Jess stood in her walk-in closet, fingertips trailing across the row of swimsuits neatly hung alongside her summer clothes. The collection, accumulated over years of pool parties and beach vacations, offered a rainbow of options. Two days ago, she’d gone with the red one-piece, reserved by comparison to some of her other options, yet still striking enough to catch Bob’s eye and give Tom something delicious to think about later.

Today called for something different.

She pulled out a black bikini with gold hardware connecting the pieces, holding it against her body as she considered her reflection in the full-length mirror. The top would showcase her cleavage nicely, the bottoms cut high enough to emphasize her long legs while still offering reasonable coverage.

Too safe, she decided, returning it to the rack.

Her hand paused over a white string bikini, the one Tom had bought her for a weekend in Cabo three years ago. Barely there, it had taken considerable coaxing from him for her to wear it even on their private hotel balcony. The memory of his face when she finally emerged wearing it brought a smile to her lips. She’d felt sexy, desirable, powerful in a way that went beyond her usual confidence.

Jess pulled the hanger free, considering the tiny scraps of fabric. As a test of boundaries, this would certainly qualify. But was it too much, too soon? The line between teasing and something more definitive felt paper thin, and she wasn’t quite ready to blur it completely.

At the far end of the rack hung a turquoise bikini, one of her favorites. The halter top provided support while still showcasing her curves, and the bottoms struck a perfect balance between modest and alluring. More importantly, the vibrant color set off her tan and made her blonde hair appear even lighter by contrast.

Perfect, she decided, removing it from the hanger.

As she changed, Jess reflected on the past few days. Tuesday night had been incredible, Tom’s response to her poolside interaction with Bob and yoga session with Derek exceeding her most optimistic expectations. The way his eyes had darkened as she recounted each detail, the barely contained desire in his touch as she’d straddled him on the couch, the intensity of their connection as they’d moved together, all of it had created something electric between them.

And instead of fading, that electricity had carried over into Wednesday. Tom had texted her throughout the day, little messages that might seem innocent to anyone else but carried layers of meaning for her. During dinner, his hand had found her thigh under the table, fingers tracing idle patterns that sent shivers up her spine. When they’d finally fallen into bed, their lovemaking had been neither frantic nor quick, but deep and almost reverent, punctuated by whispered “I love yous” that felt more meaningful than ever.

It struck her as almost painfully ironic that Tom’s fantasies about other men were bringing them closer together. For months, they’d been drifting, not dramatically but noticeably. Sex had become less frequent, a casualty of busy schedules and the lingering tension from Tom’s cryptocurrency investment disaster. His increasingly late nights at work had grated on her nerves, reading as indifference rather than dedication.

Now, those same late nights felt different. Tom working overtime wasn’t avoiding her. It was providing for her, for them, for their future. The financial pressure had eased somewhat thanks to Bob’s rent checks creating a reliable monthly cushion. And sex had become a source of connection rather than a chore to check off a relationship maintenance list.

Jess smiled at her reflection as she adjusted the turquoise top. There was light at the tunnel’s end, and while she couldn’t have predicted this particular path, she couldn’t deny its effectiveness. She was having her cake and eating it too, exploring this playful, teasing side of herself with other men while coming home to a husband who not only accepted it but was actively turned on by it.

The bikini fit perfectly, showcasing the results of her consistent gym routine. Yoga and weight training had kept her body toned and strong. At twenty-seven, she felt more comfortable in her skin than she had at twenty, when she’d been modeling and constantly comparing herself to impossibly perfect women.

She turned, appraising herself critically. Her breasts filled the cups nicely. Her stomach was flat, with just enough definition around her obliques to show she took care of herself. Her legs had always been long, lean, shapely, and the high-cut bikini bottoms emphasized their length.

Yes, she looked good, and she knew it. Not in a conceited way, but with the confidence of a woman who fully understood her assets.

Jess grabbed a sheer white cover-up, slipping it over her shoulders but leaving it open in front. She added oversized sunglasses, gathered her hair into a loose ponytail, and stepped into simple white sandals.

In the kitchen, she filled a water bottle before moving to the balcony doors. Outside, the afternoon sun bathed their yard in golden light. And there, as she’d expected, was Bob, working on the flower beds along the back fence. He wore khaki shorts and a faded blue t-shirt that had seen better days, a wide-brimmed hat protecting his face from the sun.

Jess took a moment to watch him. Despite being in his mid-fifties, Bob moved with the casual strength of someone accustomed to physical labor. She could see why he’d been successful in his contracting business before the divorces took their toll.

She opened the balcony door and began descending the stairs to the pool area, making no effort to disguise her approach. The boards creaked slightly beneath her sandals, causing Bob to glance up from his work.

If she hadn’t been watching for it, she might have missed the momentary widening of his eyes, the slight pause in his movements before he straightened and offered a casual wave.

“Afternoon,” he called, his voice carrying easily across the yard. “Taking advantage of the sunshine again?”

“Thought I’d take another swim break,” Jess replied, reaching the bottom of the stairs. “The pool’s just sitting there looking inviting, and my brain needs a reset before my next call.”

Bob nodded as if this made perfect sense, though his eyes briefly followed the movement of her cover-up as it fluttered in the light breeze.

“Smart move,” he said, removing his gardening gloves and tucking them into his back pocket. “Nothing clears the head like water.”

“How’s the garden coming along?” Jess asked, approaching the pool’s edge where she draped her cover-up over a lounger.

Bob gestured toward the flower beds. “I just planted some native perennials along the back fence. Minimal maintenance. They’ll fill in nicely over the summer.”

“You’ve transformed this space,” Jess said.

“That’s the advantage of my situation,” Bob replied with a self-deprecating smile. “Plenty of time for projects like this.”

There was something in his tone, not quite bitterness but a hint of resignation, that reminded Jess of his circumstances. From successful business owner to tenant in someone else’s home. It must represent a significant adjustment.

“Well, we appreciate it,” she said sincerely. “The yard’s never looked better.”

“Happy to do it,” Bob assured her. “Gives me purpose, something constructive to focus on.”

Jess nodded, then turned toward the pool. “I’m going to take a quick dip,” she said. “Don’t let me interrupt your work.”

“Take your time,” Bob replied easily. “I’ve been at it for hours. Probably due for a break myself.”

She felt his eyes on her as she walked to the pool steps, but when she glanced back, he had already returned to his gardening, his attention seemingly focused on the flowers.

The water felt glorious against her skin as she slipped into the pool. Not too cold, not too warm, perfect for a hot summer afternoon in Austin. Jess glided through the water with strong, confident strokes, enjoying the sensation of weightlessness and freedom.

She didn’t waste time, keeping her swim to just a few minutes, enough to cool off and feel refreshed without turning it into a proper workout. When she emerged from the pool, water streaming down her body, Bob was sitting at the patio table beneath the large umbrella, two drinks in front of him.

“Thought you might be thirsty,” he called, holding up a glass of iced tea. “Same as Tuesday, if that’s alright.”

“That’s perfect, thank you,” Jess replied, grabbing a towel from the stack they kept in an outdoor storage box. She wrapped it around her waist loosely and made her way to the table.

Bob had positioned himself with his back to the sun, his face shadowed beneath his hat. He’d opened a beer for himself, condensation already forming on the bottle’s surface. A respectable distance separated their chairs, close enough for conversation but not so close as to feel intrusive.

“Cheers,” he said, lifting his beer as Jess took her seat.

