Summer, My Crush, His Parents

Writer's note:Thanks to the people who reviewed this chapter, and Kerrik Wolf for the edits. I wanted to publish the entire story for the summer contest but won't make the deadline, so the next chapters are going to be coming out pretty quick. Enjoy!

Chapter 1 - Claire

Chapter 1 - Claire

I don't really want to get out of the taxi. Heat ripples over the neatly trimmed pavement of the quiet neighborhood.

The driver glances at me in the rearview mirror. I've overstayed my welcome in his air-conditioned bubble.

So I step out. It's just me, my oversized backpack, and my suitcase, now, staring at Noah's childhood home.

All school year, he talked as if money wasn't really a thing. The clean lawn, the stonework, the pale blue shutters. It tracks. Something you'd see on HGTV.

The sun stings my pale legs. I shift the strap on my shoulder and climb the carefully maintained cobbled path up to the front door.

I steel myself to ring when the door bursts open. A hulking figure holding a comically large toolbox almost runs me over.

"Harper?" The man says, catching himself.

He's all sharp lines, down to his black hair, graying at the temples. The thin sheen of sweat accentuates the shape of his arms, and his tank top clings to his chest. But the smile he gives me softens his edge. His dark eyes, too. Warm and gentle.

I nod.

"Mr Reyes?"

The smile grows wider. He adjusts the toolbox to one side and sticks out his hand.

"Call me Joel," Noah's dad says in a welcoming voice.

I catch myself staring while my wet palm is clutched in his. That is, until he whips his head over his shoulder and shouts.

"Claire! Harper's here!" Back to me, he adds, "Get in, don't stay in the sun."

Without waiting for my answer, he steps over the short hedge. I watch him as he disappears around the corner of the house.

It's dim inside; shutters closed to keep the harsh rays out.

I drop my backpack at my feet. Everything's spotless. Smooth counters, pale floors, furniture that probably costs more than my tuition. I'm soaking through my ratty T-shirt, shorts sticking to the backs of my thighs. What the hell was I thinking, agreeing to spend the summer here?

And that's before my eyes land on the woman sitting at a small table.

She closes her book carefully, beaming at me across the living room arches. Her light brown waves bounce as she stands. She looks about ten years younger when she takes off her reading glasses.

"Harper!" she calls as if we'd known each other forever, then crosses the room in cheerful steps.

"Did you have a nice trip?" She continues, wrapping me in a tight hug against her floral, flowy dress. Her hand lands on the damp spot on my back. She either doesn't notice or is too polite to say anything. "Ugh, what am I saying. A bus? In that heat? Poor thing."

Of course she smells great. Fresh and sweet.

"Am I crowding you?" She realizes, gently backing off a step. "I'm sorry. I'm Claire, Noah's Mom."

"Harper," I blurt, dimly, like she's not called me by my name already. I duck down too fast, fumbling at the zipper of my bag.

I pull out a box of chocolates, still warm from the trip. I bought it at the gift shop next to the bus station while waiting for my cab. My parents insisted this would be the peak of bienséance, but it feels derisory in the massive house.

Blushing, I hand Claire the crumpled box. I catch her blue gaze for the first time, right as she gives me a once-over.

"Thank you for inviting me," I squeak. "I got you these."

"Oh," she gushes, a hand shooting up to her chest. "You shouldn't have, sweetheart."

The way she pronounces it,Switart, is the first hint of her French accent seeping through. But how could she be from anywhere else?

"When Noah told us you were planning to spend the summer in the dorms, Joel and I knew we had to have you over," she says, like this is the most obvious thing in the world. "He talks about you all the time."

My heart jumps. Noah talks about me? Maybe the six hours on that Greyhound were worth it.

"Where is he?" I ask. Crap, I hope I don't come off too curt.

"Right," Claire laughs, touching her temple like she's just remembered. "Follow me."

"Sorry about the heat, by the way," she says, leading me through the quiet, plush living room. "AC's in the shitter. Joel's looking into it."

I shrug. With the shade, it's actually pretty okay inside the house. We reach the sleek kitchen, and Claire pulls a glass door at the back.

Sunlight floods in. And just like that, I'm standing in front of a pool.

It's big. Long. Pale stone all around, a diving board on one end, soft stairs on the other. There's a grill, a dining table, and a row of loungers under a wide umbrella. It looks like a hotel, or a Bond movie.

