Just My Type(57)

“Nope.” He smiles, pausing in front of one of the white doors to lean down and give me a quick kiss on the cheek before disappearing inside.

See? Just because this is an official first date, doesn’t mean anything. You don’t get a peck on the cheek when you part to go into the bathroom on a first date. That’s a casual, “I like you because I’ve known you long enough, and I don’t want you to forget about me while you’re in there getting naked” thing.

As soon as I get inside my own bathroom and lock the door, I drop my bag on the ground, rest my hands on the sink, and stare at myself in the mirror. Satan himself must have been the one who invented first official dates, because even with the kiss on the cheek, I’m still in hell.

I have to walk out there in front of Baker, in a bikini.

We get to see Baker wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, with water dripping down his muscular chest.

But I have to walk out there in front of Baker, in a bikini. I should have packed a respectable one-piece.

You should have packed nothing but nipple tassels. We’re trying to get laid here, remember?

Grabbing three more Altoids from the tin I shoved in my bag, I suck it up and get to work undressing. Where I absolutely do not get tangled in my jean capris, and almost trip and fall over when I start thinking about Baker right on the other side of the wall from me, getting naked.

Baker was already in the pool when I emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, so luckily I was able to walk calmly over to the edge of the pool without him noticing, and I didn’t need to decide if I should walk slow and sexy, concentrating on not tripping, or run as fast as I could and do a cannonball.

Unfortunately, my feet stutter to a stop right at the edge by the stairs when I get close enough to get a better look at Baker. The water stops just below his waist, and he’s leaning with his back against the inside ledge of the pool, his arms stretched out on either side, resting on the cement. I can see he’s wearing black, board-shorts-style swim trunks, and they’re resting low on his hips, where I have the most glorious view of the indents in his waist, and a wet, happy trail that goes down from his belly button and disappears in his trunks under the water. He looks like he’s getting ready to shoot the cover of Sports Illustrated. Water droplets bead against his ripped ab muscles, and I want to lick every last one of them off of him.

“Jesus Christ,” I hear Baker mutter, blinking out of my fantasy to see that he’s pushed away from the wall, and he’s now standing in the middle of the pool, staring up at me.

My red bikini isn’t anything crazy. It’s just a halter-style top that ties around my neck, with a matching red pair of bottoms that tie on either side of my hips. I might have picked this bikini because the halter-style pushes my boobs together and makes them look out of this world, but whatever. I also maybe had a slight fantasy when I shoved it in my bag that I’d walk out here and Baker wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off me. Which seems to be exactly what’s happening now, as I stand here at the edge of the pool with his eyes slowly moving up my body until they reach mine.

Working on a farm all my life kept me in shape. When I moved here, after a few disastrous gym attempts, I just started doing workouts in the comfort of my own home, with YouTube videos. I’m in pretty good shape. And considering Baker took a super long time to blatantly scan my body, I think he agrees.

Does that mean he wants to have sex with me?

You brainless twat, of course it means he wants to have sex with you. Judging by the look in his eyes, it won’t be sex. It will be a nice, hard fucking.

But it’s our first official date! It’s too soon!

Jesus Christ, here we go again.

“I can’t believe it’s so hot out here,” I suddenly blurt, saying the first thing off the top of my head to get my brain to shut up.

Jesus, just get in the pool and stop trying to talk.

I slowly walk down the stairs and into the pool before I say something else stupid. The water that stops at Baker’s waist comes up to right under my boobs as I wade to the middle of the pool and stop in front of him.

“Dax needs us over against the wall, with our arms out in front of us,” Baker tells me as he starts walking backward in the water to where he’d been lounging when I first came out here.

I do everything I can to avoid staring at his chest and licking my lips as I follow him.

The nice thing about this pool is that the shallow end is separated from the deep end with an incline. When Baker leans against the inside wall of the pool, I stand next to him on the shallow-side and at the top of the incline, which brings my head up closer to his.

Which brings my mouth up closer to his. Which I suddenly realize when he turns to look at me, his wet, bare shoulder brushing against mine.

“Put your arms out in front of you, palms up, just under the surface of the water,” Baker instructs softly.

God, he’s been so quiet. Does that mean he’s bored? Am I boring him with my nervous weirdness?

I do as he says, our eyes still locked on each other. I know it’s early May, and the pool water is heated, but Jesus, whenever he looks at me, it feels like the temperature goes up fifty degrees. I thought I had it bad with the want and the need before Baker kissed me, but now that I’ve had his tongue in my mouth, now that I know what he tastes like and what his body feels like against mine, it’s all I can think about.