Why does this girl insist on trying to endear herself to me?
She gasps at the sight of my living room and the downstairs kitchen on our way to the pool, stopping to gawk and turn in slow circles, stumbling into furniture because she's so distracted by the chandeliers mounted to the high ceilings. I don't like the way my chest tightens over these things. It's odd and alarming.
Who is this girl?
I want to know everything about her, down to her blood type, but at the same time, I'm terrified of knowing too much, making her too real to me. I'm already way outside of my comfort zone having her in my home for the night. I told myself I just wanted to fuck her, but here I am, giving her a tour of my house, needing to see her swimming, wanting to give her this thing she's been deprived of.
Those urges are a warning sign that this girl is creeping into uncharted territory. I learned a long time ago that personal attachments are a weakness. A desire for affection, a connection with another person, only leads to disappointment. So I need to remind her that's not going to happen—and remind myself in the process. It's for both of our own good.
We walk into the downstairs solarium, and the evening lights go on automatically, turning the pool to an iridescent shade of green, illuminating the greenery surrounding the oval-shaped pool. A touch of humidity lingers in the air, so I start to loosen my collar, my actions pausing to take in Grace's reaction.
"Your pool is inside?" Her green eyes sparkle with wonder, hands clasped beneath her chin. "This...this is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
Jesus.