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Authors: Casey Grant

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Summer Girl

BOOK: Summer Girl
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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.

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