Summer Heat: A Pool Boy Romance

The summer I turned twenty-one, I took a job cleaning pools because the money was good and the work was mindless. Skim the leaves, check the chemicals, scrub the tiles. Rinse and repeat at fifteen different houses across the wealthiest zip code in the city.

I'm Jake Patterson, and I was supposed to be saving for my senior year of college. Pre-law. Good grades. The kind of future my single mom had sacrificed everything for. The pool gig was just a way to make money without having to think too hard, four months of chlorine and sunshine before real life started again.

That was the plan, anyway. Before I met Marcus Chen.

His house was the last one on my Wednesday route. A modern architectural marvel set back from the road, all glass and concrete and sharp angles. The pool was massive, Olympic length, infinity edge, heated because of course it was. The kind of pool that cost more than my mom's house.

My first day there, I thought the place was empty. Most of my clients were, these were second homes, vacation properties, status symbols that sat unused for months at a time. I let myself in through the side gate, got to work with the skimmer, and almost had a heart attack when a voice came from behind me.

"You're the new pool guy?"

I spun around, nearly dropping my equipment into the water. The man standing on the patio was in his late forties, Asian, wearing linen pants and an unbuttoned shirt that revealed a chest that had clearly seen the inside of a gym. His dark hair was threaded with gray, and he was holding a coffee cup with the casual authority of someone who owned everything he could see.

"Jake. Patterson. Clean Pools Inc." I managed to string the words together despite my suddenly racing heart.

"Marcus Chen. I own the pool you're about to drop that net into."

I looked down. The skimmer was indeed hovering dangerously over the water. I pulled it back, feeling my face heat.

"Sorry. Most of the houses are empty."

"Not this one. I'm here all summer." Something flickered across his face, something that looked almost like bitterness. "Recently divorced. The house was part of the settlement."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. It was a long time coming." He took a sip of his coffee, watching me over the rim. "You don't have to stop working on my account. I'll just be inside."

He turned and walked back toward the house, and I absolutely did not watch the way he moved. I absolutely did not notice the way his pants fit. I absolutely did not spend the next forty-five minutes hyperaware of the floor-to-ceiling windows and whether he could see me.

When I left, I told myself it was just nerves. New client, unexpected interaction. Nothing more.

I was lying to myself, and I knew it.

Wednesday became my favorite day of the week.

Marcus was always there. Always watching from the kitchen window or reading on the patio or swimming laps while I worked around him. He'd bring me water without asking, cold bottles that he'd press into my hand with a comment about the heat.

"You're going to get dehydrated. The sun out here is brutal."

"I'm used to it."

"Used to it or martyring yourself? Different things."

He'd sit and talk to me while I worked. I learned he was a tech executive, had sold his startup two years ago for an amount of money I couldn't comprehend. He'd worked eighteen-hour days for fifteen years, missed his daughter's childhood, watched his marriage crumble in slow motion.

"And now I have all this." He gestured at the house, the pool, the manicured grounds. "And no idea what to do with any of it."

"Must be nice to have that problem."

"Is that what you think?" He looked at me with genuine curiosity. "You think money solves things?"

"I think it solves a lot of things. Rent. Tuition. My mom's medical bills."

He was quiet for a moment. "Fair enough. I forget sometimes what it's like to worry about that stuff." He stood, stretched in a way that made his shirt ride up. "What are you studying? At school?"

"Pre-law."

"A lawyer. That's ambitious."

"That's expensive, mostly. Hence the pool cleaning."

"If you need a tutor for the LSAT, I know people. I could make some calls."

The offer caught me off guard. We'd known each other for three weeks at that point, and he was offering to call in favors for a kid who cleaned his pool.

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I remember what it was like to be young and hungry and working twice as hard as everyone around me. And because you're smart, I can tell from the way you talk. You just need opportunities." He smiled, and it transformed his whole face. "Besides, I like you. Is that so strange?"

"A little," I admitted.

"Get used to it."

Week five was when everything shifted.

It was brutally hot, the kind of day where the air shimmered and even the pool water felt like a bath. I'd been working for two hours, shirt soaked through, and I must have looked as wrecked as I felt because Marcus appeared with a towel and a concerned expression.

"You need to take a break. Seriously. I don't want you passing out on my property."

"I'm fine, "

"That wasn't a request." He pressed the towel into my hands. "Come inside. Air conditioning. Cold water. I won't take no for an answer."

I followed him into the house because arguing seemed like more effort than it was worth. The interior was as impressive as the exterior, open floor plan, designer furniture, art on the walls that was probably worth more than my education. He led me to the kitchen and poured me a glass of water, watching me drink.

"Better?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Your shirt is soaked. I've got spares if you want to change."