Noah's head breaks the surface; his wet mop of hair plastered to his forehead. He spots us and rushes to get out.

The big grin on his face becomes the center of my world for a few moments.

Water rushes down his chest as he pulls himself over the edge of the pool. Yeah, going out of my comfort zone is definitely paying off.

Now that I've met both his parents, his features make a lot more sense. Joel's sharp lines softened by Claire's rounder face. His light olive skin, her blue eyes. Sunlight catches on Noah's wavy brown hair, throwing honey streaks through it.

There's a lankiness to his tall frame, not quite filled out with muscles yet. But I can feel myself squirm as my eyes follow the droplets, gliding over the taut skin of his well-defined tummy, then to his swimming trunks.

They're deliciously short.

"Harp," just like his mother, he wraps a naked arm around my shoulder. The coldness of the water radiates off him, making me wish I were brave enough to press my body to his.

Instead, I let him keep me at arm's length. "It's so weird seeing you here," he continues, looking down at me, a strand of hair falling over his eyes.

I giggle. "Yeah, turns out I exist outside of campus."

"Come on," he guffaws. "You know what I mean."

I do. We met when school began, both freshmen attending the CS department's clunky introduction day. We've been pretty much inseparable ever since.

Also, I'm desperately in love with him. But that's obvious. Well, to everyone except him, anyway.

"This is going to be so much fun," he says, heading back inside the house, without a care for the water he's dripping everywhere. "I'm so glad you agreed to spend the summer break with me."

Somehow, Claire's already got a pitcher of iced tea waiting in the kitchen, as well as a quick snack for me. God bless her.

"I'll show you your bedroom," Noah says when I'm done stuffing my mouth.

We stop by the foyer so he can pick up my bag. What a gentleman. Then head up the stairs.

"Here we go," he says, nonchalantly dropping my luggage on the narrow bed.

There's a desk, a large window, and a spacious closet. Everything is color-matched. The mattress gives under my touch, like a giant brioche. The covers are soft, covered in fragrant pillows.

"You like it?" Noah asks, grinning at my reaction.

This is the first time in my life that I'll have a bedroom to myself. I shared with my sisters back home, then with two roommates in the college dorms.

I fight the urge to just drop on the bed. And push down the feeling of intrusion. They invited me here. Noah wants me here.

"It's alright," I shrug my shoulder, and the little laugh I get from him makes his stomach flex. Hints of abs catch the light from the half-opened shutters.

"Do I get to see yours?" I try to sound cool, detached. "Or do you need to hide your crusty tissues?"

He cackles and simply walks out into the corridor, waving for me to follow.

Entering his room is like stepping inside a cliché. Massive TV, a ridiculous number of consoles. A pair of dumbbells, a few trophies from his track and field days. And on the desk, his pride and joy. The PC he built himself in his senior year of high school and still won't shut up about

Honestly, it's a miracle Noah turned out so outgoing and well-rounded. If I had a room like this growing up, I never would've gone outside.

I should really just ask him where the bathroom is and take a shower after the long trip. But it would mean missing the way the fabric of his thin trunks hugs his butt as he dashes to pick up a screwdriver on the floor.

The risk of Noah putting clothes back on is too high.

"Come check this out," he calls, popping open the side panel of the computer.

He then spends a few minutes going over the components. Why he chose them. The tricks he used to make them all fit.

Fascinating stuff, no doubt. But I'm too busy ogling him.

"I hope I can take it to the dorms next year," Noah sighs longingly.

"Yeah," I snort. "That'll be the end of your social life."

"Worth it," he picks a video game box I haven't noticed before. "Look what I got us for this summer."

"Skyrim?" I nearly choke. It came out six months ago, but neither of us had a chance to play it during the school year.

"Help me set up?"

I nod, already grinning.

He runs a long cable from the computer to the TV and plugs in a controller. I grab a few pillows from the mattress and set them on the cool floor.

We slump down, backs against the bed, staring up as the title screen comes on.

I'm hyper-conscious of his presence. His bare shoulder against my arm, his leg bumping mine. Even slouched, his stomach stays flat. My eyes catch on the trail of hair disappearing under his waistband. I wonder how they would feel under my fingers.

We burn an hour on character creation. Noah wants to come up with the dumbest avatar possible. I just want someone I can actually look at for the next two hundred hours or so.

"At least make his hair green," he whines as I hover over the confirmation menu.

"No way, not immersive."

