The Home-wrecker (The Goode Brothers)
The Home-wrecker: Chapter 10

After Caleb leaves for work, I try to savor the last few minutes of silence that I can before Abby wakes up. In a perfect world, I’d use this time to do something meaningful, like praying, journaling, reading my Bible, or cleaning. Instead, I scroll on my phone and turn my brain into short-attention-span mush.

But not without guilt.

As I get up to take my empty coffee cup to the sink, I notice movement in the water of the pool. Seeing Dean pop his head out from under the surface, I feel my lips twitch with a slight smile.

Planting his hands on the surface of the pool deck, he hoists his wet body out of the water, droplets cascading down his chiseled pecs and abs.

Suddenly, the grip on my mug has grown so tight that my hand aches.

He climbs out in nothing but a pair of tight swim trunks. They hug his thick thighs and barely graze his hip bones. Just a couple inches lower, and they’d reveal⁠—

Stop it.

I turn my gaze downward and rush to the sink. Scrubbing the inside of my coffee mug, I try not to look back up again. There’s nothing wrong with just looking. I’m sure Caleb looks at women all the time.

With a man like Dean walking around, it’s nearly impossible not to sneak a glance. It’s not like I’m going to do anything scandalous. I’m just admiring him.

When I lift my gaze again, I let my eyes rake over his body. Sculpted abs, rounded shoulders, and a thin tuft of hair below his navel that I can barely see from here. He’s taking long, heavy breaths, sucking them in and out in a steady rhythm. His arms are winding around him as if he’s warming himself up.

I assumed he was swimming to relax or cool off, but he seems like he’s gearing up for a workout. I watch as he dives headfirst into the pool, disappearing below the surface.

Glancing back down at the cup in my hand, I notice it’s clear of soapy bubbles, so I set it on the drying rack before looking back out at the water and waiting for Dean’s head to pop back up.

Maybe I’ll go out there and offer him some coffee when he’s done with his swim. Or what if he’s hungry? I could make him breakfast. I have to make some for me and Abby anyway.

The water in the pool starts to settle from the waves of his jump, so I squint my eyes to find where he might have resurfaced. I glance around the yard, wondering if maybe I missed him getting out entirely. He’s nowhere to be seen.

The water is flat and quiet now.

Another five seconds go by.

Another ten.

Another fifteen.

“Oh my god,” I mutter as I shut off the running water and bolt for the door leading to the backyard. My hands are still soaked as I sprint across the grass. I half expect to find blood or a floating body.

When I reach the pool, I see his form at the bottom of the deep end, huddled against the floor.

Terror and adrenaline boil inside me like water in a kettle about to explode.

“Dean!” I scream, hoping he’ll suddenly respond, but he doesn’t move.

I don’t think. I just act.

Without another thought, I dive headfirst into the water. Immediately, I swim to the bottom and reach for him. As I wind my hands around his bare waist to drag him to the top, he gapes at me with a shocked expression on his face.

He’s just sitting at the bottom of the pool, legs crossed and arms moving slowly to hold him there. I don’t take any time to question it. I just bounce my feet off the floor, hauling us both to the surface.

As soon as our heads pop out together, I shriek. “Are you okay?”

“What are you doing?” he stammers breathlessly. I’m still holding him as if he’s drowning. My breasts are pressed to his back, and my hands are holding his firm pecs as I kick us both toward the edge. My fingertips graze the stud piercing through one of his nipples.

“What am I doing?” I ask in a panic. “I’m saving your life.”

“I wasn’t drowning,” he mutters indignantly. As we reach the edge, I finally let him go, and we both hold on to the pool deck and stare at each other, each working to catch our breath.

“Dean, I watched you dive into that pool five minutes ago!”

He lets out a huff as he hoists himself out of the pool. Then he leans over and reaches a hand toward me. When I slide my palm against his, I’m taken aback by how quickly and easily he drags me out of the water and onto the deck.

I’m also instantly aware that I’m still in my pajamas, which are thin and soaking wet. And I don’t have a bra on. His gaze flashes downward at the sight of my cold, perky nipples through the translucent fabric. Quickly, I cross my arms across my chest.

