Summer Girl Read online

  Summer Girl

  By Casey Grant

  Copyright 2013, Casey Grant

  Smashwords Edition.

  Smashwords, License Notes

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  Summer Girl

  Brie pushed the lawnmower up the steep hill leading up from the lake, taking pride in the long, even rows. Her three years on the swim team had given her the broad shoulders and upper body strength to handle the steep lawns that ran down to the shore of Lake Willard. In fact she had gotten more than her share of the lawn mowing jobs in the small mountain resort town of Trestle— she could handle the steep topography and looked good doing it in her shorts and tank-top.

  When Brie would finish her final lap, she would strip down to her one-piece tank suit and dive into the lake to cool off. She would float for about five minutes before climbing out, get dressed and make her way up the hill. She would often catch the husbands checking her out through the big picture windows most of the lake homes had. Sometimes she would give an impish wave and the men would freeze or slink away back into the house.

  The money was good for a summer job, but Brie knew (at least in her honest moments) that she was in denial. She had already graduated from high school the previous month and still hadn't heard back from the one college applied to. All of her friends had at least gotten into East Lancaster State, and with her solid-B grade point average, she figured she was a shoo-in as well. She had waited until the last minute to apply and was still waiting to hear back. Then there were her SAT scores...

  With her mower loaded in the back of her dad's pick-up, she passed by the Merle house on Lakeshore drive on her way to her next lawn job. Instead of the same boring, ego-boosting, bloated vacation home tailored to its striving big-city summer occupants, the Merle's house was a sleek metal A-frame. It was a home of modest size, light, open and airy, elegant and inviting. This left a large portion of the lot devoted to a beautifully landscaped lawn that Brie knew would make for a good-sized mowing fee. But the Merle's were rarely home.

  Brie had heard that the Merles were young successful attorneys from Overton who spent their summers working out of their lake place with their little girl. Brie had gotten a glimpse of Mr. Merle in his yard the previous week and had almost run into a tree. She had never seen a man so beautiful and she had never used the word “beautiful” to describe a man. Brie had only seen Mr. Merle for a split second, but all of his qualities were apparent in that snapshot. He was well over six feet, broad shouldered, but with a long torso and robust legs. His face was carved with sharp lines but was still youthful and friendly. He would have to be friendly—it would be too depressing if he were not. And all this was gleaned from a split-second data grab at fifty miles an hour.

  Brie's next customer on her list were the Fugleson's, noteworthy only because they lived next door to the Merle's. Their yard was the biggest of all Brie's customers and it would give her at least a two-hour window to catch a glimpse of their gorgeous neighbor, perhaps walking around his back yard or standing on his balcony—if he was home.

  Brie filled the two gallon gas tank and fired up the mower. She started in the Fugleson's front yard and moved to the back yard a half hour later. Their yard had a more gradual incline down to the lake than most, allowing her to “terrace” the back yard, cutting left to right, giving her longer views of the gorgeous next-door neighbor.

  During the next sixty minutes there were no sightings of Mr. Merle. However, what Brie could see was that the grass next door hadn't been cut in weeks. In fact, it had been some time since anything had been done to their lawn. The terraced landscaping was overgrown and growing out its wood frames. The Merles needed her help. Even though Brie didn't offer foliage trimming as part of her services, she did now.

  If Mr. Merle was home, perhaps she might have to lure him out of the house. Perhaps, she might arch her back while pushing the mower? Perhaps lean a little forward— and then arch her back as she pushed the mower.

  Once it came time to jump in the lake Brie found that she had even more options. She could pull off her tank top slowly (while arching her back) and pull off her shorts inch by inch. She would take her time, sliding the shorts downwards, one hip at a time. Once stripped down to her admittedly modest one-piece, she would stick her toe in the water, with one leg extended and one foot arched. It would only be after a full two minutes of preening that she would finally dive into the mountain waters of Lake Willard. Then floating on her back, staring into the sky, she'd give it another five minutes. If he hadn't seen her by now then he wasn't looking.

  Brie got out of the water and put on her shorts and top. The water from the suit soaked through her clothes, leaving dark outlines. She pushed the mower back up the hill, crossing the front yard to her dad's Tundra pick-up parked in the driveway. She pulled down the rear hatch of the cargo bed, reaching down and grabbed her mower with both hands and lifted it into the cargo bed.

  Suddenly the mower became as light as a cottonwood seed. “Here, let me help you,” said a voice, two hands now joining hers. The mower leapt into the cargo bed as if it had flown there under its own power. Brie looked up and saw a massively handsome man with broad shoulders and a tapering torso smiling at her.

  “I do this at least four times a day, thank you very much,” Brie said petulantly, irritated by the man's assistance. Her eagerness in finally meeting Mr. Merle had gotten waylaid by his assumption of her helplessness.

  “It seems like a heavy thing for a girl to be lifting,” he said.

  “I can handle it,” said Brie, realizing that if she didn't snap out of resentment mode she would blow her first impression. “Brie,” she said, sticking out her hand and trying to smile.

  “Brad Merle. We live next door here.”