He lunges for the controller, but I'm faster, holding it high out of his reach. Our eyes lock. His are bright with challenge. He's not going to let this go. I bite my lip.

In a flash, he's climbing over me, strong arms pinning me down.

We wrestle, laughing. I feel all kinds of warm, solid parts of him pressing against me, shifting as we move. My skin tingles under his weight. My breath gets shallow. I'm seconds from letting him win.

His smell surrounds me. Chlorine, sunscreen, and sweat.

Then his phone rings.

He bolts to his feet, leaving me dazed and flustered on the floor. I hear him flip the phone open.

"Hello?"

I take a deep breath to regain my composure and sit back up.

I can hear a feminine voice screeching through the miniature speaker.

"A few days," Noah answers, rolling his eyes as the person at the end of the line picks back up. "Come on, Sarah..."

Fuck. Not her.

His high school girlfriend. The long-distance ex. The one who broke his heart just before Christmas. Made me his shoulder to cry on.

"Yeah... sure..." His voice dips. "See you in a bit."

Noah hangs up and shoots me a weak, contrite look. No, no, no.

"I'm sorry, I have to split," he says apologetically. "Sarah drama. You know how she is."

I swallow the lump in my throat. "Want me to come with?"

"No," he shrugs, shaking his head. "Just don't go too far in the main story, I'll be back for dinner."

This all feels so familiar.

I stare at the screen, a little dumb. The warmth in my belly sours, turns into dead weight. The wetness in my shorts feels out of place.

Fabric sounds. Unconsciously, my head turns around to find the source.

Noah's naked backside is facing me. He's bending over, his trunks around his ankles as he changes.

I have no issue looking away this time, giving him his privacy. The message is clear: I'm not even a girl. I'm just the buddy you can strip in front of without making it weird.

Perfect.

He slips out, leaving me alone in the darkened room.

I throw myself into the video game. The screen is the only thing that exists. The edges of my vision blur. I don't know how long I spend like that.

A sharp knock on the door brings me back to Earth.

"Harper?" Claire asks, surprised. A second later, she's stepping into the room. "I heard Noah taking my car. I thought you'd be with him. What are you doing here all alone?"

"He had to go see Sarah," I say in an even tone.

"That girl," she sighs, but doesn't dwell. Her voice smooths back into that warm tone of hers. "It's a sauna in here."

It's probably even hotter outside. Still, she pops the window open to chase the stale air from the room. I cringe at the implication.

"I know you're nineteen, not thirteen," Claire says, one hand on her hip. "But you can't spend the whole day hiding in here playing video games."

"I.." I start, but she cuts me off.

"You packed a swimsuit, I hope?"

I nod.

"Good," she says, already turning. "Get changed. I'll see you downstairs in three minutes."

That's how I end up in front of a bathroom mirror, stuffed in a navy blue one-piece I haven't touched since sophomore year of high school.

The memories come rushing back. Cold locker rooms. Clammy polyester. Girls whispering behind towels.

The sad state of my swimsuit did not help their nasty remarks. It floats around my bottom, always eager to let something embarrassing peek.

And of course, after all this time, it's too tight around the top now. The thin fabric does nothing to hide the shape of my conical breasts or my puffy nipples that would cut through glass even on the hottest of days.

I can't go in front of Claire like that.

"Thirty seconds!" Her voice comes cheerfully from downstairs.

I look at the girl in the mirror. She takes a deep breath, then slouches, trying to make her chest look less obscene.

The strength of Claire's smile as I gingerly step into the living room makes all the stress disappear.

"There you are," she coos, sounding genuinely happy to see me.

She's in a red bikini, a thin pareo tied around her wide hips, a straw hat perched high on her curls. If you saw her on a beach, you'd never guess she was anyone's suburban mom.

Except maybe for the uneven splotches of sunscreen across her shoulders.

"Let's get you covered," she says, shaking the lotion bottle. "Blondes like you tend to burn up."

She spurts a generous dollop into my open palm. Before I can move, her own slick hands land on my shoulder blades.

I flinch, just enough for her to notice

"Oh, sorry, sweetheart," she hurries to take her hands off. "I keep making you uncomfortable."

But it feels good to be her 'switart'. Silly, maybe. But warm. A distraction. I could use one.

I glance over my shoulder. Not too long, I don't want her to see me blushing this hard. "It's okay. Just caught me off guard."

She giggles, and the touch returns, brisk but gentle as she kneads the sunscreen into my exposed back.

