17. Pool Party

I’m up bright and early the next day. Wow, it feels good to not have a hangover. I find Lincoln in the kitchen, scowling at the coffee pot, and I give him my sweetest smile.

His scowl deepens. “I need to buy your dad a better coffee pot. I think he’s had this one since the nineties.”

“He doesn’t like to throw out things if they aren’t broken,” I say.

“But it takes thirty minutes to brew.”

“Good things take time.”

A thoughtful look comes over his face as he stares at me. “Do they, now.”

“I guess.” Ugh, I can feel myself blushing. I need to stop this. He and I can be friends. Just friends. We had such a good time swimming yesterday. That can be enough, right?

Other than the teeny, tiny—okay, massive—crush I seem to be harboring for him and Caleb.

He’s still looking at me, and I need to change the subject, fast.

“Hey, do you mind if I have some friends over to swim today?”

There’s no hesitation when he says, “Of course not. This is your home—I’m just a guest.”

“Pretty sure my dad thinks of this as your home, too.”

That’s when I see it, the guilt in his eyes. He thinks my dad wouldn’t consider this place Lincoln’s home if Dad knew what we did.

I was hurt when Lincoln jerked off on me and walked away the other night, but it’s only now, looking into his soulful, light brown eyes, that I see the inner turmoil. Maybe I think he’s wrong, but at least now I can see where he’s coming from.

The tiny green light on the coffee maker flashes, and he grins. The tense moment is broken.

“Fuckin’ finally,” he says. “Can I pour you a cup?”

* * *