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I blush at the memory, then physically shake my head to try and refocus away from those memories.
“Yes, Beckham. Are you okay?” She eyes me, confused by my overreaction.
“Yeah, yes, I’m okay. I, uh, just didn’t realize he was coming here. For my birthday?”
“I thought it might be nice for your dad to have his friend here so we can sip champagne and gossip. Did I overstep inviting your boss? I guess I didn’t think about it like that at the time. I’m so sorry.”
“No.” I wave away her concern, the two lines between her brows disappearing. “It’s perfectly okay. Not an issue at all.” I feel panic grip my chest. How the hell am I going to play it cool when I’m half-naked and my hot-as-hell boss is here, especially after all the naughty things he did to me?
“Who’s ready for Marco Polo?” I shout, plugging my nose and taking a running start before cannonballing into the pool again. The boys squeal in delight as I close my eyes and begin to search for them.
“Marco!” I shout, hearing Jenson giggle to my right as he whispers polo. I lunge toward him, but he gets away.
We spend the next several minutes playing, each of us taking turns as Marco. “Your turn again,” Silas says, pointing toward me.
“Marco!” I shout, but neither of the boys answer. “Marco!” I repeat, but again, no answer, just distant giggles.
“I hear youuuuu,” I say, lunging forward but there’s nobody there.
“Marco!” I say again, this time feeling the edge of the pool as I reach my hand out, only it’s not the edge of the pool, it’s someone’s shoes.
I open my eyes, my hand resting gently on a pair of loafers. I turn my head upward, shielding my gaze from the sun as I look up, staring straight up the body of Beckham.
“Polo,” he says in that low sexy voice with a smirk on his face.
“Guess you’re it.” I go to grab his leg to pull him into the pool, but he steps backward, just out my reach.
“Someone doesn’t like to play fair.”
“I think we both know I have a penchant for breaking the rules.”
We stare at each other for a moment before the shout of one of the boys brings my attention back to what we were doing. I look over my shoulder, seeing Silas and Jenson in a splash fight and I turn back to Beckham, but it’s not his eyes I catch. It’s Chantelle.
She’s sitting back in her chair, her sunglasses pulled down toward the tip of her nose as she studies us both. Beckham must notice that I’m looking past him and slowly turns around to greet her.
“Hello, beautiful.” He smiles toward her as he walks over to where she’s sunbathing, bending down to kiss her on the cheek. “You look like you’re having a rough day,” he jokes and I swear I see her blush.
Good to know he has that effect on most… if not all women.
“Jonas is inside, getting the meat ready for the grill if you’d like to join him.”
“I’ll go find him,” he says, shoving his hand into the pocket of his navy golf shorts. He’s wearing a white polo that stretches across his chest, his biceps threatening to stretch out the seams of his sleeves. A pair of classic tortoiseshell Wayfarers are perched on the bridge of his nose and that signature lock of dirty-blond hair flops down over his forehead.
The man’s body would look good in a damn potato sack, I think to myself as I watch him walk away, his firm ass reminding me what it felt like to grip as he thrust deep inside me.
I ignore the look on Chantelle’s face and turn back to continue my game with my brothers. I’m trying to stay focused, but I find myself constantly looking over my shoulder, attempting to catch a glimpse of Beckham again.
“Okay, boys”—Chantelle stands near the edge of the pool—“let’s go inside and shower off so you can get ready for the cookout.”
“Awww, Mom. Just five more minutes,” Silas groans.
“Did you not want cake then?” Their mother puts on her stern face as if to say, if I have to tell you twice, you won’t get any.
At the mention of cake, both boys doggy paddle to the edge of the pool and climb out in record time, racing each other toward the house.
“Dry off first, boys!” Chantelle says, grabbing their towels and running past them. “Oh, I almost forgot,” she turns and half shouts back to me, “I got you a birthday pool float. It’s in the pool house.” She points toward the building in the back before chasing the boys into the house.
I climb out of the pool and walk over to the pool house where there is indeed an adorable hot-pink flamingo pool float. I smile and grab it, bringing it with me back to the pool where I slowly lower myself down onto it.