“I’m sorry for scaring you, but I wasn’t drowning,” he says. Water drips from his stern brow, down the straight slope of his nose, and over his full, pink lips.

“What were you doing then?” I ask, trying to make sense of it all.

He lets out an exasperated sigh, staring upward as he confesses, “I just like to practice holding my breath.”

My head tilts. “Holding your breath?”

“I have strong lungs.”

That is the strangest thing I’ve ever heard.

“You do know that diving into someone’s pool and disappearing under the surface for minutes at a time is cause for alarm, right?” I sound like his mother, and I don’t like it.

That makes him chuckle. “Yes, I suppose so.”

When he smiles, it’s disarming. It makes me forget the words hanging on my lips. It quiets my mind and disables my entire system.

“I apologize,” he adds as the smile fades and his face relaxes into a less stern and softer expression. “It was nice of you to jump in and save me.”

“Anyone would have done it,” I reply, which makes him chuckle again.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

He shakes his head as he stares at the ground. More water drips over the soft tan skin of his face, and I’m mesmerized by it. I wonder what it would feel like to run my tongue along his brow line or lick the moisture from his cheek.

Stop it, Briar.

When he looks into my eyes again, I lose my train of thought.

Then, he says, “Not just anyone.”

I’m staring dumbly at him as he rushes to the pool chair, where he left a folded towel. Immediately, he wraps it around my shoulders and rubs my arms to warm me up.

We’re so close that I can make out the array of cool gray tones in his eyes. And the faded freckles on his face. And the stubble he needs to shave off on his jaw.

I’ve been staring at him too long.

Say something, Briar.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” I mutter.

His lips stretch into a smile again. In turn, I find myself smiling too.

“Mom, I’m hungry!” a small voice shouts from the house’s back door.

I tear myself away from Dean and turn to find Abby watching us in her pajamas.

“Coming, peanut!” I call before glancing back at Dean. “I should go make her breakfast. If you…get hungry or want coffee, just knock.” I gesture toward the house with my thumb as I back away, leaving him dripping next to the pool.

“Thanks,” he mutters awkwardly.

“Oh, your towel,” I reply, pulling it from around my shoulders and handing it back to him. I’m fully exposed in my soaked pajamas again, which makes him smirk as he lets his gaze scan the length of my body.

It feels both evasive and arousing.

I have to force myself to swallow as I move toward the house.

“I’m making lasagna tonight if you’re hungry,” I stammer, nearly tripping over one of Abby’s toys in the yard.

He shoots another one of those disarming smiles as he scratches his head. “Thanks, but I have to work tonight.”

I can feel the flames in my cheeks as I reply, “Oh. Okay. Well, another time then.”

Instantly, I turn away from him, rushing to where Abby is standing on the back deck, waiting for me.

“Mommy, why were you swimming in your pajamas?” she asks with her face screwed up in confusion.

“I wasn’t, honey. I was just…helping our new friend.”

She waves to Dean with a cheesy grin on her face, and I glance back at him to see his awkward wave to her. I quickly usher her into the house, and she immediately goes to the couch with her tablet and starts watching a video. Meanwhile, I run up the stairs to get out of these wet clothes.

“Can I have cereal?” she calls after me.

“Yeah,” I reply. “Just let me change first, okay?”

After closing the bathroom door, I get a look at myself in the mirror. I look ridiculous. My wet hair is plastered against my head, and my nipples are on full display through this thin top.

Letting out a groan, I clap my hands over my face.

That was humiliating.

What am I even doing? Did he think I was flirting with him? Was I flirting with him?

First, it was last night in his apartment. And now today in the pool. He hasn’t been here a full twenty-four hours, and I feel like he’s flipped my life on its head.

Why do I act so strange around him? I love my husband and would never cheat on him. And it’s not like a good-looking guy in his twenties would want anything to do with a thirty-three-year-old suburban mom.

Jeez, Briar. Get a hold of yourself.

But even as I’m drying my hair and changing into some dry clothes, I can’t stop thinking about the entire encounter. Replaying everything he said. Remembering how his body felt against my fingers, as if the memory is imprinted into my skin.

There’s nothing wrong with that. Thinking about another man isn’t cheating.

Even if I let my imagination get away from me, thinking about him going to work tonight and picturing in great detail everything that entails.