“Cheers,” she echoed, raising her iced tea. “To another beautiful day in Austin.”

“Won’t get any argument from me,” Bob agreed. “Though it’ll be hotter than hell soon.”

“Don’t remind me,” Jess groaned, taking a sip of her tea. “I’m headed to Savannah for that project I mentioned. The humidity there makes Austin feel like a desert.”

“When’s that happening?”

“First trip is in a few weeks,” Jess replied. “Then I’ll be back and forth periodically after that. It’s a major conversion project, so we’re looking at about a year, though I won’t be on-site that entire time.”

“A big opportunity for you,” Bob observed.

“It is,” Jess confirmed. “So much history in those walls, so many architectural details worth preserving.”

“Woodwork’s probably the biggest challenge in those old places,” Bob commented. “Moisture damage, termites, not to mention decades of paint layers hiding the original craftsmanship.”

Jess looked at him with renewed interest. “That’s exactly right. The preliminary assessment showed significant damage to some of the crown molding. The restoration will be a major undertaking.”

Bob took a pull from his beer. “I’ve got some contacts in historical restoration. Craftsmen who specialize in period-accurate woodwork. Most are in Texas, but a few have national reach. Could put you in touch if that would be helpful.”

“That would be amazing,” Jess said, genuinely pleased. “The firm in Savannah has their own contractors, but additional resources never hurt.”

“I’ll dig through my old contacts list,” Bob promised. “Even if my business days are behind me, those relationships still mean something.”

“Thank you,” Jess said. “That’s really thoughtful.”

Bob waved off her thanks. “Just paying forward some of the kindness you and Tom have shown me.”

The conversation shifted to more casual topics, flowing easily despite their age gap and differing life experiences. Jess had heard parts of Bob’s backstory before, but she listened with genuine interest as he filled in additional details.

“I was actually recruited by several D1 schools,” Bob mentioned, taking a sip of his beer. “Football scholarships. Nebraska, Texas A&M, a few others.”

“Really?” Jess perked up. “I had no idea you were that serious of an athlete.”

Bob shrugged, a hint of pride breaking through his typically modest demeanor. “Offensive lineman. Six-three, two-ninety my senior year. Nobody could get around me.”

“What position specifically?” Jess asked, finding herself genuinely curious.

“Right guard mostly.” Bob smiled at the memory. “The weight room is where I really stood out though.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Bob nodded. “Only spent about three years seriously lifting, but I got my deadlift up to five hundred pounds by graduation.”

Jess’s eyes widened in genuine shock. “Five hundred? After just two years?” As someone who incorporated weightlifting into her own fitness routine, she understood exactly how impressive that was. Her own deadlift had taken years to build up to just over two hundred pounds, and she was considered strong among the women at her gym.

“Natural strength, I guess,” Bob said, clearly pleased by her reaction. “My dad was the same way. It’s why I turned down those scholarships, actually. Figured that kind of strength was better put to use in the family business than getting my brains scrambled on some football field.”

Jess found herself reassessing the man across from her. The Bob she saw now, in his mid-fifties with his substantial but softer frame, still carried himself with that underlying power, but she hadn’t fully appreciated the elite athlete he once was. It explained his surprising coordination and the efficient way he moved despite his size.

“So instead of going pro, you joined your father’s plumbing business,” Jess summarized, “then built your own contracting company, before the divorces…”

Bob nodded, the momentary light in his eyes dimming slightly as the conversation turned toward the less triumphant chapters of his life. “That’s the condensed version. Traded one kind of glory for another, I suppose. Then lost that too.”

There was something almost comforting about Bob’s company. No pretension, no corporate doublespeak, just straightforward conversation grounded in real-world experience. It reminded her of talks with her own father.

The sun had shifted slightly, its rays now falling directly on the loungers. Jess glanced at her watch, noting she still had fifteen minutes before her next conference call.

A bold idea formed in her mind, sending a little thrill through her body. She thought of Tom’s reaction when she’d told him about her previous interactions with Bob. How would he respond to this?

“I think I’ll catch a few rays before heading back up,” she said casually, standing and moving toward the nearest lounger. “Make the most of this sunshine.”

Bob nodded, remaining in his seat. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Jess adjusted the lounger to a nearly flat position. Then, in a deliberate motion that she knew would capture Bob’s attention, she removed the towel from around her waist and spread it over the lounger’s surface.

She could feel Bob’s eyes on her as she stretched out on her back, adjusting her sunglasses against the bright light. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Bob sipping his beer while Jess soaked up the sun.

Then, in a movement that felt both perfectly natural and electrically charged, she turned over onto her stomach.

“Bob, would you mind doing me a huge favor?” she asked, glancing back over her shoulder. “There’s some sunscreen in that bag. Would you mind applying some to my back? I can’t reach it properly.”

The silence that followed seemed to stretch forever, though it probably lasted only seconds.

“Are you sure?” Bob asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Jess replied. “I burn easily, and I don’t want to be lobster-red for my video call later.”

“No trouble,” Bob said, setting down his beer and standing. “Let me wash my hands first. Been digging in the dirt all morning.”

He moved to the outdoor sink they’d installed near the barbecue, thoroughly washing his hands before retrieving the sunscreen. When he returned, his movements were almost cautious.

“This might be cold,” he warned as he squeezed some lotion onto his palm.

“I’m prepared,” Jess assured him, resting her head on her folded arms.

The first touch of Bob’s hands on her back made her inhale sharply. His fingers were broad and strong, but surprisingly gentle as they spread the lotion across her shoulders and upper back.

“Is the pressure okay?” he asked.

“It’s fine,” Jess replied, then decided to push further. “Actually, you could press a little harder. I’m pretty tense from sitting at my desk all day.”

Bob’s hands hesitated briefly before increasing their pressure, finding the knots of tension along her shoulder blades and working them with surprising skill. His thumbs pressed into the muscles bracketing her spine, drawing a small, involuntary sound of pleasure from her.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “That just felt really good.”

“Used to do this for Sarah,” Bob said, his hands continuing their steady work. “She carried all her stress in her shoulders too.”

The mention of his ex-wife was a reminder that Bob was a man with history, with experience, not just a means to Tom’s fantasy fulfillment.

“You’re good at it,” Jess commented, allowing herself to relax into his touch. “Professional quality.”

Bob chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. “Just one of those useful life skills. Like knowing how to change a tire or fix a leaky faucet.”

His hands moved lower, working the muscles of her middle back with the same careful attention. Jess felt herself melting, the tension she hadn’t even realized she was carrying dissolving beneath his touch.

“So the Savannah project,” Bob said, his voice casual as if they were still sitting across from each other at the table rather than engaged in this far more intimate interaction. “Is Tom going with you on any of those trips?”

“Probably not,” Jess replied. “His work schedule is even more packed than mine these days. And with the Meridian implementation, he can’t really take time off.”

“That’s too bad,” Bob commented. “Savannah’s a beautiful city. Romantic too. All that history…”

“It is beautiful,” Jess agreed. “Maybe once the project is further along and his schedule eases up a bit.”

Bob’s hands moved to the small of her back, fingers working just above the waistline of her bikini bottoms. Jess became acutely aware of the vulnerability of her position. Face down, practically half-naked, with Bob’s large hands on her body. Yet she felt no fear, no real discomfort.

“I think that does it,” Bob said, his hands finally lifting from her skin. “Should be fully protected from the sun now.”

