Besides that, though, I know very little. That’s partially my own fault, as I haven’t pried. Sure, she told me her last name was “Parker” but I resisted googling her. After all, there are probably hundreds of Laurie Parkers in New York alone, and besides, most homeless people barely have a digital presence. A Google search probably wouldn’t reveal anything.
Besides, we all have skeletons in our closets. Maybe I’ll find out that she’s been staying in homeless shelters since she was a child. Maybe she’s kited checks in the past or scammed the system for food stamps. But I’m going to wait for her to tell me these things because that’s how it has to be between a couple. I can’t exactly turn her upside down and see what drops out of her pockets.
The problem is that I want to know more about Laurie. Her favorite food. The type of music she likes most. Who her childhood friends were. Her hopes, her dreams, her expectations, and her fears. I want to know more about her family, and to crack the shell to reveal the pearl within. She’s wonderful, and I want to tell her that she doesn’t have to hide in front of me. Not me, ever.
Most importantly, I want to know how she ended up on the streets. I know it’s a rude question, and I’m never going to ask it, or even try to charm it out of her. It would be overly dramatic to say that it haunts me, but it does certainly occupy a good percentage of my thoughts because what could have driven such a gorgeous, giving girl to life in the shelters? On some level, I know it has to be something really bad. A drug habit? A criminal record? But on another level, I’m just too proud to ask. I need this woman to come to me of her own free will, and I’m not going to drag it out of her, as much as I’d like to. Until then, I’m keeping my mouth shut on the subject, and silently waiting for her to open up.
“What do you think?” her voice interrupts.
Giggling, the woman of my dreams performs a little twirl in her bikini. I respond by grabbing her and pulling her close. I kiss her on the cheek, nibble on her neck, keeping her pressed up against me as she squirms and giggles in mock horror. God, her body feels so damn good against mine. I feel myself growing hard, and she does, too.
“Getting a little excited?” she murmurs into my ear.
“Yes, and it’s all because of you,” I reply. Then, I push that lush body away and take her hand. “But this isn’t the time for distractions,” I say with a grin. “Come on, I’ll show you to the basement.”
“Ooooh, the basement,” she giggles. “Is that where you lock me up and keep me prisoner?”
I growl, hot daggers shooting from my eyes.
“Are you into that, sweetheart? Because I’d be happy to oblige if you are.”
She merely laughs and swats my arm again as I take her down a flight of stairs behind the kitchen. Then, we enter a darkened hallway before coming upon a clear glass door.
“Ohhh,” she breathes, eyes wide while looking in. “It’s gorgeous.”
It is indeed. I have a full-size pool in the lower level of my townhouse, and I spared no expense when we put it in. The water glimmers a clear aquamarine, and tiles of gold mosaic glint from the bottom of the pool. The deck is pristine white concrete, with a few potted palms and padded lounge chairs scattered about. We enter, and the air is humid and warm.
“Wow,” Laurie breathes while setting her towel down on a chair. “Are you going swim while I splash around in the shallow end?” she laughs. “I think I mentioned I can’t do much more than a doggie paddle.”
I shake my head and take the gorgeous woman’s hand, leading her to the steps going into the water. “Not today, honey. I’m teaching you how to swim.”
To my surprise, though, she stiffens. “Oh,” she says, her voice quiet.
I aim a questioning look at her.
“Something wrong?” I ask. “Don’t be intimidated by the water, honey. I won’t let you drown.”
“Um,” she says, not meeting my gaze. “It’s just that I’m kind of scared.”
I chuckle deeply.
“Of course you’re scared. Everyone is the first time. But we’ll go slow, and we don’t have to leave the shallow end until you’re ready. Okay?”
She stares at the smooth ripples, her brow furrowed in consideration. Then, she takes a deep breath and nods.
“Okay,” is her murmur.
I grin.
“Alright, then,” I say. “Lesson number one: treading water.”
Even though Laurie starts off shy, she’s a fast learner. Soon, she’s clinging to the edge and kicking her feet in the water, laughing as she splashes me. I feel like a kid again, re-living endless summer days at the lake. In fact, things are going great, except that there’s one lesson Laurie is completely unwilling to learn: putting her head below the water line.