  “You dooo?” said Brie.

  “Been summer visitors here for two years now. Are you okay? You look like you just ran a marathon.”

  “Why would you think—” Brie stopped herself as she noticed Mr. Merle looking down at her wet clothes. “Oh, no... you don't think that's sweat do you?”

  “I didn't know... I was afraid maybe you had heat exhaustion or something.”

  “I always jump in the lake when I finish mowing each lawn to cool off,” said Brie.

  “Glad to hear that,” he smiled. "So, is it possible that you might have room on your docket for another lawn customer?”

  “I'm pretty full up,” said Brie, not believing what she had just said.

  “Too bad,” said Mr. Merle. “Our lawn service never shows up. We haven't seen anyone in weeks.”

  “Who are you using?” said Brie.

  “Peterson's Lawn Care.”

  “I'm not surprised. They took on too many customers. I get most of my business from folks fed-up with Peterson's.”

  “Can you take on another job? Our lawn looks like prairie grass. How soon can you start?” His confidence and persistence were that of a man used to getting his way.

  “I don't know if I can,” said Brie, using every bit of restraint to not jump into his arms.

  “I'll pay you two hundred dollars a week,” said Mr. Merle.

  “What?” said Brie.

  “That would include hedge and bush trimming as well. You do that too, right?”

  “Oh sure.”

  “Can you, like, start now?” said Mr. Merle.

  “Now?” said Brie.

 
“My wife comes home from Chicago on Saturday and I can't have her seeing the place like this.”

  “I have to get this truck back home by seven,” said Brie, “Dad and Mom are going out.”

  “But it’s only two o'clock,” he said helpfully.

  “True. But it seems so much later!” said Brie trying not to hyperventilate.

  “Then I guess there's time,” said Mr. Merle.

  “I have to get some gas first. For the mower.”

  “Sounds good,” said Mr. Merle. “And if you're sick of floating in the lake, we also have a pool.”

  So Mr. Merle had been watching.

  Steep Incline

  Brie pushed the mower across the Merle's overgrown lawn, the six-inch tall grass bogging her mower and causing her to change the bag every ten minutes. The two hundred dollars that earlier had seemed like so much money now appeared to be a screaming deal. She had also spent the last three hours hacking away at the unkempt shrubbery that lined the yard.

  The Merle's lawn was the first yard she had seen in Trestle that was landscaped. There were terraces of flowering bushes that ran down to the lake. Brie felt that her very-amateur hands had no business tending to such intricate arrangements. But she was the only game in town.

  Mr. Merle was attentive. He brought her water and lemonade, insisting she stop every half hour for a break. She was moving much slower than usual. She told herself that it was the fourth lawn job of the day, and naturally, she was tired. But if Brie had been honest she would have to admit that she was trying to drag out her stay.

  It was five o'clock before she had finished. Brie began peeling off her shorts and tank top for her traditional jump in the lake when she remembered Mr. Merle's pool offer.

  Brie pushed the mower back up the hill and left it in the driveway next to her truck (giving Mr. Merle another chance to help her lift it into the Tundra). Brie walked up to a spare and elegant outdoor pool. She knew Mr. Merle was watching from inside. She guessed it was the reason he had suggested that she use pool in the first place. It was hard to get much of a view of a young girl peeling off her clothes down by the lakeshore.

  So a show is what Mr. Merle wants? A show is what he would get.

  Brie repeated the slow strip she had done at the Fugleson's earlier in the day, the difference now that Brie knew for sure she had an audience.

  Off went her tank top and shorts, both shed slowly and methodically. There was the arched back, the extended leg, the toe dipping into the water...

  And then she was in. This time she kept her shoulder-length brown hair out of the water. She knew from experience what chlorine did to hair.

  Brie dog-padded back and fourth, her bottom breaking the surface like a round, sexy shark fin. What would she say to Brad when he joined her in the pool? How would she handle that broad chest? Avert her gaze? Confront it head-on? Not make a big deal? And if he took off his trunks, what about that? How would she handle his advances? Act shocked? Perhaps act shy but accepting? Drop to her knees and suck his cock? Each scenario played through her head.

  But after ten minutes there was no Mr. Merle. No views of him gazing at her longingly from the window. He was probably on the phone, on a conference call to some faraway place with interesting, educated people saying riveting things.

  Brie pulled herself out of the water, sitting on the edge of the pool with the water streaming off of her. She looked down at her legs and was surprised at how much she was okay with her legs, accepting of her breasts, and thrilled that she didn't have a paunch. Next time she'd make sure she wore her blue bikini. Mr. Merle would notice that. No conference call to Antwerp could distract Mr. Merle from Brie's blue bikini.

  “Let's get some ice cream!” Mr. Merle yelled out the door, shocking Brie out of her musings.

  “Okay! Where?” said Brie.

  “Pobony's.”

  Brie grabbed her clothes and followed him to his Audi A-8 parked in the circular driveway next to her pick-up. She opened the door and looked down at the leather seats. “Oh wait, I'm still wet.”

  “So?” said Mr. Merle.