Jess turned her head to look up at him, offering a smile. “Thank you. That felt amazing.”

Bob stepped back, recapping the sunscreen bottle. “Happy to help,” he said. “Hate to see good skin damaged by the sun.”

Jess glanced at her watch and sighed. “I should probably head back up. My call’s in ten minutes, and I need to make myself presentable.”

“Certainly don’t look presentable now,” Bob agreed with gentle teasing in his voice. “Far too relaxed.”

She laughed, appreciating his ability to lighten the moment. “The hazards of an excellent back rub.”

Sitting up, Jess reached for her cover-up and slipped it on.

“Thanks again for the tea,” she said, standing. “And the conversation. And the sunscreen application.”

“Anytime,” Bob replied, then quickly amended, “I mean, the tea and conversation are always available. The rest is… well, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

There was something touching about his awkwardness, the way he tried to balance being friendly without overstepping. Whether that was genuine respect or deliberate restraint, Jess couldn’t quite determine. Regardless, it created a space where she felt safe to explore without pressure.

“I’ll see you around,” she said, starting toward the stairs.

“Count on it,” Bob replied, already turning back to his gardening. “Good luck with your call.”

Jess climbed the stairs to the balcony, her mind racing with thoughts of how she’d describe this encounter to Tom later. The way Bob’s hands had felt on her skin, strong and competent. The casual conversation they’d maintained throughout, as if massaging his landlord’s nearly naked wife was the most natural thing in the world. The tension beneath the seeming normality of it all.

She wondered how far she could take this, how much further she could push the boundaries while still maintaining that crucial sense of control. Not for Bob’s sake, but for Tom’s, to see his eyes darken with that particular mix of jealousy and arousal.

Inside, Jess headed straight for the shower, needing to rinse off the sunscreen and chlorine before her call.

As Jess stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel, her phone chimed with a text message. She picked it up, expecting to see her work team reminding her about the upcoming call.

Instead, it was Tom.

Tom: Can’t stop thinking about you today. Something tells me you’ve been up to no good. Can’t wait to hear all about it tonight.

Jess smiled, her fingers typing a response.

Jess: Maybe. You’ll just have to wait and see. Love you.

His reply came almost instantly.

Tom: Love you too. More than anything.

That’s what mattered, ultimately. The foundation of trust and love that allowed them to explore these new territories together. Everything else was just… seasoning, adding spice to an already solid recipe.

Jess dressed quickly, transforming back into her professional self for the upcoming call. As she sat down at her desk and opened her laptop, her mind was already half-planning tonight’s conversation with Tom, anticipating his reactions, the questions he’d ask, the details he’d want to hear.

With a few minutes still remaining before her call, Jess let herself remember the feeling of Bob’s hands working the tension from her muscles, the surprising tenderness in his touch despite his size and strength. It had been a bold step forward in their exploration, crossing a physical boundary they hadn’t previously approached.

Her laptop chimed, alerting her to the impending call. Jess straightened in her chair, adjusted her webcam, and prepared to dive back into the professional world of design challenges and client expectations. But a part of her mind remained fixed on the afternoon’s encounter, carefully cataloging each sensation, each nuance, to share with Tom later.

She had a feeling tonight would be another memorable evening in what was becoming a remarkable new chapter in their relationship.

—

Tom leaned back in his office chair, fingers hovering over the keyboard as he squinted at the Meridian implementation spreadsheet on his monitor. The numbers were important to the strategy, but his concentration kept slipping away.

He glanced at his watch. 10:47 AM. Jess would be deep into brunch with Madi by now. Those brunches typically ran long, especially when Madi was in full storytelling mode. He had at least another hour, probably two, before Jess would return.

Plenty of time to focus on work. If only his mind would cooperate.

Instead, his thoughts kept circling back to the past week, replaying moments like favorite scenes from a movie. Tuesday night after Jess’s swim and yoga class. Wednesday evening’s unexpectedly tender lovemaking. Thursday’s revelation about Bob applying sunscreen to her barely covered body. Yesterday’s casual mention of Derek’s “helpful” adjustments during her extended yoga session.

Tom saved the spreadsheet and pushed back from his desk. Who was he kidding? Work wasn’t happening, not with these images filling his head.

The house felt different somehow. Quieter with Jess out with Madi, but also charged with something new, as if the walls themselves had absorbed the energy of their evolving relationship.

He moved to the window, gazing out at their backyard. The pool glittered in the late morning sunlight, the scene of so many recent developments. Tom could almost see Jess there in her turquoise bikini, Bob’s broad hands spreading lotion across her back.

“He was so careful,” she’d told him Thursday night. “Professional, almost. But I could tell it was affecting him. His breathing changed, and once or twice, his hands lingered just a little longer than necessary.”

That image had fueled their intense sex, Tom taking her from behind while she described how Bob’s hands had felt on her skin.

The sex had been incredible, yes, but it was more than that. It was the renewed connection, the heightened awareness of each other. Tom found himself noticing things about Jess he’d started taking for granted, the graceful way she moved around their kitchen, the unconscious habit she had of tucking her hair behind her ear when concentrating, the slight furrow between her brows when she was reading something challenging.

It was as if his senses had been recalibrated, tuned to a frequency that made everything about her more vivid, more present. She wasn’t just his wife of four years, his partner of six. She was Jess Marshall, beautiful, desirable, coveted by other men yet choosing to come home to him each night.

The change was apparent in her too. She seemed more relaxed, more playful. The lingering tension from his cryptocurrency disaster had largely dissipated, replaced by a new energy that manifested in unexpected ways. She texted him throughout the day, little messages that might seem innocent to anyone else but carried layers of meaning for him. She’d taken to wearing lingerie to bed again, something that had fallen by the wayside in recent months.

And yesterday, Tom smiled at the memory, she’d casually mentioned that Derek had pulled her aside after yoga class, suggesting she might benefit from “personalized sessions” to deepen her practice.

“He said I have natural ability,” Jess had told him over dinner, her eyes never leaving his face as she gauged his reaction. “That my body intuitively understands movement. He thinks with some personalized sessions, I could advance much faster.”

“And what did you say?” Tom had asked, working to keep his voice neutral despite the immediate tightening in his groin.

“I told him I’d think about it,” she’d replied with a small smile. “That I’d need to discuss it with my husband first.”

The conversation had led to yet another night of passionate reconnection.

The doorbell’s sudden chime jolted Tom. He glanced at his watch again. 11:03 AM. Too early for Jess to be back from brunch, but maybe she’d forgotten something. Her wallet or phone.

He made his way downstairs, not bothering to check his appearance.

But when Tom opened the front door, it wasn’t Jess standing on their porch. It was Bob, dressed in cargo shorts and a faded University of Texas t-shirt, a baseball cap shading his eyes from the late morning sun.

“Morning,” Bob said with a casual nod. “Got a minute?”

Tom hesitated. With Jess out of the house, talking to Bob felt loaded with implications. Especially given their last private conversation and everything that had transpired since.

“Sure,” Tom replied, stepping back to allow Bob entry. “Jess is out with her friend if you were looking for her.”

“Actually,” Bob said as he stepped into the foyer, “I was hoping to catch you alone.”

There was something in Bob’s tone, a certain directness that cut through any pretense of casual neighborliness. This wasn’t a tenant issue.

Tom closed the door, keeping them in the foyer rather than inviting Bob upstairs. Something in him wanted to contain this conversation, to keep it separate from the spaces he shared with Jess.

