Wrong About the Guy (6 page)

I
deliberately didn't run downstairs when I heard the guests arrive. I took my time, not wanting to seem too eager to see Aaron—I knew that Luke and Michael were into the idea of matching us up and didn't want to encourage them. It was one thing for me to joke about how he was my future husband and another thing for them to try to make it
true
.

I waited about ten minutes, and by the time I came down, they'd all already traipsed through the house and gone out back.

In addition to an enormous lawn, the swing set Jacob loved so much, an Olympic-sized pool, a hot tub that could fit fifteen people, a guesthouse, and a still-under-construction combination exercise and screening room, we had an entire outdoor kitchen and living room in the backyard. I think Luke enjoyed the idea of himself grilling slabs of meat like any American dad, but I kind
of doubted that most American fathers had the setup he did: a built-in propane-fed grill, a wood-fired pizza oven, a full-sized outdoor refrigerator, an ice cream freezer/fountain—complete with spouts for hot fudge and caramel—and a farmhouse sink with hot and cold running water.

“Is this a thing?” I said to Mom when the real estate agent first walked us through the house and grounds almost four years ago. “Do people have stuff like this?”

“Not many,” she said.

“Come the revolution, we are so guillotined.”

“I'll show them photos from the studio you and I shared back in Philadelphia,” she said. “They'll let us go.”

Luke was busily firing up the grill when I joined everyone outside. Jacob was relaxing in Mom's arms, gently wiggling his fingers in front of his eyes. (He liked to do that. Lorena called it “making pictures in the air.”) Michael and Crystal were talking to Mom, and Aaron was watching Megan the nanny give baby Mia a bottle. Apparently the Marquands didn't go anywhere without her.

I said Aaron's name and he looked up and instantly came running toward me. There was no hesitation or awkwardness: he just threw his arms around me and gave me a big hug.

“Can you believe I'm here for the whole year?” he said happily. “How lucky is LA to get me?”

I laughed. “I don't know about LA, but
I
feel lucky. And your father's incredibly excited to have you here—he hasn't stopped talking about it.”

“You can't blame me,” Michael called from a few feet away. “Here I was, thinking about how my son would be heading off to college soon and probably be too busy to ever visit me again, and suddenly I have him living with me for the next nine months. It's the best gift I've ever gotten.”

“He seems to like you,” I said to Aaron.

“That's because I haven't been around lately,” he said. “I'm most likable when I'm not here.”

He was just as good-looking in person as in his Instagram selfies. Better, because his smile was warm and directed right at me. He was wearing blue board shorts (basically the adult version of what Jacob had on) and a dark gray tee with an unbuttoned oxford shirt over it and flip-flops. Simple black Ray-Ban sunglasses blocked what rays were left from the almost-setting sun. Most guys my age didn't know how to dress—they tried too hard or not hard enough. Aaron seemed to have effortlessly found the simple but classy sweet spot.

I wanted to talk to him more—preferably alone—but that wasn't going to happen. Jacob had left Mom's lap and made his way over and now he was reaching his hands up for me to take him. I held him while Michael interrogated me about what kind of cars my friends
were driving; he said he needed to buy Aaron one. Then Mom said she thought we should go swimming before we ate because it wasn't a good idea to go swimming after.

I wasn't too concerned about that from a safety standpoint, but it did occur to me that a big salty hot dog would probably make my stomach puff out, and I wanted to look good in my bikini, so I seconded the “let's swim now” idea.

Crystal turned down the invitation to join us, which didn't surprise me, since she was wearing a ton of makeup and her long, thick hair had been blown silky smooth. Mom also passed: she would have killed for a pool to paddle around in during the hot Philadelphia summers, but now that she actually had one in her own backyard, she'd taught herself to loathe it by doing too many laps for exercise.

Megan was taking care of the baby, and Luke was busy grilling, so that left me, Michael, and Aaron up for a swim.

