Pool Girl: A Forbidden Slow Burn Romance

  I know you’ll enjoy this story

  By Ried Reese

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  Pool Girl

  A Forbidden Slow Burn Romance

  Ried Reese

  Table of Contents

  I know you’ll enjoy this story

  Chapter One: Gemma

  Chapter Two: Cullen

  Chapter Three: Gemma

  Chapter Four: Cullen

  Chapter Five: Gemma

  Chapter Six: Cullen

  Chapter Seven: Gemma

  Chapter Eight: Cullen

  Chapter Nine: Gemma

  Chapter Ten: Cullen

  Chapter Eleven: Gemma

  Chapter Twelve: Cullen

  Chapter Thirteen: Gemma

  Chapter Fourteen: Cullen

  Chapter Fifteen: Gemma

  Thank you for reading, Pool Girl

  Thank you for reading this story

  © Copyright 2018 - All rights reserved.

  It is not legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental.

  Chapter One: Gemma

  Have you ever loved someone you knew you shouldn’t love? Maybe someone much older than you or someone from an entirely different life? Someone with whom a relationship would never work? Someone forbidden? If you have, then you know that it royally sucks.

  So, what do you do when that’s the kind of love you get?

  Runaway?

  Take it one step at a time?

  Say “to hell” with social conventions and float away on the fluffy wings of love?

  I’ve never been able to get it right, but I’m a hopeless romantic. I’ve been in love several times before, but somehow, I always end up falling in love with men who are too immature or just plain mean. If the world knew, they’d judge me. They might even throw me in a psych ward or something. But it’s not like I can choose who I fall in love with. It’s love…it just happens. You get with the program, or you get lost.

  Me? I usually choose the “get lost” option. Well, the whole truth is that I’m often too shy to admit my affections and that means I lose out on the chance. Maybe it’s because I’m afraid of the shit I’d get from other people. Perhaps it’s because of my history with love and men especially older men. I don’t know.

  Anyway, I’m no stranger to forbidden love. I know what it’s like to yearn for someone I can’t have. To feel a pang of hunger I can’t satisfy. To desire someone so much that it feels as if my very soul has been scorched.

  Maybe that’s my luck. Just like it’s my luck to be stuck existing on minimum wage.

  Welcome to my life. My name is Gemma Johnston, and I work as a pool girl for a living; maintaining other people’s wealthy lifestyle.

  It’s not the best job in the world, but it pays the bills and puts food on the table—well if you call cold slices of pizza and about-to-expire milk food. But it’s the grind. It’s life.

  I’m twenty-two years old, but I’ve been told that I matured quite quickly and maybe that makes me seem much older than I am. That’s why for the past five years, I’ve been on my own, fending for myself.

  My life isn’t perfect. It’s certainly not big-screen perfect. I live in a dingy one-room apartment in the town of Henderson, just south of Las Vegas. And although my apartment isn’t large enough for even one person to live comfortably, I can’t afford to pay the rent on my own, so my best friend, Taylor, stays with me and foots half the bill.

  Well, at least that’s supposed to be the arrangement, but sometimes I can’t even afford to pay my half of the bill, so Taylor pays it all. In return, I help her around her office and take odd-jobs whenever I have time. Although, I rarely have the time since I work all day—from sunup to sundown.

  Still, it doesn’t matter how hard life gets—and trust me; it’s hard. It doesn’t matter how tough my job is. It doesn’t matter how much work I owe Taylor because she’s always covering for me. These things won’t take away the smile on my face.

  Do you want to know why?

  Because I’m a dreamer.

  That’s right. I have big dreams. Big plans.

  You see, when I was little—right before my dad left and my mom had to work herself ragged just to feed us—I dreamt of becoming a dancer, like a lot of young girls do. We never had the money for formal lessons, but on my way home from school, I’d peek in the front window of the local dance studio and try to memorize the moves so I could practice them at home. I’ve held onto that dream—even through my dad’s abandonment and my mom’s death. Sometimes, when Taylor is asleep, and when I don’t collapse into bed right when I get home, I still practice the few moves I know to keep myself in shape and for the sheer enjoyment of it.

  My dreams are what keeps me going. I dream that someday I’m going to make it big. Get rich. Eat real food. Build a closet larger than this dingy apartment for all my expensive clothes.

  Maybe I’ll even be able to fall in love with a guy my own age instead of men who are way too old for me or treat me like shit. That’s sort of a taboo, anyhow, and just the sort of thing tabloids love to speculate about. I don’t want that kind of mark trailing me.

  Anyway, I am determined to make my dream a reality, even if my current position at J&J Pools Maintenance Co.—for the owners, Jeffrey & James—is a dead-end job.

  Call me naïve if you want. I’m sure most people would. But we’ll have to see.

  “Why do you keep staring in the mirror like that?” Taylor snaps from her position on the bed behind me.