“What’s on your mind?” Tom asked, aiming for casual but hearing the slight edge in his own voice.

“I wanted to talk about Jess,” Bob said. “About Tuesday. And Thursday.”

Tom crossed his arms, a defensive posture he recognized even as he assumed it. “What about them?”

“Look,” Bob began, “I just want to make sure we’re all on the same page here. After that day in the garden, when she first swam in the red suit, I wasn’t sure if it was just Jess being friendly or something more.”

Tom remained silent, waiting for Bob to continue.

“But Thursday,” Bob went on, “when she asked me to put sunscreen on her back… that felt like a clear signal. I just want to be sure you’re comfortable with where this is heading.”

“I am,” Tom replied, the words coming more easily than he’d expected. “Jess and I have discussed it.”

Bob nodded, as if this confirmed something he’d already suspected. “That’s good. Open communication’s important.” He shifted his weight, his massive frame somehow making the foyer feel smaller. “She’s quite something, your wife. Smart, beautiful, confident.”

“She is,” Tom agreed, unsure where this was going.

“She told me about the club,” Bob said suddenly, his eyes fixed on Tom’s face, watching for his reaction. “About how she got wet dancing with those guys. How she was so turned on she thought about following one of them to the bathroom.”

Tom blinked, a cold sensation spreading through his chest. Jess had told Bob about Domino? About getting aroused while dancing with strangers? They’d agreed to keep their exploration private.

“When did she tell you that?” Tom asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Thursday,” Bob replied. “While we were sitting by the pool, before the whole sunscreen thing. She mentioned you’d been to a nightclub.”

Tom’s mind raced back to that night, to their drunk, fumbling conversation on the way home, to Jess’s breathless confession as he’d taken her.

“One guy kept pressing against my ass, whispering these filthy things…”

“Like what? Tell me exactly what he said.”

“That he wanted to take me to the bathroom, bend me over the sink.”

“Were you thinking about letting him? About following him to the bathroom?”

“No… maybe… I don’t know. It was just hot to hear, to feel how hard he was for me.”

That wasn’t quite the same as what Bob was suggesting. Jess hadn’t said she was seriously considering following the guy to the bathroom. She’d been turned on by the attention, yes, but her answer had been tentative, uncertain, more about the thrill of being desired than actually acting on it.

Unless… she’d told Bob something she hadn’t told Tom.

The thought landed like a rock in Tom’s stomach. What else might Jess have shared with Bob during their private poolside chats? What else might she have admitted to their tenant that she’d kept from her husband?

“She told you all that?” Tom asked, unable to keep the hint of disbelief from his voice.

Bob shrugged. “She did. I think she was trying to gauge my reaction, see if I’d judge her.” He offered a small smile. “I didn’t, of course. People are complicated. Marriages even more so.”

Tom’s mind was spinning, trying to reconcile Bob’s revelation with what he thought he knew. Had Jess been more seriously tempted at the club than she’d admitted to him? Had she shared more intimate details with Bob than with her own husband?

“You look surprised,” Bob observed. “She didn’t tell you she’d mentioned it to me?”

“No,” Tom admitted. “She didn’t.”

Bob nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Remember what I said a few weeks back? Sometimes the person we fear judgment from most is the one we love most. Jess might have feelings, desires, fantasies she’d never express to you directly, not out of distrust, but to protect your opinion of her.”

The words echoed in Tom’s mind, uncomfortably resonant. He’d thought they were being completely open with each other now, sharing every thought, every desire, every boundary they explored. But what if they weren’t? What if Jess was holding back, filtering her experiences through a lens of what she thought Tom could handle?

“All couples keep secrets,” Bob continued, his tone almost philosophical. “Not necessarily harmful ones, but little pieces of themselves they hold back. It’s natural.”

“Have you told her about this conversation?” Bob asked abruptly. “About our talk that Saturday morning?”

The question caught Tom off guard. “No,” he admitted. “I haven’t.”

“Probably for the best,” Bob nodded. “It would only hurt her to know you and I had discussed her like that.”

There was logic to Bob’s words, a certain twisted sense that was hard to refute. Telling Jess now about that first conversation with Bob would open a Pandora’s box of questions. Why hadn’t Tom mentioned it immediately? What else was he keeping from her? It would create exactly the kind of doubt and suspicion he was now feeling about her.

“I think,” Bob said carefully, “that Jess feels comfortable telling me things she might not tell you. Not because she trusts me more, but because there’s less at stake. I’m just the tenant, not her husband. My opinion of her doesn’t matter the same way.”

Tom wanted to argue but found himself nodding instead. There was a certain logic there. The stakes were lower with Bob. Jess could test the waters of confession with him without risking Tom’s judgment.

“So where does that leave us?” Tom asked, the question directed as much at himself as at Bob.

“Well,” Bob replied, spreading his hands, “I guess that depends on what you want. If you’d prefer I keep my distance, create clearer boundaries, I can do that. Tell her I’m busy when she comes down to swim. Keep our interactions minimal.”

The offer sounded reasonable on the surface, but Tom sensed the implicit alternative hanging in the air. An unspoken “but” that Bob was leaving him to ask about.

“And the alternative?” Tom asked, knowing he was taking the bait but unable to stop himself.

Bob shrugged, the gesture casual but his eyes sharp, watching Tom’s reaction. “Or I could continue being a… I don’t know, a sounding board for her? A safe space to explore thoughts she might not be ready to share with you? And if you and I kept in touch, you’d know what she was thinking, feeling. You’d have insight into parts of her she’s not ready to show you directly.”

The suggestion was presented so reasonably, as if Bob were offering a service rather than proposing something fundamentally deceptive. Yet Tom couldn’t deny the appeal of the idea. To know what Jess was truly thinking, to have access to the unfiltered version of her thoughts…

“That sounds like spying,” Tom said, though his tone lacked conviction.

“I’d see it more as… creating a safe environment for her to explore. With your knowledge, if not hers.” Bob met Tom’s eyes directly. “Isn’t that better than wondering what she’s not telling you? What details she’s holding back?”

The question hit closer to home than Tom wanted to admit. He’d been so focused on the excitement of their new exploration that he hadn’t considered the possibility that Jess might be curating her experiences, editing them to what she thought he could handle.

“I’m not suggesting anything inappropriate,” Bob continued. “Just that we speak regularly. That you know exactly what happens, have input, versus wondering what details might be missing.”

Tom studied the older man, trying to see through to his motivations. There was something undeniably manipulative about Bob’s approach, yet it was wrapped in such reasonable packaging that it was difficult to dismiss outright. And the seed of doubt had already been planted. What else had Jess told Bob that she hadn’t shared with Tom?

“I’ll think about it,” Tom said finally, not committing but not refusing either.

Bob nodded, seemingly satisfied with this response. “That’s all I’m asking. I just wanted to make sure we were all on the same page… but I should get going. Got some errands to run.”

Tom opened the door, eager now to end the conversation before it ventured into territory he wasn’t prepared to navigate. “Right. Thanks for… checking in.”

“No problem,” Bob replied, stepping outside. “Oh, and Tom?”

“Yeah?”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Bob said. “About what you saw that night through my window. About our conversations. All of it.”

Before Tom could respond, Bob was already heading down the walkway toward his truck, his broad shoulders squared, his stride confident.

