The Pool Boy

Chapter Ten

Mason

It’s notuntil she’s halfway down the stairs to answer the douchebag at the door that I realize one little problem. I have every intention of being close, just in case Jeremy tries anything, or if he won’t leave. But my swimsuit is still outside by the pool. But, fuck it. I grab a towel from her bathroom, wrap it around my waist, and jog down the back staircase.

I make my way through the house to the living room next to the front door. Layla looks at me with her hand on the knob, and I nod.

“Just in case,” I growl. “I won’t intervene unless he crosses the line.”

She nods. “Thank you.” She’s wrapped in a robe, and she takes a breath, scowls, and yanks the door open.

“Fucking finally,” I hear Jeremy snarl. Fuck, that alone makes me want to knock his teeth in. But as much as I hate it, I force myself to remember that I can’t just step into Layla’s business.

Try anything, asshole, I think to myself. Give me one reason, and you’re fucked.

Layla sighs, her lips pursed tight.

“What do you want, Jeremy?”

“You’re not answering my fucking calls.”

She rolls her eyes. “Are you still calling to complain about the prenup being ‘biased’?”

Jeremy swears. “Goddamn right I have been.”

“Jeremy, prenups are biased, by definition. Deal with it.”

“Nah, fuck that. You built your business with my help!”

“No,” she snaps. “I built my business in spite of you.”

“Listen you fucking—” I almost lunge out for him, but he stops. I hear him grunt, and I can see Layla frowning.

“What?”

“What?” he grunts. “You seeing someone, Layla?”

She wrinkles her nose. “That’s none of your goddamn business.”

“The fuck it isn’t,” he growls. “Dressed like that?”

“I was about to take a shower.”

“Yeah? With your hair all messed up like that?”

“Get the fuck off my property, Jeremy.”

“Your neck? You gonna tell me those aren’t marks from some fucking guy on your neck?”

“Jeremy,” she says coldly. “It is none of your business what I do or who I see. Especially since you stuck your pathetic excuse for a dick into everything that would let you when we were married. So, for the last fucking time, please fuck off—”

“Fucking cunt.”

Layla gasps as Jeremy shoves her back and storms into the house. He goes to grab her, but I hit him from the side like a fucking truck. The fuck-head grunts and goes stumbling sideways to land on his ass. I snarl, and he looks up at me half in terror and half in confusion.

“Who the fuck is this!?” he bellows.

“Mason,” I snarl. “And it’s time for you to leave.”