Page 49 of Notice Me, Jameson Hart
“You’re hopeless,” I tell her.
“Says the guy mooning over Jameson Hart and his secret book collection.”
“Touché.”
The heat continues to wrap around us, but it’s less oppressive now. Maybe it’s the company, or maybe it’s the relief of talking about these things out loud instead of letting them rattle around in our heads.
“One-oh-eight!” the radio announces several minutes later. “Folks, we’re in uncharted territory now.”
Rita raises her melted popsicle bag in a toast. “To uncharted territory.”
“To uncharted territory.”
Robbie comes back out with a tray of lemonade, his hair sticking up in twelve different directions, and his smile aimed directly at Rita. He sets the tray down near the pool’s edge and stretches out on the chaise lounge, clearly enjoying the shade from the umbrella. He’s wearing those khaki shorts that make me wonder if he was a model in a past life.
“You’re not coming in?” Rita asks, paddling closer to the pool’s edge. Water droplets cling to her shoulders, and her red hair has turned a shade of brown now that it’s wet. She grabs one of the glasses of lemonade and gulps half of it down.
“Nah, I’m good here,” Robbie says, wiggling his toes and letting out a satisfied sigh.
“The water’s perfect,” she insists. “And you’re melting.”
She’s right—sweat has beaded on his forehead, and his shirt is already clinging to his chest. But all Robbie does is grin and take a long sip of lemonade.
“Come on,” Rita says, and there’s something different in her voice now, something playful and challenging. “Don’t make me come get you.”
Robbie narrows his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Rita smirks and glances at me from over her shoulder. “Kevin, help me out here.”
“I’m staying out of whatever this is,” I say, holding up my hands.
Sighing disappointedly, Rita hoists herself out of the pool in one smooth motion. Water streams off her vintage swimsuit. Robbie’s Adam’s apple bobs as he watches her approach. I snicker when I realize the radio is playing “Moving in Stereo,” because this is exactly like that scene fromFast Times at Ridgemont High.
“Last chance,” she says, now standing over him with her hands on her hips.
“Rita—” he croaks. But she doesn’t let him finish what he wants to say. She grabs his ankle and tugs. Robbie laughs and tries to twist away, but she has a firm grip. And I would know; my hands were pretty sore after we tangoed together during “Be Our Guest.”
After a few minutes of hard work, Rita successfully gets Robbie off the chaise. I’m pretty sure he let her, but I’ll never tell. She’s now dragging him along the ground, and my brother’s face is comical. He’s on his belly, wide-eyed with his mouth agape, his long fingers clawing at the grass.
“No!” he shouts. “These are my good shorts!”
“Should’ve thought of that before you refused my invitation, Robbie Pryor,” she says, tugging harder.
They’re both laughing loudly. I realize with a sort of sadness that this is the kind of flirting that I want with someone. Where whatever it is we’re doing might be considered silly and childish, but it’s something we’ll remember when we’re old and gray.
“Fine, fine!” Robbie surrenders, and she lets go of his ankle. “But I’m doing this on my terms.”
He pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it onto the chaise. I don’t miss Rita’s tiny intake of breath as her eyes travel down my brother’s torso. Robbie’s not ripped, but there’s a hint of a six-pack there. And those shoulders that she mentioned? Yeah, I get how she could be smitten with him too. As much as it pains me to say it, years of football have carved my brother into a handsome man.
Robbie backs up several steps, then takes a running leap into the pool, tucking his knees to his chest at the last second. The resulting cannonball sends a tsunami of water over me and Rita.
“Robbie!” we shriek in unison, but we’re laughing too.
He surfaces with a whoop and shakes his head like a dog. His khaki shorts balloon around him, making him look ridiculous.That’s the Robbie I know and love.
“Worth it,” he declares, swimming over to where Rita treads water.
“You’re impossible,” she says, beaming.