Tom closed the door and leaned against it, his heart hammering in his chest. The simple statement had been a masterclass in subtle manipulation, a reminder that Bob held power over him. The power of knowing something Jess didn’t.

He pushed off from the door and moved to the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water with hands that weren’t quite steady. As he drank, he replayed the conversation with Bob, looking for clues, for the manipulation he knew was there but couldn’t quite put his finger on.

What if Bob had overheard them somehow? What if the walls between their units weren’t as soundproof as they’d assumed?

He dismissed the thought immediately. Their bedroom was upstairs, far from Bob’s apartment. And the specific details Bob had mentioned… those had been spoken in the privacy of their bedroom, late at night. There was no way Bob could have overheard.

Tom set the glass down. More likely, Jess had indeed shared those details with Bob, perhaps testing his reaction before deciding how much to share with Tom. Which raised its own set of uncomfortable questions.

Tom moved back to his office, his mind churning with conflicting thoughts. On one hand, he was disturbed by the possibility that Jess was sharing intimate details with Bob that she withheld from him. On the other hand, there was something undeniably arousing about the idea of Bob knowing, of this other man being privy to their private explorations.

And then there was Bob’s suggestion, that they speak regularly, that Tom have “input” into whatever was developing between Bob and Jess. The implication was clear. Bob was offering to be Tom’s proxy, a controlled environment for Jess to explore her desires while Tom remained informed, involved from a distance.

It was manipulative, yes. Deceptive toward Jess, absolutely. But wasn’t it also exactly what Tom had been fantasizing about? A way to see his wife through another man’s eyes, to witness her desires and reactions without the direct threat of being replaced?

Tom sat heavily in his office chair, the spreadsheet still open on his monitor, the numbers now even less significant than they’d been before. He checked his watch again. 11:08 AM. Jess wouldn’t be home for at least another hour, probably longer.

An hour to decide how to handle this new development. Whether to confront Jess about what she might have told Bob. Whether to tell her about Bob’s visit today. Whether to accept Bob’s implicit offer of continued collaboration.

Or whether to simply let things unfold, to see where this path led without trying to control its direction.

—

Primrose Café buzzed with the particular energy of an Austin Saturday brunch, a carefully orchestrated chaos of clattering plates, enthusiastic conversations, and servers navigating the packed tables. Jess arrived five minutes early and managed to snag the last available table on the shaded patio.

She was halfway through her first mimosa when Madi’s familiar voice cut through the ambient noise.

“There’s my favorite married woman!” Madi announced, drawing glances from nearby tables as she approached. Her entrance was quintessentially Madi, confident, unapologetically loud, and impossible to ignore.

Jess stood to embrace her friend, immediately enveloped in Madi’s signature scent of expensive perfume and whatever styling product kept her dark hair in those perfect waves. “You’re late,” Jess teased.

“Fashionably,” Madi corrected, sliding into the chair across from Jess. She signaled a server with a casual flick of her wrist that somehow conveyed both entitlement and charm. “Traffic was a nightmare. Some farmers’ market bullshit.”

The server appeared at their table with impressive speed. Madi ordered a Bloody Mary, “extra spicy, double vodka,” before even glancing at the menu.

“So,” Madi said once the server departed, leaning forward, “it’s been what, a couple weeks since I’ve seen your actual face? Tell me everything I’ve missed.”

“We talked yesterday,” Jess pointed out, laughing.

“Phone calls don’t count. I need facial expressions, body language, the full Jessica Marshall experience.” Madi reached for Jess’s mimosa and took a sip without asking. “Oh, and that’s flat. You deserve better.”

Jess rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her smile.

“Work’s been intense,” Jess offered, knowing this was the least interesting topic to Madi but the safest starting point. “The Savannah project is ramping up. I’ll be traveling there in a few weeks for initial site assessment.”

“Mmhmm,” Madi hummed noncommittally, her eyes scanning the menu. “Skip the boring career stuff. How’s Tom? Still working those ridiculous hours?”

“Better this week,” Jess said. “He’s still putting in extra time, but at least he’s home for dinner most nights.”

“Marriage,” Madi sighed dramatically. “The slow death of spontaneity.”

“Says the woman who’s practically in a relationship with Brandon without the commitment,” Jess countered.

“Speaking of my favorite non-boyfriend,” Madi’s eyes sparkled with sudden interest, “he mentioned running into you at the gym last weekend. Said something about having a fascinating conversation.”

Jess groaned. “Let me guess, he told you I was wearing ‘illegal’ leggings and that we had some deeply meaningful exchange?”

“He might have waxed poetic about your ass for approximately ten minutes,” Madi confirmed with a grin. “It was quite the soliloquy. Shakespeare would’ve been jealous.”

“That man is hopeless,” Jess said with a smile.

“That’s part of his charm,” Madi insisted as the server returned with her Bloody Mary and took their food orders. Once the server left, Madi continued, “Brandon’s insufferable, but he’s consistently insufferable. You always know what you’re getting.”

“Unlike some men,” Jess muttered before she could stop herself.

Madi’s eyebrow arched with interest. “Trouble in paradise? Last we talked, you were telling me about Tom’s little revelation. The whole ‘gets turned on by other men wanting you’ thing.”

Jess shifted in her seat, uncomfortably aware of the other diners around them despite the relative privacy of their corner table. “It’s not trouble, exactly. Just… unexpected.”

“Unexpected how?” Madi pressed, her tone shifting from teasing to genuinely curious. She took a long sip of her drink, eyes never leaving Jess’s face.

Jess hesitated. The rules she and Tom had established were clear. Privacy was non-negotiable, which meant not sharing details with friends, “no matter how close.” But this was Madi, her best friend, who already knew about Tom’s fantasies. Surely discussing the general concept without specific details wouldn’t violate the spirit of their agreement?

“We went to Domino last Friday,” Jess admitted, lowering her voice slightly. “After dinner at Vesper.”

Madi’s eyes widened. “Domino? That place is impossible to get into without connections. And it’s definitely not Tom’s scene.”

“That’s kind of the point,” Jess said. “It was… an experiment.”

“An experiment,” Madi repeated, comprehension dawning on her face. “As in, testing Tom’s fantasy in the wild? Holy shit, Jess.”

“It was his idea,” Jess clarified, feeling a strange need to defend both Tom and herself. “We had a really good talk at dinner about boundaries, about what we’re comfortable with.”

“And then went straight to a club where guys would inevitably hit on you,” Madi finished. “That’s quite the escalation from theoretical discussions.”

Jess shrugged, aiming for casual though she suspected Madi could see right through the attempt. “We decided to start small. Public place, controlled environment.”

Madi snorted. “Clubbing is your definition of ‘starting small’? What would be a big step, a sex dungeon?”

“God, Madi,” Jess hissed, glancing around to ensure no one had overheard. “It’s not like that. We were just… exploring.”

“And?” Madi prompted, leaning closer. “Don’t leave me hanging. How did Mr. Corporate America handle watching his wife get hit on by strangers?”

“Better than expected, actually,” Jess admitted. “Though we both drank way too much. The whole thing got a bit… intense.”

“Define ‘intense,’“ Madi demanded.

Their conversation paused as the server returned with their food, avocado toast with poached eggs for Jess, chicken and waffles for Madi. Once they were alone again, Madi immediately picked up where they’d left off, undeterred by the interruption.

“So, intense how? Did you make out with someone? Give a stranger a lap dance? I need details, Jess.”

