CHERRY BLOSSOMS // Revisited // Montréal // 3.1

The girl couldn’t have been older than twenty. She was long and lanky and didn’t have an ounce of fat on her frame. Her breasts were small but perky, upright, and when she’d bring her arms together, it showed a cleavage, and they all noticed. Long blond hair, tanned skin, ice blue bikini; face was plain, but she’d put on lip gloss. With everything she revealed, no one had time to look at her face, anyway—all eyes sneaking a peek at her bare skin as she lay poolside, ass-up on a glossy teak lounger, while two of Rocco’s crew pretended to watch Rocco work.

They were in Aurora, at this huge house nestled on a wooded two-acre lot. A grey brick Gothic revival, probably 7,000 square feet. Tennis court, concrete pool, hot tub, a waterfall that cascaded into the pool, landscaping galore. Dragon had done all the landscaping and built the pool.

Nia stood in the shade, out of the sun. It was scorching hot. A huge old oak tree spread its gnarly branches over the crystal clear water. Rocco said it was probably the oak’s roots that kept fucking up the guy’s pipes, and had warned him when they put the pool in, but the wife was adamant about working that old tree into the design.

While everyone else had their eyes on the girl, Nia had hers on Rocco. She suspected the young girl in the bikini did as well. Rocco had his shirt off so he could climb into a tunnel dug under the intricate brick work walkway that edged the pool. The Dragon crew had a listening device that could detect underground leaks in the pipes, and they found where the homeowner was losing his water. They’d dug out a tunnel to get to the pipe, but it was in a bend, and none of the two that were on the crew could get the pipe apart. Nia and Rocco had been offering a bid in Newmarket, and Rocco left the crew hanging on the radio without a response. When he showed up, the crew went ghost white. They hadn’t known Rocco was nearby.

The crew made all sorts of excuses about the bend; how the torch wouldn’t work, how this, how that . . . Rocco didn’t respond. Anyone who knew Rocco knew he was pissed, and if there wasn’t that girl on the lounger twenty feet away, he’d have kicked the shit out of them. He’d stripped his shirt off. He was wearing a black polo with the Dragon logo and they had other appointments in the afternoon. He’d ripped it up over his head, wordless, muscles jostling as he went, face pinched to a fearsome scowl. These guys were going to be fucked tonight when they got back in. He handed her his shirt, and she smelled it, trying not to look like she was smelling it, shaking it out then loosely folding it and inhaling deeply while she did.

This was the first time she’d seen Rocco with his shirt off. He was trimmer than she thought. Or maybe he normally lost some of that fat in the season, running around and working. When she’d first seen Rocco, he’d been coming out of hibernation like a big grizzly bear.

His shoulders were massive, big, round striated globes that bulged and flexed while he moved. His arms were huge. She wouldn’t be able to get her hands anywhere near around them. He was thick-waisted but his lats were so wide and developed that it looked narrow. She watched the bulging muscles of his back squirm around while he got together all the things he’d need to take into the tunnel with him. He was hot shit, that was for fucking sure. Now that she’d told Geoff, she let herself indulge, let her eyes smooth over him like it was her hands. She took in every masculine bit of him: the big chest, the thick neck, the flaring traps, the dragon tattoos that went up his arm . . . She saw now they went across his very hairy chest and over the upper right corner of his back. He’d just had a haircut, and got a shave along his neckline and up the sides, making him look intimidating and military.

The homeowner’s daughter was watching as well. She got it. Rocco was no pretty boy, but he was a stud. The girl was hiding behind her expensive black sunglasses, but the head tilt told Nia all she needed. Rocco had another fan in the backyard this afternoon.

Then Rocco was down in the hole, climbing into a narrow human-sized tunnel too small for his threatening bulk. He was on his back, working away under there, taking the pipe apart, putting in a new section. His lower half was out of the hole.

He’d lost weight. She could see it in his belly. Still smooth, but definitely trim. Looking good. A trail of thick hair scored a ragged line under his belly button and worked under the button of his jeans. She could see an obscene outline of his cock. His jeans were loose fitting but the way he lay in the dirt had pulled them up and made a tight pocket, and she could see the rough shape of his manhood there. It was incredibly thick.

She looked away before anyone noticed, looked around at the landscaping, the banks and partierres, the custom-shaped waterfall with the tropical looking plants over it. There was a cabana built in the teak that matched the loungers. Half of it was a pump room where all the pool equipment was stored.

She turned to one of the crew, a guy leaning on a shovel, dumb-eyed and trying to look sideways at the blonde in the bikini She said, “You turned off that pump, right?”

The guy jumped, flinched, and made to move to the cabana, then stopped, rolled his eyes up to think, said, “Yeah, shit . . . Yeah, it’s off.”

She’d scared the shit out of him. If Rocco cut that pipe and got blasted with pool water, that customer’s daughter watching from the sidelines wouldn’t save their lives.

* * *

“Those two are fucking idiots,” Rocco said. Arms extended out from his body, he stood in the brick driveway of the mansion while Nia brushed him off with a towel he kept in the truck. The double doors of the truck were open, and they stood in their shade and she walked around behind him, brushing all the dirt from the tunnel off his wide back.

