'Man, I wish we had arranged any other day to do this.'
I parked right outside the front door, watching the electronic gates closing behind me in the rear-view mirror. Switching the engine off, the air conditioning blowing lukewarm air into our faces stopped and we were enveloped by a wall of heat once more.
'We'll be OK,' Logan said, opening the passenger door and stepping out. He put his right hand on his brow, staring at the house. 'I guarantee you this fucker's got a pool.'
I smiled. 'Yeah, cause he'll definitely let us use it while we're on the clock.'
I got out and shut the door behind me. It had been a twenty-five-minute drive from picking up Logan at his place to here. The hood of the truck was the brightest red I'd ever seen under the glare of the sun. How long would it take to fry an egg on that thing? I placed my palm on it and quickly let go. Not long at all.
Logan put his hands in his pockets and sauntered up the steps to the front door. He was wearing a pair of black gym shorts and a white wife beater. I was the same, but with the colours swapped. That was one of the beauties of doing what we do; never having to get dressed up a day in your life.
I knew from the moment the guy texted me his address that he had money; you couldn't live in this neighborhood without it. But this place had to be the biggest house on the street. Three floors, window shutters, white columns in front of the door.
This job better not take all day.
'Hang on,' I said as Logan went to ring the bell. He stopped and turned, waiting for me to reach him. 'I do the talking, remember?'
Logan rolled his eyes. 'What do you think I'm gonna say? Ask can I have a beer and jerk off on the couch?'
'Wouldn't surprise me.'
Logan laughed and put his hands in his pockets, his triceps flexing with every move he made. His body looked even better in the summer sun. I was trying - and failing - not to look.
I always did the talking on jobs. Logan is just as good a worker as me, but I come across more professional. You have to show some level of decorum, especially when you're dealing with rich people. Logan is more rough around the edges.
The door opened seconds after I'd wiped the sweat already forming on my brow.
'Mr. Nicholson?' I said, extending my non-sweaty hand. 'I'm James and this is Logan. We're the gardeners.'
'Dave,' he answered, shaking my hand. 'Hell of a day for it. It's scorching out there.'
I stepped inside, the cool air nothing short of euphoric. Mr. Nicholson was wasting no time and was already heading down the hallway to the back. I glanced into the sitting room as we followed, seeing an armchair still wrapped in plastic and a floor length mirror not removed from its box.
'Been here long?' I asked.
'Three days,' he said. 'I gotta warn you, there's been no work done to the garden since the other guy moved out so it's a bit of a jungle out there.'
'No problem.'
Logan was behind me, whistling in appreciation at the double staircase. I silently beckoned him on.
We went through the kitchen and Mr. Nicholson opened a pair of French doors leading out into the amazon where we would be spending the next few hours. He wasn't kidding when he said jungle. This guy better not be stingy with the tips.
'Everything you need is in the garage,' he said, pointing to the right. 'I know it looks bad, but I'm sure with the two of you it won't take long.'
'Absolutely,' I said a little too loudly, trying to drown out whatever Logan was muttering under his breath.
'I've got to go pick my wife up,' Mr. Nicholson said, grabbing his car keys off the kitchen counter. 'I should be back in about two hours or so.'
I nodded. 'We'll have the place in much better shape by then.'
'Great. See you.' He gave us both a nod and left.
'Holy shit,' Logan said as soon as the front door shut. 'Look at this fuckin' place. I think I actually
will
jerk off on that couch.'
'Just do it on the cover so you don't leave a mark,' I said.
He smiled, giving me a playful punch on the shoulder. It wasn't like the ones he usually gave, though. It was softer and his skin lingered on mine for longer. I blinked, looking away.
Did I imagine that? I probably did.
We headed back into the searing heat and around to the garage.
'I call dibs on the mower,' Logan said, darting past me and jumping onto the seat.
This meant I was stuck trimming the bushes. I found the shears on one of the bottom shelves and placed them at my feet.
Just as I was putting on my gloves, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I fished it out, hoping it wasn't from the person I thought it would be from.
I scanned the screen. It was. Trying not to make my anger too obvious, I kept my face as neutral as possible as I read the message. I could feel the fury bubbling up inside me as I reached the end.
I immediately started typing out a reply, my fingers punching the screen harder with each letter. Then I stopped. I looked at what I was saying and then quickly erased it.
Take the high road, James. Take the fucking high road.
'You OK bro?' I looked up. Logan was staring at me. 'You look like you're about to punch the wall.'
I put my phone away and forced a smile. 'Sure,' I said, putting on my gloves. 'Come on, let's work up a sweat.'
***
I licked around the rim, making sure I got every drop. I put the empty bottle on the porch steps and wondered how long it would be before I'd have to go inside for another refill. It was the hottest day of the year. I hadn't read that on the news or anything, I just knew it had to be. In fact, I couldn't remember when it was ever this hot before.
Logan's guess had been right. Mr. Nicholson did have a pool. It was at the end of the garden, two beach chairs laid out alongside it. I started at it with longing before picking up the shears again.
A voice called from behind me. I turned around. Logan was mowing the lawn by the right side of the fence.
'Huh?' I called.
'I said, I can't take it anymore,' he yelled over the mower.
'Take what?'
Logan reached down to ends of his wife beater and yanked it off. I watched the muscles of his torso flex as he pushed himself forward, peeling it away from his skin. He had always had a great body, but today, sun-tanned and glistening with sweat, it was hard not to stare. His chest was covered with dark hair leading down his abdomen and past his naval. His legs, from the position he was sat in, looked more muscular than ever; his quads straining the fabric of his shorts. Reaching back, he tossed his vest in the air, ensuring with his throw it landed right on my head. The fabric was damp with seat. Instinctively, I took a breath; his scent filling my nostrils. Masculine but sweet. He grinned at me as I pulled it off.
Logan had a habit of removing his shirt when we were on jobs and I didn't like it. Not the best way of showing professionalism, is it? But we were alone and I was already baking. Screw it.
I yanked my own vest off and tossed it on the porch. Logan whistled. 'Someone's been working out. Who you trying to get into bed with?'
'Shut up,' I said, laughing awkwardly. I could feel my cheeks reddening and quickly turned away.