungers. It didn’t take me long to spread out the towel and get situated on it, and then I was sipping my drink and slipping in my earbuds.

It’d been a hard ten months, but my broken heart and wounded pride had slowly healed as I’d settled into my new normal. In fact, other than the holidays, my life hadn’t changed all that much. Clark had begun fading from my life before I’d realized it. Now that it was done, perhaps the most shocking part was just how quickly he’d discarded two decades with me and moved on.

You should do the same, Jenna would tell me.

I adjusted my sunglasses, settled back in the chair, and tapped the ‘play’ icon on the screen of my phone.

I finished listening to the demos around the same time I finished my margarita, and after I fetched a refill, there were emails to be answered. I managed bookings for several of the artists at our agency and did everything from scheduling and negotiating payment, to writing up artists’ preferences and making sure those riders were provided to the events.

As I worked, the shade from the pool house began to recede. It was late enough in the day I hadn’t bothered with sunscreen anywhere other than on my face, so maybe I’d get a little color.

My phone rang, and Ardy’s name flashed on the screen.

“Hi,” I said, suddenly feeling guilty that I was day drinking. I was by no means drunk, but the tequila made me feel loose and smiley.

“Hey,” he responded. “We’re working up an idea, and I need you to hit the ground running with it.”

“Yeah?” I sat up and pressed my lips together. Don’t sound buzzed, Erika.

“For Stella’s final show of the tour, she wants to do something special. She got her start here in Nashville, so she wants to pay it forward. She’s hoping to audition some locals and pick one to be her opening act that night. Johnny from her promo team was thinking we could shoot the talent scouting as a web series and have her fans help her choose the winner.”

Not that Ardy could see me, but I nodded along with the idea. But, abruptly, I stopped. “Wait, she’s already on tour. She’s got—what? Fourteen shows left?”

“Eighteen, yeah.” Ardy sighed. “Which is why I need you and everyone else at Warbler to run with this. We’ve got less than two months to pull it off.”

My brain churned with prospects. “What are the requirements?”

“Obviously, we’re looking for talent who’s going to appeal to her audience, but no other constraints. Male or female, band or solo artist, it doesn’t matter to her. You got someone in mind?”

“I have a few ideas, yeah.”

“Great.” I could hear the relief in his voice. “Get me a bunch more by Friday, and we’ll pitch Stella before she leaves for Atlanta.”

When our discussion was over, I immediately went to the Dropbox folder with all my clients’ work and took a listen with an ear toward Stella’s sound.

The sun was hot, and I wondered what kind of tan lines this swimsuit was going to give me if I wasn’t careful. It was a halter top, and that wouldn’t be flattering.

You can’t get tan lines if you’re not wearing anything.

It had to be the liquor that caused the thought. But . . . Dr. Lowe wasn’t in his backyard, and I was obscured from his view anyway by the pool house. I grinned shyly to myself. There was something so freeing about the idea of topless sunbathing. Empowering. Like my desire to go skinny dipping last year, the thought excited me.

Maybe someday I’d even be comfortable enough to go to a nude beach.

Baby steps, the practical side of my mind scolded.

I glanced around, even as I knew no one could see me, and undid the hook behind my neck. The straps tumbled free, exposing my breasts, then I undid the second hook behind my back, before dropping my bikini top over the side of my chair.

I was so happy with the results of my surgery. My breasts were fuller, but still looked natural. My incisions had healed, the scars had already faded to a soft pink, and by this time next year, they’d likely be invisible. Even if I was the only person to ever see my new chest, it was worth it.