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“Uh…wow. Okay.”

Ruby paces to the other corner of the infinity pool, hands planted in the beautiful dips in her waist as she frowns at the chair submerged in the water.

“Yeah,” I sigh, tearing my eyes off her to observe it for myself. “Between that and all the bathing suit bottoms I’ve fished out of here, I’m seriously considering a ‘no more pool parties’ rule. Not that I could ever enforce that.” A lot of my Hamptons friends just hop my gate and swim, without even pausing at the front door to say hello.

“Speaking of bathing suits....” Ruby’s eyes dart to the upper deck, where a collection of bikini tops paints the railing. “Impressive. That your trophy case?”

“Lost and Found.”

We grab the last of the outside trash, fling our gloves into her bucket, then drown our skin in sanitizer up to the elbows. When she rolls up her pant legs to put her feet in the water by the stairs, I join her.

“Girls put their stuff out there to dry, then forget about it,” I explain. “I have a box for all the shit people leave. That railing’s usually cleared off by the first of September, before I leave.”

Ruby looks at them again. In the early sunset, all we can really see are the neon or white tops.

“Why didn’t you do that this year?”

“Same reason I haven’t gotten this damn chair out of the pool, I guess, or cleaned the living room...or left at all.” I study the glow around her profile. “I’m just tired.”

“I would be too, if I slept as badly as you.”

My smile takes a little too much energy to make happen, so I don’t force it to stick around.Ruby’s hand covers mine on the coping around the edge of the pool. Her feet churn up some waves and send them in my direction.

“Can I say something offensive that shouldn’t be offensive, but nonetheless always is?”

“Sure.”

“I think you’ve got, like...I don’t know. Depression? Anxiety?” She lets go of my hand and taps my skull, directly in the center of my forehead. “Something up here that needs fixing.”

Slower than ice melting, her finger trails down the middle of my face, between my eyebrows and over my nose, until it rests on my bottom lip.

“Bored Rich Housewife Syndrome,” she adds, keeping her finger there even when I laugh.

“All right, I could agree with you on depression or some shit—but I’m pretty sure that last one isn’t in the DSM.”

“Maybe not, but it should be. I’ve seen plenty of cases of it.”

“Yeah?” My lip tingles when she pulls her hand away. I was hoping she’d replace it with her mouth, but I can wait a little longer. “What are the symptoms?”

“Relentless boredom, inescapable ennui....” Ruby props her hands behind her and leans back, shutting her eyes to the sky. “This kind of buzzing, subtle ‘lost’ feeling every day when you wake up, because you’ve got nothing to fight for. No goals. No sense of true purpose.”

I was about two seconds from trying to kiss her—it’s such a perfect moment—but now I sit forward and stare at our feet through the water while her words sink in. “Huh. Then I guess I am a bored, rich housewife.”

She elbows me. “Oh, quit pouting. I was kidding.”

“Yeah, I know.” I look at her as she leans forward again to see my face. “But that does describe my life pretty accurately.”

“Probably still falls under the umbrella of ‘depression.’” She dips her fingers in the water, then runs them up my leg. Beads drip down my skin. “People think it’s just sadness. It’s not.”

I chew my cheek and nod. Our family’s got its share of psych diagnoses, so it wouldn’t shock me to find out I’m invited to that party. And I guess it would explain a few things.

“So what’s the cure?” I crack my knuckles against my forearms and look out across the bay. So many of my neighbors’ houses are dark.It feels like such a waste. Perfectly good homes, left to be empty shells half the year.

“For B.R.H.S.?” she asks, laughing when this coaxes a small smile from me. “One very effective treatment, I imagine, would be spontaneity.”

And with that, she puts her hand on my back...and shoves me right into the water.

It’s the shallow end, so I stand and spit the water from my mouth. My sinuses burn. Saltwater hurts less than traditional chlorine, but it’s still a bitch to get up your nose.

Ruby’s laughing to herself, now safely away from the edge. Smart. I’d be yanking her in by her ankles right now, if I could.

“Feel better yet?” she asks. Her smile glows in the rosy light thrown from the bay.

“What if my phone had been in my pocket?” I sputter, then shake water off myself like a dog.

“Relax. I saw you take everything out of your pockets when we did the kitchen floors.” She tosses her hat aside, then unzips her jumpsuit.

Oh, sweet, generous God.

Stupid me, I assumed she’d be clothed under her work uniform. Leggings and a T-shirt or something. At least shorts and a tank top, if overheating was a concern.

But no. Ruby is in nothing but her bra and panties under that thing.

And now, in magnificent slow-motion, she’s peeling it away.

I sink back into the water when she joins me, hoping she can’t see my hard-on. The pool lights aren’t on, but there’s still some sunlight to incriminate myself.

Then again...she’s gotta know damn well what she’s doing to me.

Wordlessly, she reaches to me under the water and takes my hand, pulling me to the deep end.

“You wore this kind of green the other night, too.”

“Hmm?”

“Your dress. It matched this almost exactly. Is that your favorite color?” I touch her bra strap, sliding it down her shoulder.

Without looking away from me, she slips off the other one.

“Yes.”

“What about red?”

“I hate red. It looks awful on me.”

“Disagree. I can’t imagine anything looking awful on you.” My pool water, in particular, looks fucking amazing on her. I think my bedding would be a close second.

“For years, that’s all anyone would buy me. Red sweaters, red shoes.... The more people expected me to love it, the more I hated it.” She swims closer. The damp scent of her skin gets me dizzy. “Everyone expected me to love red, just because of my name.”

“You don’t like being told what to do?”

When my hand trails up her back, everything dreamlike underwater, she shivers. I unsnap her bra.

“I don’t like being told who I should be,” she whispers.

Her bra slips down her arms as she treads water. We watch it float to the surface between us.

I reach out and touch her in the deepening darkness. Her breasts fit into my hands like two floating gifts I’d happily drown for. Which I almost do.

“Here,” she laughs, steering us to the pool ladder. She sits inside the rungs while I hold the railings on either side of her head, body floating in and out of orbit with hers.

I can’t take it anymore. I honestly don’t care if I get off tonight or not; just touching will be enough. Something, anything, to feed my imagination after she’s gone.

“Theo,” she moans, when my hand slides between her legs and starts rubbing. Fuck this pool for hiding how wet she is for me. I know it’s a lot. The way she tips her head back, the way her chest shudders...the way she grabs my shoulders and sinks in her nails—

I let go of the ladder and pull her panties down her thighs, all the way to her ankles. She kicks gently until, like her bra, they’re floating free somewhere behind us.

“So,” I say, grabbing the ladder again, this time with my hands by her hips, “how long do you think I can hold my breath?”

Her brow furrows, then instantly rises.

“Long enough.”

Her eyes study my mouth like she’s seeing it in an entirely new light. Like until this moment, she had no idea what it was capable of.

But from this moment onward, she will.