The Pool Boy (Nashville Neighborhood 2)

The U2 cover I’d done was up-tempo and energetic, but Erika’s song was deep and deliberate. Even if I wasn’t in a relationship with the songwriter, it was likely I’d have felt a connection to the lyrics. Who couldn’t relate to feeling like they were under someone’s spell?

Like my performance at the Opry House, I was calm and in command. Erika wasn’t here physically, but I felt her all around. She seeped through the music and sang the lyrics with me as a duet in my head. I barely checked in with the screen to see how I was doing.

I got lost in the song. Every time I’d sung it before, Erika had been beside me, and I’d leashed my intensity. I didn’t have to worry about scaring her off now, so there was nothing to lose. I played and sang my fucking heart out, feeling every lyric in the marrow of my bones.

Was it a cliché to say I put it all out there? When I closed the song, I was spent and drained. It’d taken everything I had emotionally to get through it, and my voice broke on the final word. When I lifted my hand from the strings, my gaze went to the phone propped up on the cabinet across the way.

Stella had her hand tucked under her chin, and a slow smile worked across her lips. “Yes,” she breathed. “Now I know who you are. Thank you, Troy.”

My chest was still tight with unexpected emotion, so I pressed a hand to it, trying to work the knot loose. “Of course. Thanks for letting me play it for you.”

“I need to talk to Ardy again and discuss some things, but as soon as I’ve made my decision, you’ll know. Okay?”

I nodded, even though my head felt like it was filled with bees. “Sounds good.”

“All right, thanks.” She gave a wave. “Have a great day.”

“Yeah, you too—” I started, but she was already gone.

EIGHTEEN

Erika

The gym where Troy worked was decorated in burnt orange and black, and had a warehouse feel. It was so different from the one I went to. It was serious, and I suspected the big bros on the floor would be there all day, hogging the machines.

I stood in the lobby and watched Troy through the glass, because not only was I a visitor, I was wearing my favorite hot pink heels. They’d brought me luck in the past, so I figured it couldn’t hurt Troy’s chances of getting picked.

He didn’t notice me. He wore a black tank top with the gym’s orange logo stretched across his chest, and as he called out the exercises to the class of people on the mat, I wondered how much money it’d cost if I switched gyms. He had the same confidence leading the group as he had on stage.

A cute guy approached me and flashed a smile. He was wearing the same black shirt Troy had on and a name badge that read ‘Colin.’ He looked vaguely familiar, but then again, he had the college frat boy look to him, so that was probably all it was.

“You interested in our lunchtime burn class?” he asked.

“Oh, no thank you. I’m actually not a member.” I motioned through the glass. “I’m just waiting for Troy.”

He looked at me critically, like he was worried I was some stalker fan. I was about to tell him I was Troy’s manager, when Colin’s expression shifted. He snapped his fingers and then pointed at me with honest-to-God finger guns. “Ms. Graham?”

I went rigid. How the hell did this kid know me?

Oh my God.

Had Troy told him about us? I was uncomfortable at the idea of this stranger knowing, but sort of excited because that meant Troy was talking about me, and wasn’t embarrassed for people to know he was dating an older woman.

Whatever face I’d made, it was enough confirmation for Colin. His friendly demeanor snapped back into place. “You live next door to Preston Lowe.”

“Yes.” Relief washed through me in a wave. Colin looked familiar because I had seen him before. Every summer, he spent tons of time hanging out in Dr. Lowe’s pool with Preston and Troy.

I returned his easy smile. “I’m also Troy’s manager.”

“Yup.”

Was I imagining the knowing look in Colin’s eyes? He gazed back like he was in on some private joke with me. It made my mouth go dry.

He knew.

“Right.” I tried not to sound flustered. “How much longer is the class?”

He glanced down at his smartwatch. “Just another minute or two. Is it important? You want me to go get him?”

“No, no, it’s fine.”

My focus drifted back to the man on the other side of the glass. He rested his hands on his hips, flaunting his powerfully toned arms, and I was struck by how much had changed for me in such a short time. It wasn’t a lifetime ago when I’d hidden behind the curtains in my living room, watching him through the window as he cleaned my pool—but it felt like it.