  “I'm going to leave a butt mark in the seat.”

  “He smiled, “Sounds like a lucky car seat.”

  “Where are you going to college?” said Mr. Merle sitting across from Brie, eating his ice cream. Pobony's was the first, and so far, only up-market anything in Trestle. The ice cream was expensive, the wood paneling rustic and the indie music annoying.

  “I don't really know yet,” said Brie averting her eyes.

  “You've graduated right?” said Mr. Merle.

  “Of course,” Brie said, still avoiding his eyes.

  “But no college picks?” said Mr. Merle.

  “I applied to Lancaster State,” said Brie.

  “What else?”

  “That's it.”

  “That's it?” he said.

  “I know...” Brie said, still averting her gaze.

  “Usually people apply to more than one college.”

  “I haven't been as serious as I should,” said Brie. “But Lancaster State would get me out of Trestle.”

  “What were your SAT scores?” asked Mr. Merle.

  “They're okay. So, tell me about what you do?” Brie said.

  “You're trying to change the subject.”

  “I'd rather talk about you and your wife's exciting lives,” said Brie.

  “We got our exciting lives by going to college and then going to law school,” he said, sounding too much like her parents.

  “You're not very fun,” said Brie, sulking and pondering whether to let some ice cream dribble down her chin. Brie did not sign up for an afternoon of career counseling.

  “No, I suppose I'm not being much fun,” said Mr. Merle, smiling a smile that caused Brie to stutter. “And our lives aren't that exciting.”

  “That's a laugh,” said Brie, stuttering. “You get to live here in the summer and get to ditch this place in the winter. You probably have a big home in Overton. That sounds exciting to me.”

  “I do copyright law.”

  “What?” said Brie.

  “You wanted to talk about our exciting lives."

  “Copyright law?” said Brie.

  “We make sure that software companies and movie companies don't get their properties pirated.”

  “Do you talk to movie studios?” said Brie.

  “All the time,” said Brad.

  “No shit?”

  “Not with any actors or directors. We talk to their legal departments.”

  “But that still sounds pretty cool, right? And what about your wife?” said Brie.

  “Does the same, but at a different firm. We met in law school. She's the smart one. She's only twenty-eight but has already made partner. I'm twenty-nine and still an associate.”

  “Is that bad?” said Brie.

  “She makes more money than I do.”

  “But you'll be a partner too one day, right?”

  “It's probably going to be another three years. The thing that sucks is that we have to travel a lot. The big market for copyright law is overseas right now, because there's still so little of it. Mostly Asia.”

  “That must be hard,” said Brie.

  “It’s what we signed up for. It’s what allows for our 'elastic lifestyle',” Mr. Merle said dryly.

  “And you have a daughter too,” said Brie.

  “Yes, that makes it very hard— God, I AM a buzzkill...” said Mr. Merle, looking away and shaking his head, but still managing to work in that smile.

  “No!” Brie said. “You're not a buzzkill. You're interesting. I like 'interesting'. I don't get much 'interesting' in Trestle.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Mr. Merle said, taking a bite of his ice cream.

  “You're the only lake people who aren't full of themselves,” said Brie.

  “I used to come up here when I was a kid and loved it,” said Brad. “I brought Tamera up here and she fell in love with it too.”

  “
It’s easy to love a place when you don't have to grow up there,” said Brie.

  “It can't be that bad,” said Mr. Merle. “Everyone is dissatisfied with their home town.”

  “Yeah, but you don't have to be here during the winters. You get to escape to Overton.”

  “Yes, we get to cheat,” said Brad, “We don't have to be here during the winter. But tell me all about you, other than your bad SAT's.”

  “Hey!” Brie said, protesting playfully.

  “Hey!” he said. God, he was cute.

  “Well, I was on the swim team starting as a freshman and we went to state twice,” said Brie.

  "Really? That's pretty good, isn't it?” said Brad. “Have you thought about going after a swimming scholarship?”

  “You're bringing our talk back to college again,” said Brie.

  “You're right. Never mind.”

  “And I still swim every morning at the community pool,” said Brie.

  “Good!” said Mr. Merle.

  “I'm also a sometime drum majorette.”

  “What???” said Mr. Merle, sputtering, Brie noticing a change in his tone and body language. His eyes locked on her as he leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. “Tell me more.”

  “There's, like, three of us and we trade off. There's a lot parades in a small town,” said Brie.

  “Do you have one of those cute outfits with the boots and gloves?”

  “Oh yes, and don't forget the hat!” said Brie.

  “Tell me about the outfit.”

  Brie saw the effect this conversation was having on Mr. Merle and she decided to take advantage of it. “Well... it's kind of like a figure-skating costume. It has a little pleated skirt that doesn't cover much of the backside. And the part that stretches over the butt? The leotard doesn't really cover much at all. So if there's even a little breeze...”

  Mr. Merle swallowed. “Jesus.”

  “The leotard is a little too high-cut, but the skirt covers it—mostly. At least when there's not a breeze and I don't spin around too much. Then you see everything. I like it because it shows off my legs.”