The Pool Boy (Nashville Neighborhood 2)

Clark’s pants and boxers were pooled around his ankles, exposing his toned legs, and his shirt was hitched up out of the way. I stared at him in confusion, unable to understand the pair of hands latched onto his hips.

For a long moment, I struggled to interpret anything, but mostly, why my husband was bent over his desk, and why his boss Derrick was behind him, his pants also puddled at his feet.

TWO

– TEN MONTHS LATER –

Erika

Sweat trickled down my back, making my sleeveless silk blouse stick to my skin. Okay, this was getting ridiculous. The air conditioning at the office had never been great, and it had barely been working this morning, but now? It wasn’t at all.

The once historic house had been converted into a commercial office back in the eighties, and the June heatwave gripping the city right now was too much for its ancient air system. The antique blue building was full of southern charm and had a great location beside Music Row, but the house came with drawbacks. The last hour at my desk, after I’d come back from lunch, had been unbearable.

If it were this hot on the main floor, I could only imagine how bad it was upstairs in the recording studio. I couldn’t get any work done today. I was too busy melting. I picked up my phone and thumbed out a text to the owner of the agency.

Me: It’s 85 degrees in here and still climbing.

Ardy: You’re in the office?

I blinked. It was three o’clock on a Tuesday.

Me: Am I supposed to be somewhere else?

Ardy: The air is broken. Maintenance said the earliest they can fix it is tomorrow. I thought Charlotte told you.

Since he couldn’t see me, I made a face. I loved Ardy, but I tolerated his daughter, Charlotte. She was nineteen and supposed to be the office manager, but I was as hazy as she was on what her job responsibilities were. There were a lot of days she came and went as she pleased, or never materialized at all.

Her daddy was the boss, and she was the apple of his eye, and so she could solve any issue he had with her by flashing a simple smile.

Me: No, she didn’t tell me.

Ardy: Sorry about that. Cut out early and lock up. I’ve got a meeting with Stella’s team.

Me: You got it.

He was referring to Stella Mills, who was such a huge star, she was his only client. Like Taylor Swift, Stella had started in country music before crossing over to pop, and now, she had two Grammys tucked beneath her rhinestone belt. Ardy rarely came into the office and never when she was in town. He was focused only on her.

I stood, rolled my chair into my desk, and grabbed my purse. I didn’t have any work I couldn’t do outside the office and was relieved to get out of the sweltering space.

It felt like everything was going my way on the drive home. By leaving work early, I beat the traffic, and my commute took half the time it usually did. The demos I listened to on the drive weren’t half bad either. Most didn’t have a sound I was looking for, but at least none of them had me racing to skip to the next recording on my phone.

But my good luck ran out after I’d parked in my garage and then strolled down the driveway to grab the mail. There was a thick envelope waiting for me and the return address was my divorce attorney’s letterhead.

“What now?” I groaned, collecting the mail and slamming the box closed.

During the divorce, Clark had fought me on everything. I gazed up at the house as I walked toward it and ground my teeth. At least I’d gotten to keep my home. It was one of only two things I really wanted anyway. He’d argued it was too much house just for me, but I countered that I’d been alone in that house for nearly a year before we separated because he was never home.

He’d been having an affair with Derrick all that time.

It’d been ten months since I’d walked into my husband’s office and found him getting fucked by his boss, but I remembered the scene like it had happened an hour ago. How Clark was bent over, his hands splayed out on the desktop. How Derrick loomed behind him, his pelvis fitted tightly against Clark’s bare ass. How their faces were flushed and shiny with sweat, and both of their mouths hung open in pleasure.

But most of all, I remembered the idiotic thought that struck me in that moment. It wasn’t shock, or anger, or really even hurt . . . although those emotions came later. The first thing to leap into my mind when confronted with the image of these two men together, was that my husband’s dick swinging between his legs was hard. Harder than I’d ever seen it in my life.