“Nothing that dramatic,” Jess said, though the memory of those hands on her body, those mouths close to her ear, made her cheeks warm. “Just dancing. But Tom was watching the whole time, and afterward…”

“Afterward?” Madi prompted, practically vibrating with curiosity.

“Let’s just say we barely made it home,” Jess said, taking a bite of her toast to avoid elaborating further.

Madi’s delighted laugh drew more attention from nearby tables. “Jessica Marshall, look at you! All proper and professional on the outside, exploring kinky fantasies with your husband after dark.”

“It’s not kinky,” Jess protested. “It’s just… different.”

“Honey, your husband gets turned on by watching other men want you. That’s textbook voyeurism.” Madi took a bite of her chicken and waffles. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Brandon and I have explored all kinds of-”

“Please, spare me the details of your sex life with Brandon,” Jess cut in quickly. “There are some things I prefer not to visualize.”

“Your loss,” Madi shrugged. “He’s very innovative.”

“So I’ve heard,” Jess replied dryly. “About six thousand times.”

They ate in comfortable silence for a few moments before Madi circled back. “So, this clubbing experiment. One-time thing, or are you planning a repeat performance?”

Jess hesitated, torn between her desire to share with her closest friend and her commitment to the rules she and Tom had established. “We’re still figuring it out,” she said finally. “The clubbing was educational, but maybe not the ideal approach.”

“Too public?” Madi guessed.

“Exactly. Too many variables we couldn’t control.” Jess took a sip of her water. “We bumped into one of Tom’s coworkers there. Nothing happened, but it could have been awkward.”

“Yikes,” Madi winced. “That’s the problem with a city like Austin. Everyone knows everyone, or at least knows someone who knows someone. No such thing as true anonymity.”

“That’s what we realized,” Jess agreed.

“So what’s the alternative?” Madi asked. “If clubbing is too public, what’s your next move?”

The question was weighted with implications Jess wasn’t ready to discuss. Bob’s name hovered at the edge of her consciousness, but sharing that particular development felt like crossing a line, even with Madi.

“We’re not sure yet,” she said instead. “Taking it day by day.”

Madi studied her face for a long moment, her expression uncharacteristically serious. “Just be careful, okay?”

“Speaking from experience?” Jess asked, curious despite herself.

“Not personally,” Madi clarified. “But in my line of work, I see a lot of marriages. The good, the bad, the about-to-implode. Some couples can handle exploration, some can’t.”

“We’re being careful,” Jess assured her. “Setting clear boundaries, checking in with each other. It’s not just about the fantasy, it’s bringing us closer in a weird way.”

“That’s good,” Madi said, her expression softening. “As long as you’re both on the same page.”

“We are,” Jess said, projecting more certainty than she actually felt. Were they completely on the same page?

Madi seemed to sense Jess’s unspoken doubt but mercifully changed the subject. “So, about that double date Brandon mentioned. Are you and Tom free next Saturday?”

Jess mentally reviewed their calendar. “I think so. Tom hasn’t mentioned any work obligations, and I don’t have anything scheduled.”

“Perfect,” Madi grinned. “I was thinking dinner at that new place on East Sixth, The Copper House? Then maybe arcade games at Punch Bowl Social. Something fun and low pressure.”

“Sounds great,” Jess agreed. “I’ll confirm with Tom, but I’m pretty sure we’re free.”

“Brandon will be thrilled,” Madi said, her smile turning mischievous. “He’s been asking about you.”

“About me?” Jess raised an eyebrow. “Or about my ass?”

“Can’t it be both?” Madi laughed. “You know he’s had a thing for you since forever.”

“A thing he expresses by being thoroughly obnoxious every time we interact,” Jess pointed out.

“That’s just how he flirts when he knows someone’s off-limits,” Madi explained. “It’s like a kid pulling a girl’s pigtails on the playground. He can’t help himself.”

“He’s almost thirty, not eight,” Jess said, though there was no real annoyance in her tone. Brandon’s persistent flirtation had become such a constant in their social dynamic that it was almost comforting in its predictability.

“Chronologically, yes,” Madi agreed. “Emotionally? Debatable.”

Their conversation drifted to other topics as they finished their meals, Madi’s latest event planning crisis for a demanding bride, mutual friends they hadn’t seen in too long, the new yoga studio that had opened downtown that was supposedly better than Jess’s current one.

The server appeared with their check, ending the conversation as they both reached for their wallets. After a brief argument about who would pay, which Madi won, citing the need to expense client meetings, they gathered their things and made their way to the exit.

Outside, the afternoon sun had intensified, the heat shimmering off the pavement in rippling waves. Jess slipped her sunglasses on as they said their goodbyes, promising to confirm the double date details once she’d checked with Tom.

“One last thing,” Madi said, hugging Jess. “Whatever you decide to explore with Tom, just make sure it’s what you want too. Not just what he wants, not just what you think will make him happy. What makes you happy.”

The words followed Jess to her car, echoing in her mind as she navigated the Sunday afternoon traffic. What did she want? The question seemed simple but revealed complex layers the more she examined it.

—

Bob sat in the shade of the patio umbrella, pretending to read a book while actually keeping watch for the telltale creak of the balcony door. Thursday again. Three weeks and five days since Jess had first come down in that red one-piece that had kicked off their poolside routine. Six times now they’d shared these lunch breaks, each one pushing the boundaries a little further.

He’d been patient. Strategic. The confrontation with Tom about the nightclub had been a risk, but it had paid off beautifully. Tom never confronted Jess about the supposed confession, exactly as Bob had predicted. The seed of doubt was planted, and now Tom lived with a gnawing uncertainty about what his wife might be telling Bob that she wasn’t telling him.

Perfect.

The balcony door opened right on schedule. Bob glanced up casually, as if just noticing her presence. Jess stood at the top of the stairs. She wore a white bikini today, the most revealing one yet. The material was thin enough to border on translucent, held together with flimsy strings that tied at her hips and behind her neck.

“Look what the sun dragged out,” Bob called up to her, marking his place in the book he wasn’t actually reading.

Jess descended the stairs, carrying her usual water bottle and a small canvas bag. “It’s too beautiful to stay inside,” she replied. “I needed to clear my head before my afternoon meetings.”

“The pool does seem to be calling your name,” Bob agreed, watching as she set her things on the nearest lounger. After multiple encounters, they had established a comfortable pattern. She would swim first, then they’d chat, then sunbathe. The progression had become a ritual of sorts, the predictability of it making each small escalation seem natural, inevitable.

“How’s the yard coming along?” Jess asked, gesturing to the flower beds where he’d been working earlier.

“Those native plants I put in last week are taking root nicely,” Bob said. “Another month and they’ll be blooming.”

“I have to say it again,” Jess said, pulling her hair into a high ponytail. “I can’t believe how much better everything looks.”

“Happy to do it,” Bob replied. “Gives these old hands something useful to occupy them.”

Jess smiled at the familiar exchange before turning toward the pool. She jumped in, causing a small splash. Bob watched her swim, the strokes of her arms, the kick of her legs propelling her through the water.

There was an undeniable athleticism to her movements that he’d come to appreciate over these weeks. Not just the aesthetic beauty of her body, though that remained a constant, almost painful source of desire, but the functional strength, the physical capability. He’d learned she did weight training three times a week and yoga twice, a regimen that showed in the definition of her shoulders and the lean muscle of her thighs.

