Sweetheart

9

Lizzie
August 2020

Nate's hot.

There. I said it. Nate is hot and he knows it.

How do I know this? Easy. He's been swimming in the pool for almost half an hour, the water crashing against his water and sliding over his shoulders slowly.

I, instead, just sit on the edge, timing him while tanning with my sunglasses over my head and my feet in the water.

Nate remerges and stands in front of me, moving his hair — darker as it's soaked — out of his face. I still can't believe he's tall enough to touch the floor of the pool. "Time?" he asks with his breath short and a happy smile. Thankfully, his fight with Aaron eight days ago didn't mess up Nate's face too much. When I told Grace about it, she took Aaron to the side and started yelling at him. I couldn't quite understand what she was saying, but at some point, he started shouting as well.

I look at the timer on my phone. "Three minutes, thirty-two seconds. It's ten seconds less than before," I answer him, showing him the screen. "It's good, isn't it?"

He swims a bit closer to me. "Yeah. I guess it is."

I'm about to say something when the glass doors slide open and someone else walks out. Nate looks behind me and his face drops into a scowl. I turn my head and see the reason for his sudden change of emotions. Aaron's here.

My face, instead, is so clenched it hurts. And not because I'm angry — which I am, by the way — but because, holy cow, he... He is actually gorgeous. I expected him to have a nice body, but this? It's surreal, inhumane.

There is not one inch of his body that isn't pure muscle, carefully crafted and harmoniously engraved. The sun shines on his hard torso, decorated with a complete set of abs.

His legs, partially covered by his swimsuit — which, thank God, isn't one of those tight shitty bathing suits some men wear — are thick and strong enough to choke me in less than three seconds.

And those goddamn arms... They shock me every single time. Smooth, trained biceps are followed by slender forearms, ending in a pair of hands big as my face. If this man had me into a choke-hold, I don't think I'd be able to escape him. Or if I'd even want to.

Aaron stands there, towel in a hand and sunlight bright around him like the aura of a god. "It's my turn, Nate," he states, taking a few steps forward. I look away, playing with a finger in the water.

Nate rolls his eyes but gets out of the pool. He comes standing next to me, some droplets hitting my thighs and shoulders. "Let's go," he tells me, offering me his hand.

I'm about to take it when Aaron says, "I need her."

We both turn to him, confused. Suddenly, I hate being seated between the two of them standing. "Why?" I carefully question.

His eyes are a shade lighter than usual, almost turning the color of a green lake. "Need someone to time me."

The audacity of this man. First, he treats me like shit. And now, he wants my help. Yeah, you know what? He can go straight to hell and go fuck— "Okay."

I blink. It was I who spoke. What am I thinking!? Why would I say that? Even Nate stares at me like I've gone mad. It's probably just the sun. "Are you serious?" Nate asks, stunned. Not in a positive way.

Even Aaron seems slightly startled by my reply. Hell, even I was not expecting that answer from me. "I, uh, I mean, it's whatever. I can... I guess I can time him. If that's okay with you."

Aaron scoffs, walking up to the deck chair on which I left my stuff and dropping his towel on top of my bag. "If that's okay with him," he mocks. "Who is he? Your father?"