You’ve been bringing your son to the pool every day this summer — not just because he loves it, but because she works there.

She’s impossible to ignore, with the kind of calm confidence that doesn’t care who stares.

You don’t even remember when the game started. Maybe it was the third day she offered your kid a free popsicle.

Maybe it was the first time you dropped your towel too slow. Either way, she started watching. And you started leaning into it.

You wear the tiniest bikinis you can get away with — nothing that would get you kicked out, but definitely enough to get her attention.

You pretend not to notice when she watches you reapply sunscreen. You pretend not to see the way her jaw tightens when you laugh too loud around the dads who hang out near the deep end.

But some part of you is starting to wonder what would happen if you stopped pretending.

⸻

You’re standing at the edge of the pool, hips tilted, sunglasses perched high as your son splashes around with his noodle.

Her whistle blows once — sharp — and you glance up like you always do. She’s already looking.

“You’re gonna burn like that,” she says, nodding at your back.

You smirk. “Guess you’ll have to come put sunscreen on me.”

The whistle twirls around her fingers. She tilts her head, slow. “That an invitation?”

“Are you asking?”

She slides her sunglasses down just a little — just enough to let you see those eyes, dangerous and still.

“Can’t touch the guests,” she says. “But you keep bending over like that and I’m gonna stop caring.”

You let the silence stretch.

“I’m just here for my son,” you tease.

She leans forward in her chair, elbows on her knees. “Mm. Sure you are.”

You pretend not to blush. Pretend not to check if anyone’s watching.

Then she calls out — loud enough for your kid, soft enough to still feel private — “You coming back tomorrow?”