After a few laps, Jess emerged from the pool via the steps, water streaming from her body. The white bikini clung to her skin, the material now almost transparent. Bob had already prepared their drinks, iced tea for her, beer for him, and set them on the small table between their usual chairs.

“Working up an appetite, princess?” he asked, the endearment now flowing naturally.

“Always,” Jess replied, reaching for the towel she’d left on the lounger. She dabbed at her face and hair, not bothering to fully dry off in the heat. “That tea is exactly what I needed.”

She took the seat across from him, the familiarity of their positions now comfortable rather than awkward. These meetings had evolved from tentative to easy, a shared ritual that existed outside the normal boundaries of tenant and landlord.

“How’s the Savannah project coming along?” Bob asked, taking a sip of his beer.

“Making progress,” Jess replied. “The preliminary designs were approved yesterday. I’m flying out next week for an on-site assessment.”

“Next week already?” Bob raised his eyebrows. “Time flies. Remind me who the developer is on that one?”

“Chris Webb,” Jess said, a subtle tension entering her voice. It was slight, but Bob caught it immediately. “Skyline Austin was his project too.”

“Webb,” Bob repeated, as if trying to place the name. “I think I’ve heard you mention him before. You two work well together?”

Jess took a long sip of her tea, clearly considering her response. “Professionally, he’s brilliant. He understands good design and gives me a lot of creative freedom.”

Bob noted what she didn’t say. The qualifier, professionally, and the careful neutrality of her tone told him everything he needed to know. “But?” he prompted gently.

Jess looked at him, seeming to debate whether to elaborate. Their conversations had grown increasingly personal over the weeks, but Bob was careful never to push too hard, allowing her to set the pace of their increasing intimacy.

“But sometimes he can be…” she paused, searching for the right word.

“A man?” Bob suggested, with just the right amount of self-deprecating humor.

That earned him a small laugh. “Exactly. A certain type of man, anyway.”

“The type who confuses professional admiration with personal interest?” Bob suggested.

Jess’s eyes widened slightly. “How did you know?”

Bob shrugged. “Been around a long time, princess. Seen enough men like that. Guys who have everything, money, power, success, start to believe they deserve everything. Including women who aren’t available to them.”

Jess stared at her glass. “I overhead him at a party once,” she said, her voice quieter now. “Him and some other investors. They were talking about me.”

“Let me guess,” Bob said, leaning forward slightly. “Not discussing your design skills.”

“No,” Jess confirmed. “Not my design skills.”

“I’m sorry,” Bob said, injecting genuine concern into his voice. “That must have been uncomfortable.”

“It was,” Jess admitted. “Especially because I have to keep working with him. This Savannah project is a huge opportunity.”

“So what’s your plan?” Bob asked. “For handling him on this trip?”

Jess sighed. “Keep it strictly professional. Bring my assistant to meetings when possible. Focus on the work.”

“Good approach,” Bob nodded. “Men like Webb respond to confidence. Don’t let him see any uncertainty.” He paused, then added, “And if he does try something? Be direct. A man who deals in real estate understands clear boundaries.”

“That’s good advice,” Jess said, looking genuinely appreciative. “I’ve been overthinking it.”

“You’ll do fine,” Bob assured her. “You’re not just talented, princess. You’re smart. Capable. The kind of woman who can handle herself in any situation.”

The praise settled on her exactly as he’d intended, a small smile warming her features. He’d been systematic about this aspect of his approach, learning which compliments resonated most. Professional validation always landed more effectively than remarks about her appearance, though he sprinkled those in too. She’d grown up beautiful, heard about her looks her entire life. But acknowledgment of her intelligence, her skill, her capability, those words carried weight.

“Speaking of handling myself,” Jess said, draining the last of her tea. “I should probably put on some sunscreen before I turn into a lobster. The sun feels stronger today.”

“Can’t have that,” Bob agreed, watching as she reached into her bag for the bottle.

Three weeks ago, she’d first asked him to apply sunscreen to her back. The week after, she’d repeated the request, but with her bikini top untied for better coverage. Two days ago, she’d allowed his hands to drift lower, to the backs of her thighs. Each escalation small, each one feeling like a natural progression.

“Would you mind?” Jess asked, holding out the bottle.

“Happy to help,” Bob replied, taking the sunscreen. He moved to sit on the edge of her lounger as she stretched out on her stomach, untying her bikini top and letting the strings fall to the sides.

The sight of her bare back never failed to send a jolt through him. The elegant line of her spine, the slight indentations above her tailbone, the gentle curve where her waist flared to her hips. He squeezed a generous amount of lotion into his palm, warming it between his hands before placing them on her shoulders.

“Good pressure?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Perfect,” Jess murmured, her voice slightly muffled against the lounger. “You’re getting really good at this.”

“Practice makes perfect,” Bob replied, his large hands working the lotion across her shoulder blades. He took his time, thumbs pressing into the muscles bracketing her spine with just enough pressure to draw a small sound of appreciation from her.

“You’re carrying tension right here,” he observed, focusing on a knot beneath her left shoulder.

“Mmm,” Jess agreed, not bothering to lift her head. “That feels amazing.”

Bob worked his way down her back, noting how she relaxed more fully with each stroke of his hands. There was power in this, in feeling her respond to his touch. His hands moved lower, to the small of her back, thumbs pressing on either side of her spine just above the waistband of her bikini bottoms.

“The legs too?” he asked, though he already knew she would agree.

“Might as well be thorough,” Jess replied, the smile evident in her voice even with her face turned away.

Bob poured more lotion into his palm, then placed his hands on the backs of her thighs. The skin here was soft, warm from the sun and smooth against his calloused fingers. He worked methodically, starting just below the curve of her ass and moving downward toward her knees.

“These legs will look great on magazine covers someday,” Bob said. “When your Savannah project makes you famous.”

Jess laughed, the sound lighter and more relaxed than when they’d first begun these encounters. “I’m not sure interior designers typically make magazine covers.”

“You would,” Bob insisted. “You’ve got star quality, princess. Anyone can see that.”

She made a noncommittal noise, but he could tell she was pleased. Bob continued his work, moving past her knees to her calves. Here, he increased the pressure, using his thumbs to work the muscle with greater intent.

“Oh, that’s good,” Jess breathed. “You know, if the contracting thing doesn’t work out, you could have a future in massage therapy.”

“You trying to give this old dog a new career path?” Bob teased.

“Just appreciating your particular talents,” Jess replied.

Bob let his hands linger on her calves, working the muscle with steady pressure. Then, after a moment’s consideration, he moved his attention to her feet, taking one in his hands and pressing his thumbs into the arch.

The sound Jess made was between a gasp and a moan. “Oh god, that’s amazing.”

“Pressure points,” Bob explained, continuing to work her foot. “Everything’s connected. Release tension here, it helps your whole body.”

“Keep doing that and I might fall asleep right here,” Jess murmured.

Bob smiled to himself, switching to her other foot. “We can’t have that. What would Tom think if he came home and found you passed out on a lounger with me massaging your feet?”

“He’d probably ask if you do house calls,” Jess replied with a small laugh. She flexed her foot in his hands. “Seriously though, you’re really good at this.”

“Just applying the right pressure in the right places,” Bob said. “It’s like plumbing. Once you understand the system, you know how to make it work properly.”

“Did you just compare my body to plumbing?” Jess asked, mock offense in her voice as she glanced back at him over her shoulder.

“In the most complimentary way possible,” Bob assured her, giving her foot a final squeeze before releasing it. “I think that covers everything… except…” He deliberately paused.

