Pool Boys Read Online Free

more than nine months ago.
    “This is good for me, G,” Ethan added, using the hem of his polo shirt to wipe his chin, and revealing a flash of flat, olive tummy. “Go ahead. Serve.”
    Georgia hesitated. Did she detect a hostile undertone?She couldn’t tell. Ethan wasn’t exactly the hostile type. This was the same guy who had grinned (yes, grinned) when he’d dumped her. Then he’d said, “I’m sorry, G, but this isn’t my fault. I like you. A lot. But I don’t want to lose my job. I love this job.”
    That was a direct quote.
    Thanks, Ethan! Georgia had wanted to shout. (Or scream. Or sob.) I’m so happy you like me “a lot”! How sweet. And I’m so glad you “love” your job. Thanks for choosing between us.
    Of course, Georgia hadn’t said any of it. She’d just nodded. She’d just accepted it, as if a million other country clubs wouldn’t swoop Ethan up in a second. She knew this for a fact: Kenwood, just down the road, had been looking for a new tennis pro ever since their last one ran off to Bali with the owner’s sixty-year-old wife.
    And sure, maybe Kenwood wasn’t as nice as Silver Oaks—maybe their courts were clay instead of grass, and maybe you didn’t have to adhere to a thousand rules (unspoken or not) to be a member or employee—but it was still a place where you could earn decent money hitting balls with dinosaurs. Ethan Brennan could be a pro at a club within bicycling distance, and he could still go out with Georgia Palmer. He’d still be able to have lunch with her every day. It would be romantic. Even better, it would be a big “screw you” to Silver Oaks.
    “Are you sure you want to keep playing?” she called to him one more time.
    “Hell, yes!” Ethan yelled.
    Georgia juggled the ball. Ethan always looked especially cute in the morning, with his light-brown hair a mess. Asshole. “Let’s be friends,” he’d said, and he’d been saying it ever since the breakup. It made her cringe.
    “Um, G. You can serve any time you want. I’m waiting.”
    “Sorry.”
    She tossed the ball in the air and… THWAP! Straight down the center: an ace. The ball slammed into the fence behind him. Ethan didn’t even bother to try to return it.
    “Wow,” he said. “Nice one.”
    “Thanks,” she answered.
    “You know, I think you’re right,” he said with an embarrassed smile. “Maybe I should save some energy for my lessons.”
    “You’re playing great,” Georgia lied.
    “Don’t even try it,” Ethan said, twirling his racket and approaching the net. “But hey, time out. I want to talk to you about something.”
    Georgia frowned at him from the baseline. “About what, your game? You’re just a little rusty, that’s all.” She stared down at her yellow Adidas sneakers. She hated herself for being such a dork; she should be ragging on him. She should be telling him that he was predictable, and how that was never a good thing in tennis. It wasn’t really a good thing in life, either. But maybe that was more her problem than it was his.
    “Come on, G.” He beckoned to her. “This has nothing to do with my game. It’s kind of private.”
    “Ethan,” she said, suddenly very uncomfortable. She shifted on her feet. Her navy-blue eyes shot back toward the pool. “What are you doing? I don’t—”
    “Could I be your escort to the Midsummer Ball?” he interrupted.
    Georgia gaped at him. She nearly dropped her racket. “Excuse me?”
    “You know, the Midsummer Ball?” he said. “When you ‘officially’ become a member of the Silver Oaks Country Club?”
    “I know what the Midsummer Ball is, Ethan.”
    He climbed over the net and sauntered over to her side of the court. “So what do you say? Don’t you think it’ll be fun?”
    “Ethan, I…” If this was a joke, it wasn’t a very funny one. Worse, as Ethan drew closer, Georgia caught a whiff of that stupid Walgreen’s sports deodorant he wore, a pungent mixture of baby powder and aloe—and, for a second,