  I am a little startled by her cold, crisp voice. I forgot that she’s right there. Anytime she’s focused on some document on her laptop. It’s almost as if she disappears. She gets so quiet that it’s easy to forget there’s another human being in the room.

  Now, however, she’s looking at me, her foxy, thick-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. Her long, blonde hair is tied in a neat bun on top of her head, though strands of hair fall around the edge of her face. Taylor is beautiful in her own way, long legs and tall but a lot slimmer on top than me if you know what I mean.

  “Taylor, don’t you want more from your life? You’re still in your pajamas girl.” I say to her. I know she works late nights waitressing, but every morning she’s on her computer for hours.

  “Of course, I do. I know you’ve been working a lot lately, so I’ll bring you up to speed. Eddy and I are done. He’s an obsessive, compulsive asshole! Why do guys our age only want sex? I seriously don’t think their brains are developed yet. So I decided no more men for a while. Instead, I’m going to make myself smart! So last week I enrolled in that online class I told you about awhile
back,” she perks up as she says it so I know she’s excited about it.

  “Accounting? Are you kidding me?” I say surprised because I can’t believe she’d do something so boring. Taylor’s got a killer bod’ and she doesn’t even realize it.

  “Well, I’ve got to earn a living and being an accountant, I can work during the day. These nights are killing me.”

  I roll my eyes at Taylor and focus back on my reflection. She’s always been the smart one, doesn’t she realize that either? And me, I’ve been told that I’m beautiful, and I’ve always thought that would be handy when I became a dancer, but right now, I feel far away from that dream. It’s not like beauty alone is going to put food on my table. I’m average height, though I’m a little on the tall side. My hair is dark brown. My skin is smooth and without blemish. It’s because I take good care of it, albeit with cheap beauty products.

  I have a taut form, and there’s not a pound of fat on my body. It’s all muscle and meat. I didn’t get this way because I go to the gym—I don’t even have the money for a membership. I got this way because of the demanding nature of my job.

  Not that I ever get to show it off. Most of the time I’m in these old coveralls. Day in, day out. The only one who sees me in regular clothing regularly is Taylor. Sometimes, on a rare day off or when the workday was pretty light, I throw on something casual and stroll around the block to stretch my legs. I get a lot of stares from men, but I ignore them.

  That’s not to say that I don’t like the appreciative looks. I do.

  “It’s not going to get any prettier, Gemma,” Taylor snarks, startling me again.

  I’d already forgotten that Taylor was there.

  With a smile, I turn and strike a pose for her, “So, you do admit that it’s pretty?”

  She lets out a sarcastic laugh. “If your idea of pretty is a washed-out, hand-me-down, stained-as-hell, shitty coveralls, then yes. It’s very pretty.”

  My smile quickly turns to a frown. “Hey, I like my job.”

  “I’m not attacking your job, Gemma,” Taylor says with the utmost seriousness. “Just that unflattering outfit they make you wear. I mean, can’t they change it? You can’t even tell what color it was supposed to be. Even the logo is almost gone.”

  This brings my attention to the right breast of my coverall. There’s a patch there with the logo sewn on in white. Well, it used to be white. Now, the color has bled, and so much dirt and grime have been washed out so many times that you can barely tell there’s a logo there. I think it was something like a stream of water with a plier and screwdriver across it like an X. I don’t really remember. All that’s legible now is part of the name: &J Pool Mainte

  “You might not be attacking my job directly, but you sure as hell are doing it indirectly,” I replied icily, ignoring her last question. The heat must be getting to me.

  I do love my job. I’m happy with the work. The fact that I want to move on to greater heights eventually doesn’t mean I don’t like my job. I do wish it paid better, though.

  “Why do you keep working for those people, Gemma?” asks Taylor. “I’ve told you, I can probably get you a job waitressing at the hotel. They’ll clean you up. A girl as beautiful as you shouldn’t have to bake in the sun all day doing manual labor.”

  I don’t reply. This is one conversation I’ve had with Taylor more times than I care to remember. It always ends with a fight and us not speaking for a day or two.

  Usually, when Taylor dangles a job in front of me, I call her out for having to play sex doll for all those wealthy clients the Vegas strip attracts to the hotel she works in. Then Taylor takes offense and retaliates with a few biting words and BOOM! We’re fighting.

  But because today I’m especially not in the mood for this discussion, I decide to change the dynamic.

  “You know what, Taylor?” I sigh.

  “What?” Taylor growls, expecting a nasty remark.

  I smile and meet Taylor’s eyes in the mirror. “What I want most is to leave Henderson. There are no opportunities here for the kind of life I want. Hell, there are no opportunities here at all. Las Vegas is too expensive for me. There’s just no chance for the American Dream here. I want that chance.”