It takes me a minute, but I finally remember I should be doing my front. The cream has warmed up in my palm.

Claire traces a finger down my spine, even going over the fabric covering my lower back.

"Stand tall," she says, voice a little firmer now. "If you slouch like that, you'll have a hump by the time you're twenty-five."

"I've not even been here for one day yet," I chuckle. "You don't get to be more overbearing than my mom."

"Is that a challenge?" she asks, casually tying my hair into a messy chignon. Where the hell did she even get that scrunchie?

"That pool is freaking amazing," I say as we step into the sun.

"Twenty by forty feet," she says proudly, untying her pareo. "Joel wanted smaller, but I put my foot down. I sometimes help out the swim team coach at the high school where I work. Used to run private lessons here."

"Where is Joel?" I ask, crouching over the edge of the pool to dip a toe in the water. It's heavenly.

Claire shakes her head in consternation. "Under the house or in his shack, somewhere. He swore he'd fix the AC himself. Now it's a hundred degrees, and every HVAC company's booked out for weeks. I told him he's not allowed to come back up until it works."

I smile, then let myself tumble into the water, like a dead weight. The rush of the bubbles around me is fantastic. My worries float away.

Pools can be so fun when there isn't a row of mean girls judging your every move, waiting for you on the dirty tiled floor.

Instead, I find Claire's delighted smile when I emerge, brushing a few rebellious strands from my face.

"Hope you're not expecting too much, coach," I say, sardonic. "PE teachers had to threaten detention to get me in the water. I'm a terrible swimmer."

Her smile grows even wider. She's kneeling by the edge, cupping handfuls of pool water and pouring them down her arms, across her shoulders and back. Then she stands.

I watch in awe as her entire body tenses, the way she perfectly lines herself for a dive, entering the water without a splash.

Yet when she comes up, she has that universal half-sputter and quick blinks.

"Whoa," I say, and I swear this time she blushes a little.

"Shut up," she rolls her eyes, unable to suppress her grin. "Swim toward me. I wanna see what I'm working with."

I paddle clumsily. I should feel anxious about having someone watch me move in a swimsuit. Instead, I bask in her undivided attention.

When I reach Claire, she tuts.

"You need to be straighter," she says.

Her hand lands on my belly. I can feel my eyes widening as she pushes on it, lifting my body in the water. Does it stay there a second too long?

I couldn't care less.

"I think I found my project for the summer," she says.

We fall into rhythm. Back and forth across the pool, her voice following me through the water. Sometimes she steps out to watch from above, arms folded, eyes narrowed in playful scrutiny.

Always a comment. A correction, a compliment, or a motion she wants me to mirror

Her touches come without warning. Adjusting my arms. Nudging my thighs.

A pat on the back or shoulder.

Accidental bumps of her curves against my bony sides. The slightest caress of a palm over my cheek. She never lingers.

This is all in my head.

I catch myself stealing glances. I've never looked at a woman like that before. This isn't envy or admiration. I'm not sure what it is.

"On your back, sweetheart," Claire says gently. She's beside me in the shallow end, one hand steadying my side. "Can you maintain a plank without me?"

I nod and flip happily, feeling my skin glide against hers. It takes all of my weak core to stay straight on the water. It feels so unnatural.

I glance up for reassurance. But Claire isn't looking at my face. I follow her gaze and gasp.

The threadbare fabric and harsh sun have turned the thin cups of my swimsuit almost transparent. My nipples are clearly visible.

My arms shoot up instinctively, crossing over my chest. The movement throws off my balance, and I slip under.

Chlorine fills my nose.

Claire's arms slide under mine and gently lift me from the water. I cough a few times. A caring hand strokes my back, soothing me.

She doesn't ask what happened. The arms still tightly locked over my chest say it all.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, deflated.

"For what?" Claire chuckles softly.

I think for a second. "Exposing myself?"

She shakes her head. "You Americans sometimes..."

"My mother never bothered with a top at the beach," she says, as she undoes the string on her own.

Soon, it glides down her arms, and she tosses it over the edge of the pool.

"Better?" She asks, not unkind. "We're even that way."

There are no tan lines on the soft-looking skin of her generous breasts. My mouth goes dry. They're so round and sit high on her chest.

I look back up, but it's too late. I'm caught.

"Okay, that's enough swimming for today," she says, squeezing my elbow. "Why don't you set up chairs for us under the umbrella. I'll get us refreshments."