The pool and hot tub were on the other side of the backyard, on a lower level overlooking the canyon and separated from the rest of the house by a rose garden and an iron fence. We walked back there together, then separated at the pool house, which was divided into four small chambers: three changing rooms, each lined with a mirror and a chest of drawers, and a bathroom
with a shower. The changing rooms were stocked with towels, sunscreen, pool toys . . . even swimsuits, in case a guest had forgotten to bring one. Lorena checked once in a while to see if anything needed to be replaced.

It took me about three seconds to pull off my cover-up, toss it on top of the chest of drawers, put my hair in a bun, and grab a towel. Back outside, I dropped my towel onto a chaise longue and then sat down at the edge of the pool and waited for Michael and Aaron to emerge.

We kept the pool at eighty-five degrees, which today felt almost too warm. I dangled my feet in it and leaned back on the palms of my hands, keeping an arch in my back and neck—it was the most flattering way to sit wearing a bikini, and I wanted to look good when Aaron appeared. Which he soon did, since all he had to do was take off his shirt and flip-flops.

He dropped down into a sitting position next to me. “How's the water?”

“Nice.”

He put his feet in. “Ahh. It's been way too long.”

“When was the last time you swam in a pool?”

“About an hour ago. Right before we left to come here.”

His father emerged, looking lean and toned in his bathing suit, and dove right in the deep end, then emerged in a crawl, which he continued down the length of the pool.

Aaron stood up. “Are you a jump-right-in kind of person or a slowly-get-acclimated kind of person?”

I clambered up. “Slowly get acclimated. Or not get acclimated at all and stay dry in the sun.”

“In that case, let me help you.” He caught me around my waist and spun me out toward the pool. “Ready?”

I nodded, so he gave me a gentle shove and I let myself tumble in. He jumped in right after and I scolded him for splashing me inadvertently, and then when he apologized, I splashed him right in the face.

He mock snarled and whipped his head back to get the wet hair out of his eyes and dove under the water. I turned, trying to see where he was going, and felt him touch the back of my leg. I turned again, in that direction, just as he surfaced on the other side and flicked a palmful of water right at me.

We fooled around like that for a while, splashing and laughing and sinking down and springing up until we were out of breath. Then we swam over to the edge of the pool, where we clung on, slowly cycling our legs in the water, while we talked about stuff like movies and restaurants, and Michael steadily did laps behind us—another adult who saw the pool as exercise, not fun.

After about ten more minutes, he swam to the steps, got out, shook himself off, and said, “That's it for me.” He disappeared into the changing room and came back
out a few minutes later, dressed and dry, and headed back to the group.

The gates clanged again, interrupting my list of the best coffee shops on the west side of LA. I looked over and was surprised to see George Nussbaum walking in, awkwardly carrying Jacob low in his arms. As soon as he saw me, Jacob struggled to get down. George set him squarely on his feet and Jacob ran over to the edge of the pool and held his arms out to me.

“You want to swim?” I said, and he took a step toward the pool like he was going to walk right into it. “Whoa! Stop!” I reached up to hold on to his leg so he couldn't jump in. “Not yet. You need a swim diaper.” I looked up at George, who had come closer. “Can you go get him one? They're in the top drawer in the middle changing room.”

“Yeah, okay.” He was wearing jeans and his usual long-sleeved oxford—although today the sleeves were rolled to just below his elbow. “Hi,” he said, his eyes settling on Aaron. “I'm George.”

“Aaron.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Tutoring. I thought.”

“Tutoring?” Aaron repeated. “School hasn't even started yet.”

“SATs,” I explained. “Mom found out that George went to Harvard and practically wet herself. She thinks
the Ivy League is contagious, so he comes over once in a while and says stuff like, ‘What does
epitome
mean?'”

“And do you know?” Aaron asked.

“Of course I do.”

“Brilliant
and
modest,” he said admiringly. “The perfect woman.”

I fluttered my eyelashes at him before looking back up at George. “I thought I told you last week that I had plans today.”

“You always say you have plans. And your mom confirmed the appointment when I texted her a couple of days ago.”