“Yeah, and they give up easy.” She stood on her tip-toes, running her hands along his shoulders, flicking little bits of rock off him with her fingernails.

“What’s next?” He stretched the tight polo down his massive frame.

Rocco relied on her now for a lot of scheduling. On top of the bookkeeping, she’d taken up the appointment scheduling and coordinating with the secretary back at the office so Rocco didn’t have to do that all himself. He was such a control freak. She didn’t mind the extra work because it showed she had his trust. “Snowball,” she reminded him, “bid on a 18x32.”

He rolled his eyes as he straightened the collar on his shirt, and she reached up and helped. He said, “All right, let’s get fucking going.”

When they were back in the truck and heading down Bathurst with the AC cranked, she said, “That girl couldn’t keep her eyes off you.”

“Who? That little bikini girl?”

“She watched you the whole time.”

“Mm-hmm,” he grunted. “I’d break her in two.”

“You probably would.”

“You thought Dino was big.”

“Ha. Oh boy.” She laughed out loud. “Is that what you meant?”

“Yeah—Dino said you liked it.”

“I did,” she agreed absently, not liking the conversation now.

“You’d like mine better.”

“You heard I’m married, Rocco? You remember that guy you met I told you was my husband?” She could hear her own girlishness in her laugh, practically encouraging him.

“I know. I also heard you made out with a stripper at Donna Vitolo’s bachelorette party.”

Her heart stopped and the glands in her neck seemed to swell up instantly. Her ears started to ring. She could feel her neck and face go hot. “You fucking . . . what?” She felt like she’d been kicked in the stomach.

She looked over at Rocco, saw his mean, smirking face. He said, “I heard you made out with a stripper is all.”

“Who told you that?”

He laughed, then his mouth closed in a smile, eyes on the road. “A little birdie told me that.”

Her mouth hung open. She croaked, “Holy fuck. What is wrong with people, I didn’t—”

“Hey, I’m just saying—if you’re looking for a little on the side, you know . . .”

“I’m not looking for a little on the side, Rocco. You’re my boss. What the . . . I can’t fucking . . . That guy? We were just talking.” Her voice had got high and panicked.

“I catch my wife talking to some stripper in her car for twenty minutes, there’s two people going to the fucking hospital.”

“He was, we were talking He wanted to . . . He’s going to school for, uh, bookkeeping.”

“Uh, bookkeeping.” Rocco laughed, mocking her stumble, acting like he’d caught her in her lie. He had, but he didn’t know he had.

“Ah, fuck off,” she hissed, and she pounded the underside of her fist against his big bare arm. He was solid and hard and he laughed it off.

She poked him in the side and he flinched, then poked him up at his neck between his shoulder. He flinched again, yelled, “Hey, okay! You wanna fucking crash?”

She’d been mad, being playful, acting playful, but poking him to hurt him too. “Well, stop teasing me about something that didn’t happen. That’s not even close to funny.”

“All right, okay. Maybe nothing happened. But I was Geoff, I’d keep a good eye on you.”

“Hey, Rocco. Look at me, okay? I love Geoff. What happened in that car—it wasn’t my doing, understand?”

He frowned. “Seriously?”

“I didn’t want him in my car.”

“What the fuck?” Rocco’s face got pinched and mean.

“Right? You get it?”

Rocco didn’t respond, but she saw the round muscle in the corner of his jaw flex and jump over and over again. His neck went red.

“You know me. You think that sounds like me? With some stripper? Okay?”

His tongue ran over his teeth under his lips and his brow dropped very low. His hands squeezed the wheel.

She’d met Ang for coffee on Monday night. She drove to Vaughan Mills and met her there at the Spice Espresso Bar. They had a couple of Cortados each, and an hour and a half later they hugged. Ang’s eye’s were wet (so were Nia’s), and she was sure they’d left the issue of Sebastian the Stripper resolved.

Ang had said they’d been frantic when she drove off. Didn’t know where she went, didn’t know she’d parked her car and took a cab. Had one of the girl’s boyfriends out driving around looking for her. Found her car at the Petro-Can. They were freaking out. The hotel room packed with ten girls all wide awake now, all going crazy with what might have happened. Ten girls who heard what Ang and Donna saw. That boyfriend had gone out with a flashlight and walked up and down the field out back of the gas station where she’d left her car, calling her name out. That was eleven people. At least eleven heard that she’d been alone with the stripper in her car. She’d told Ang that he’d forced himself on her. She’d said he didn’t assault her, but she said she was afraid. He got in the car with her and she was frightened. The napkins? Tears. She’d been crying because she was relieved he was gone.

Angie didn’t argue. The story she told was possible. Angie also remembered old Nia, and it wasn’t the craziest thing ever that she would hook up with a stranger. That was something Nia had done many times before.

“And tell your brother to keep his fucking mouth shut about what I liked and didn’t like. Unless he wants me to do the same. There’s a lot I could tell too.”

Rocco burst out laughing, open mouthed, the frown disappearing. He loved it. He said, “Ay, go on, tell me. I’m all ears.” He burst out laughing again, getting worked up at what crazy shit she might tell him about his brother.