  For a moment, Taylor looks at me. Then, her eyes soften. She stands, comes over to me, and wraps me in a hug. “And what dream is that, hun? To find a nice man, settle down and have a couple of kids? You’re too young for that Gemma. You need to live a little first girlfriend. Get yourself a man. Have some wild, crazy sex and get it out of your system.”

  I shut my eyes momentarily, relaxing against her. Her sweet, flowery scent washes over me. It’s comforting.

  “I know, you’re right. I don’t know what it is, but I’ve been so horny lately. Maybe it’s the heat. I don’t know. I don’t have time for a relationship. I can barely pay the rent as it is. A boyfriend would just take up my time. It’s just that I feel stifled here.” I say. “If I had extra time and money I’d have my dance lessons first before the guy. Plus, I’m not getting any younger.”

  Taylor turns me around and gives some reassurance, “If there’s anything I know to be true about you, Gemma, it’s that you’re a fighter. It’s why I have no doubt that you can make your dreams come true. It’s why I know you’ll find what you need no matter where you are. One day you’ll find your dream.”

  “Neither one of us are.”

  She remains close, placing a hand on my shoulder. I stare at her in the mirror, surprised. This is the first time she’s saying this to me. It brings me to the verge of tears.

  Taylor notices this and says, “Please don’t cry, Gemma.” She pauses. “Hey, I hate to bring it up, but you’ve got to get going or you’ll be late for work.”

  My eyes jerk up to the old clock hanging on the wall. I have to be at work by eight, and it’s already 7:50. Shit, shit, shit!

  In a panic, I gather my things and dash to the door, calling goodbye to Taylor as I go.

  By this time, my usual ride to work is already gone. I hurry to the main road. I’m so frazzled that I take the first step into the road to cross without noticing a big black Range Rover barrelling toward me until it’s too late. The vehicle screeches to a halt just a foot from me. I’m frozen in shock, staring open-mouthed.

  The man behind the wheel steps out of the vehicle. He’s tall and gorgeous, with dark hair shot through with silver. I woman with sunglasses remains in the car. Although he’s dressed simply in a white button-down shirt, jeans, and sneakers, I can tell that he’s in great shape. I can’t see his eyes through his Maui Jim’s sunglasses, but my body tells me I’m immediately drawn to him.

  He, however, looks furious, his mouth twisted into a scowl. I think he’s probably about to yell at me for being so stupid, but when he gets a good look at my face, he stops short.

  For a few seconds, there’s a tense silence between us as he studies me from behind his sunglasses.

  “What’s your name, kid?” he asks finally.

  “Gemma.”

  “Watch where you’re going next time….Gemma,” he says.

  He returns to his vehicle and zooms off, leaving me confused and very intrigued. I wonder about the mysterious stranger all the way to work.

  Chapter Two: Cullen

  Walking to my backyard where I can sit and watch the golfers on the green while I sit next to my pool, the summer sun warms my bare back, I flip through the bundle of mail I just retrieved from my mailbox. It’s mostly junk mail. The few pieces that aren’t junk are even worse.

  Bills are coming due soon.

  “Fucking bankers,” I growl, dumping the junk mail in the trash.

  There are foreclosures on two of my houses on the West Coast. Repossession notices of two of my exotic cars. Well, at least they left me the Range Rover, I think.

  “Can’t even wait for me to go a year without a job before they come to feast on my corpse,” I grumble.

  I sigh, leafing through the legalese of the foreclosures on my two
properties in California. They say they’re so sorry they have to foreclose on the house. Yeah, right. They’re still going to do it. I bet they even get a little satisfaction out of it when it’s someone who used to be wealthy. Is being a little sick and twisted a job requirement? Probably.

  This is this third time this month that I’m getting mail like this. And it’s only been five months since I lost my job. You’d expect these guys to have a little bit of courtesy. Maybe give me some time to secure another position. But no. They push the panic button.

  But can you blame them? A voice says in my head.

  I sigh. I’m not exactly employable as it is. Aside from the fact that I’m forty-two, which isn’t a great age to be looking for new employment, I’m an entertainer. And by entertainer, I mean porn star or ex-porn star. And forty-two in the porn industry? Basically, it says I’m a senior citizen.

  You don’t get all those bullshit skills you can put on a resume from working in porn. I certainly can’t put on there that I can manage a threesome or that I can fuck for hours without tiring or that I can make a woman cum in seconds if I want. I guess I could always twist the truth. Excellent managerial skills. Good under pressure. Meets deadlines with ease. Ha!

  That still leaves the issue with my age. Forty-two. No one wants to employ a man with zero practical experience and a twenty-two-year gap in his work history. I don’t even want to think about how that interview would go.

  Still, it’s not as if I’m a decrepit old man. My hair and beard are turning salt and pepper, sure, but my hair is impeccably styled, I still have lots of it, and my beard is perfectly trimmed.