Jacob knelt down next to the pool and dipped his fingers in the water, then raised his hand so he could watch the drips fall.

“She invited me to join you for dinner,” George said as we all watched Jacob watching the drips. “I feel funny about it, but she knows I'm free for the next two hours, so I don't have much of an excuse to leave.”

“You should stay.” I decided to be generous and forgive him for being mean about Heather. “There's a ton of food. If you want to come swim with us, there are men's suits in the same changing room that has Jacob's swim diapers. Speaking of which—”

“Oh, right. I'll get that now. Want me to put it on him?”

“He won't let you,” I said. “Just bring it here.”

He nodded and made his way into the changing room.

“How is he your tutor?” Aaron asked, lowering his voice. “He looks like he's our age.”

“He's not that much older—just precocious. He went to college when he was like sixteen. According to his brother, he got a perfect score on the SATs.”

“The SATs are overrated. Everyone knows the real test of brilliance is being able to balance a Styrofoam noodle on the palm of your hand.” He proceeded to demonstrate with admirable dexterity.

I tried to get Jacob to look at Aaron's trick, but he was too fascinated by the water running off his fingers to glance over.

“Here you go.” George had returned and was studying the swim diaper in his hand. “How is it different from a regular one?”

“It holds the poop in but lets the pee out.”

“‘Out' as in . . . into the pool?”

I nodded.

“I really would have preferred not to know that.” Aaron eyed the water with sudden suspicion.

“Oh, relax,” I said. “The chlorine kills everything. George, you should go swimming before it's completely dark out.”

He hesitated, then said, “Yeah.” He started to walk toward the changing room, halted, looked like he was
going to say something, then just shook his head and disappeared inside.

“So that's the sort of genius that gets into Harvard, huh?” Aaron said.

“Him's got book larning.” I got out of the pool and changed Jacob into the swim diaper. “What do you say, baby dude? Ready to take the plunge?” I picked him up and he wrapped his legs around my waist and his arms around my neck. I walked over to the steps and waded back into the pool. I could feel his body tighten as we entered the water. He dug his fingers into me and frowned with concentration—and maybe concern—but he didn't scream or fight me.

Aaron joined us by the steps and watched as I gently dunked Jacob up to his waist. He shivered and then gave a shuddery laugh.

“I wish Mia were older,” Aaron said. “She's still too little to be much fun.”

“What's it like living with the three of them?”

“It's fine. No one much cares when I come and go, which is a nice change. My mom can be a little smothering. She means well, but . . .” He shrugged. “She hates that I'm here.”

“How'd you get her to agree to let you come?”

“Dad and I were both kind of relentless about it. And I think her husband was all in favor of the idea. But she's worried I'll be corrupted here in Hollywood, with
no one to keep an eye on me. Plus she's not a fan of Crystal's—thinks she's a total gold digger.”

“How about you? Do you think Crystal's a gold digger?” I wondered myself. Michael was rich and famous and middle-aged; Crystal was young and beautiful and had been a struggling, unsuccessful actress when they met. And Michael's track record with women wasn't too impressive.

“Not sure yet,” Aaron said. “I'd believe it though.”

I heard a door open and looked around. George was coming out of the changing room in a pair of short purple bathing trunks.

I gave a long wolf whistle and George shot me an exasperated look from across the pool.

“This is ridiculous,” he said, flicking at the suit.

“The important thing is that you wear it so well.”

“Shut up.”

“Shorter trunks are totally in fashion,” Aaron said.

“Not in that color, they're not,” I said.

Aaron flicked water at me. “You're mean.”

“It's not my fault if the truth hurts.”

“I'm not hurt,” George said, sitting on the edge of the pool. “I didn't pick these out.” He slid carefully into the water.

He took off toward the deep end with long measured strokes.

“Do you think—” I started to say to Aaron, but I
was interrupted by Luke's call of “Kids! Time to eat!” from up above.

“Dinner,” I said. “We should get out.”