The Bully Can Kiss by Dixon Charli

Author:Dixon, Charli
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Charli Dixon
Published: 2022-11-26T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

As is typical prior to one of these black-tie charity events, my mother is shifting around the house in a dizzying display of chaos. Alice trails behind nodding at her many instructions.

My father is simply seated on the formal sofa scrolling through his phone, mm’ing and ah’ing where appropriate when Mother calls to him.

Mother almost collides with me. “Oh, Molly, there you are. We will, of course, be home late. I trust you’ll manage?”

“Naturally,” I smile.

Ten minutes later, in a final volley of ‘Barry, where are those earrings?’ and ‘Barry, are we taking the Rover or the Mercedes?’ they’re gone.

Alice finishes up in the kitchen and nods as she passes me by on her way out. This is her one night off a week, which means…

“Have a nice night,” I say.

And then, blammo, I’ve got the house to myself.

Well, sort of.

I walk around wondering the best way to approach Boaz. I never thought in a million years it would come to this—me, actively trying to spend time with him. Him, admitting he likes me.

I know he’s in the pool house, which gives me an idea.

I find my swimsuit upstairs and head out to the pool, turning on the lighting on the way through. The pool lights up a neon blue, slowly shifting to green and then purple.

The air out here is crisp tonight. There’s a bite to it, steam rising in wispy tendrils from the surface of the water.

I’m about to dive in delicately, but no, I want to make sound here. I want to draw his attention.

I go for the age-old classic—the cannonball.

It has the desired effect.

Before long the pool house doors open and Boaz steps out in one his now trademark black tees and jeans, albeit intact and not falling to pieces.

He stands there with his hands on his hips surveying the pool. “Bit late for a dip, isn’t it?”

“Everyone’s out,” I begin, important information first. “My parents won’t be back for hours. You should come in.”

He looks adorably confused. “Now?”

I raise a hand from the water, twirling it in the air. “No better time than the present.”

There’s a moment of thinking before he disappears back into the pool house.

Reemerging in those horrific shrimp pants of my father’s, which he somehow pulls off regardless, he runs and jumps straight for the center of the pool, the resulting tsunami washing over me.

He treads there just as I showed him, breathing hard. “Warmer than I expected.” He swims—well, attempts to—towards the shallow end where he stands and throws his head back, shaking off the water like a shaggy dog.

I swim closer if only for a good look. “You’ve made a lot of progress. You know, for someone who formerly had the swimming skills of an Irish fisherman.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he laughs.

I take the opportunity to swim closer still, close enough to see the now purple glow lighting up his features. “It’s a thing, apparently. Most Irish fisherman don’t know how to swim. It’s a superstition. If you can’t swim, then your ship isn’t going to sink or something.

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