I don’t hear anything for a long time. I don’t want to hear anything, but I can’t help straining my ears for the slightest sound, any indication they’re rutting like animals next door. But there’s nothing. I finish the top of the window, work my way down one side, then the other, and stretch up to paint the bottom of the frame when I hear the unmistakable slap of a screen door snapping shut.
Involuntarily I glance down at the pool and there’s Bradley, dressed in that second-skin bikini of his, his tank top long since tossed aside. He picks at the bikini where it bites around his ass, smooths the tight fabric over his buttocks, and jumps feet first into the pool. Water splashes everywhere, like his laughter—I hear it rain down around the tiled deck as he calls out, “Jeffrey? You coming out