“Except what?” Jess prompted.

“Well, you missed a spot,” Bob said, gesturing to her bikini bottoms. “But I figure that’s your territory.”

Jess considered him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, to his surprise, she said, “Might as well be thorough, right? I can’t exactly see back there myself.”

Bob kept his expression neutral despite the rush of blood to his groin. “You sure?”

“It’s just sunscreen,” Jess replied with a casual shrug. “And it’s not like you haven’t seen a woman’s ass before.”

“Fair point,” Bob agreed, reaching for the bottle again. He squeezed lotion into his palm, then hesitated, giving her one more chance to change her mind. “Ready?”

“Just don’t get any ideas,” Jess warned, though her tone remained light. “This is purely functional.”

“Nothing but professional sunscreen application,” Bob assured her, placing his hands on the rounded curves of her ass. The material of her bikini bottoms was thin, the skimpy cut leaving the lower half of each cheek exposed. He worked the lotion in, careful to maintain functionality despite the surge of desire flooding his system.

“I notice you’re being especially thorough,” Jess commented dryly.

“Just making sure there’s complete coverage,” Bob replied. “Wouldn’t want any burnt spots.”

“Of course not,” Jess agreed, the humor in her voice telling him she saw right through him but was choosing to play along.

Bob finished his task, removing his hands with reluctance. “All done,” he announced. “You’re officially protected from UV rays on all possible surfaces.”

“My hero,” Jess said, sitting up and retying her bikini top. “What would I do without you?”

“Probably pay for professional massages like everyone else,” Bob suggested.

Jess laughed, adjusting her top. “Why pay when I have you right here?”

“Happy to be of service,” Bob said, returning to his chair. “Though I may need to renegotiate my rent if massage therapy becomes part of my tenant responsibilities.”

“I’m sure we could work something out,” Jess replied with a wink. She stretched out on her back now, arms above her head. “So about this Chris Webb situation. Any other advice for a woman traveling to meet with an overly confident developer?”

Bob considered the question. This was the opening he’d been waiting for, a chance to position himself as a protector, an ally against the potential threat that Webb represented.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” he said. “Men like Webb, they’re predictable. They go after what they want directly, and they’re used to getting it.”

“That’s been my experience,” Jess agreed.

“The key is to never let him get you alone outside of professional settings,” Bob advised. “No drinks in his hotel room, no private dinners, nothing that could be interpreted as interest.”

“That’s definitely my plan,” Jess said.

“But if he does try something,” Bob continued, “don’t hesitate. Be direct. ‘I’m married and not interested.’ Most men will back off rather than risk rejection or, worse, harassment allegations.”

“And if he doesn’t back off?” Jess asked, a hint of genuine concern in her voice.

“Then you walk away immediately and make sure you’re never alone with him again,” Bob said firmly. “But also, trust your instincts. Women have good radar for dangerous situations.”

Jess nodded, seeming to absorb his advice. “It’s frustrating sometimes,” she admitted. “Having to navigate all this just to do my job.”

“It’s not fair,” Bob agreed. “But from what I’ve seen, you handle yourself well. You’re smarter than guys like Webb. They see a beautiful woman, and their brains go straight to their dicks. They miss all the other qualities that make you exceptional.”

“Thanks, Bob,” Jess said, her expression softening. “It’s nice to know someone sees beyond the surface.”

“I suspect Tom does too,” Bob said, careful to include her husband in the conversation. “He seems like the kind of man who appreciates all of you.”

“He does,” Jess confirmed. “Actually, he said I should own my beauty, use it as an advantage rather than trying to downplay it.”

Bob seized the opening. “He’s right. There’s power in embracing all your assets, including your appearance. No point pretending you’re not stunning. It’s like having a sports car and refusing to drive faster than a minivan.”

Jess laughed. “That’s a… unique analogy.”

“What I mean is, you’re gorgeous, smart, and talented. Why apologize for any of those qualities?” Bob said. “Men like Webb, they’re going to look regardless. The power comes from controlling what happens after they look.”

“That’s almost exactly what Tom said,” Jess observed. “That I can use the fact that they notice my looks to showcase my talent.”

“Great minds think alike,” Bob replied with a smile. “Sounds like you’ve got two men looking out for you.”

Jess didn’t immediately respond, and Bob didn’t push, allowing the concept to take root naturally.

“I guess I do,” she said finally. “It’s nice, actually.”

“What is?” Bob prompted.

“Having people who see the whole picture,” Jess explained.

“That’s what friends are for,” Bob said simply. “And we are friends, aren’t we, princess?”

Jess smiled. “Yes, we are.”

Bob glanced at his watch. “Speaking of time, it’s almost one. Don’t you have a meeting soon?”

Jess checked her own watch and sighed. “I do. Conference call at one-fifteen.” She stood, gathering her things. “Thanks for the sunscreen application and the advice. Both much appreciated.”

“Anytime,” Bob replied, also standing. “Good luck with your meetings. And if you need any more advice before your Savannah trip, you know where to find me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Jess said. She hesitated, then added, “Maybe Tuesday before I leave? One more swim break?”

“I’ll be here,” Bob assured her. “Same time, same place.”

Jess nodded, then headed up the stairs to the balcony. Bob watched her go, appreciating the view as she climbed the steps, the white bikini contrasting perfectly with her tanned skin.

When she disappeared inside, Bob allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. Three weeks and five days of careful groundwork, of patient, incremental advances, each so subtle that they barely registered as changes. From a casual swim to a back massage to having his hands on her ass, a progression that felt natural rather than orchestrated.

And now, with the Savannah trip approaching, a new opportunity presented itself. Jess would be away from Tom, away from home, dealing with a man who made her uncomfortable. The perfect situation for her to turn to Bob for support, for advice, for the comfort of a friendly voice who understood her situation.

He gathered his book and beer bottle, heading back to his apartment. Inside, he moved directly to his office, where he opened his notebook to a fresh page and began documenting the day’s interactions. Every detail mattered, from the white bikini to her willingness to let him touch her ass to her agreement that they were friends.

Friends. Such a useful word, so innocuous yet so full of potential. Friends shared confidences. Friends offered support. Friends blurred boundaries in ways that landlords and tenants could not.

Bob closed the notebook and leaned back in his chair, allowing himself to savor the memory of her skin beneath his hands. Patience remained his greatest asset. Pushing too hard, too fast would undo weeks of careful work. Tuesday’s swim would be another incremental step, another small escalation that she would hardly notice happening.

And then she would go to Savannah, away from Tom’s watchful eye, away from the safety of her routine. She would face Chris Webb and remember Bob’s advice. She would call home to Tom, who would ask certain questions, harbor specific doubts, all planted by Bob.

And when she returned? The foundation would be laid for the next phase of Bob’s patient campaign. The image of Jessica Marshall stretched out on his bed rather than a pool lounger, her golden skin against his sheets rather than a white towel, her voice calling his name rather than thanking him for sunscreen application.

Soon, Bob thought. But not yet. Not quite yet.

He stood and moved to the kitchen, pulling a beer from the refrigerator. He had work to do in the yard, plants that needed tending, a design that was slowly taking shape. Like his plan for Jess, the garden required patience, careful attention, and the ability to see the final result long before it actually materialized.

Bob smiled as he twisted the cap off the bottle. “Two men looking out for her,” he murmured to himself. “And only one of us sees the whole picture.”