Mark adjusted the last box on the shelf and let out a satisfied grunt.
"That's it," he said, brushing his hands off on his jeans. "Officially moved in."
Emily poked her head around the kitchen door, smiling as she tucked a strand of her dark auburn hair behind her ear. "About time," she teased. "I was starting to think we'd be living out of boxes until Christmas."
Mark admired the flush on her cheeks, the way her T-shirt clung to her soft curves, the bounce in her step when she moved. At 28, Emily was still effortlessly sexy, even if she rarely saw herself that way. Full-figured, with 38D breasts and wide hips, she sometimes fussed over her body in front of the mirror, calling herself "curvy" in a slightly self-deprecating tone. But Mark loved every inch of her.
Their new home was a quiet suburban house with a large backyard, complete with a small patio. But it was the house next door that had drawn Emily's eye earlier that morning.
"Did you see the neighbor?" she'd asked over coffee, peeking through the kitchen window like a teenager spying on the cool kids next door.
Mark had looked over her shoulder. Their neighbor's house was sleek and modern, with a neatly trimmed hedge, a gleaming white patio, and a shimmering blue pool. Next to it stood Chris -- tall, tanned, maybe early forties -- shirtless, with a towel slung over one shoulder, pulling leaves out of the water with a net.
Emily had bit her lip thoughtfully, making Mark raise an eyebrow.
"Already spying on the neighbors, huh?" he teased, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind.
"Just curious," she'd murmured, her voice light, but her eyes lingering a moment longer than necessary.
The next afternoon, while Mark was unpacking tools in the garage, Emily wandered into the backyard in a sundress and sandals, humming to herself. She had always been the social one, more outgoing than Mark, and eager to meet new people. Mark heard voices over the fence, light laughter, and Chris's deep, confident voice rolling through the summer air.
When Emily returned, cheeks slightly flushed, she set two grocery bags on the counter.
"Met Chris," she said casually, pouring herself a glass of water. "Seems nice. Single, works in finance, big into fitness... you know, the usual small talk." She took a sip, glancing at Mark with a half-smile. "He invited us over to use the pool sometime."
Mark arched an eyebrow. "The pool, huh?"
Emily shrugged, a little flicker of something playful in her eyes. "Well, it's hot, and we don't have one."
That weekend, Emily pulled on her one-piece navy swimsuit, one she hadn't worn since their last vacation. She checked herself in the mirror, smoothing the fabric over her hips, frowning at the generous swell of her breasts.
"Does this still fit okay?" she asked, stepping into the bedroom.
Mark looked up and nearly choked on his water. "Uh... yeah. Definitely."
Emily rolled her eyes but smiled, a faint blush creeping over her cheeks.
They walked next door together, carrying a bottle of wine and two towels. Chris greeted them with a wide grin, his eyes flicking over Emily appreciatively in a way that made Mark's stomach tighten -- not entirely unpleasantly.
The afternoon passed easily -- drinks on the patio, lazy laps in the pool, and laughter as Emily, surprisingly tipsy, challenged both men to a water fight. Mark watched, fascinated, as Emily glowed under the attention. She was always confident, but here, under the warm sun and Chris's amused gaze, something inside her seemed to spark. Her laughter was lighter, her movements freer, and when she adjusted her swimsuit straps or smoothed her wet hair back, Mark felt a twinge of something unfamiliar in his chest.
Jealousy? Maybe.
Or was it... excitement?
The next day, Mark had errands to run. Emily lingered over breakfast, scrolling absently on her phone, then glanced out the window. Chris was in the backyard again, doing laps. Mark kissed her goodbye, and Emily assured him she'd keep unpacking.
An hour later, she stood at the fence, sipping iced tea, watching Chris with a slightly guilty curiosity. He noticed her, grinned, and waved her over.
It became the start of a quiet little ritual. While Mark was busy with work or errands, Emily found excuses to wander next door. At first, it was polite -- borrowing a cup of sugar, chatting about neighborhood things. But soon, Chris was inviting her to stay for coffee, or to dip her feet in the pool.
Mark noticed the changes slowly. Emily began buying new swimsuits, brighter colors, a bikini she hadn't dared wear in years. She brushed her hair more carefully before going next door, wore perfume even on casual afternoons. And in the evenings, she'd come home, cheeks flushed, laughing as she recounted Chris's jokes, or his clumsy attempts to show her a yoga pose on the patio.
At first, Mark told himself it was harmless. Emily was having fun, making friends. But when they were in bed, and Emily mentioned how Chris had teased her about "modeling" her new bikini, Mark felt a pulse of arousal that shocked him.
He wondered if Emily saw the heat in his eyes when she told him these stories, when his hands tightened on her hips as they made love, when he whispered in her ear, "Did he look at you like this?"
The first time he asked, she laughed, shaking her head. But later, when he asked again, Emily hesitated, a flicker of something in her eyes.
"Maybe," she said softly, "just a little."
Chris, for his part, was patient. He wasn't the type to push -- yet. But he knew the game, and he knew how to play it. He noticed the way Emily's laughter softened around him, how her eyes lingered just a little too long on his chest when he pulled himself out of the pool.
He saw the way she adjusted her bikini straps, the way she blushed when their hands brushed, the way she bit her lip when she caught herself looking at him. He knew she was shy -- and that made it all the more delicious.
He also noticed Mark. The way Mark watched Emily when she told her little stories, the way his jaw tightened but his eyes softened, the way his arm slipped around her waist with just a hint of possessiveness. Chris sensed the simmering tension, the unspoken questions hanging in the air. And he knew exactly how to turn that tension into something more.
But slowly. Always slowly.
One night, Mark lay beside Emily, her hair fanned across his chest, their skin still damp from sex. She traced lazy circles on his chest with her fingers.
"Chris asked if I wanted to swim tomorrow afternoon," she murmured, voice soft.
Mark tensed slightly. "Did he?"
"Mmhmm." She lifted her head, resting her chin on his chest, her eyes searching his. "You don't mind, do you?"
Mark hesitated, feeling something coil low in his stomach. "No," he said, surprised at the rasp in his voice. "I don't mind."
Emily's eyes glimmered with curiosity, maybe something more. She pressed a soft kiss to his collarbone. "Good," she whispered, "because I think he likes watching me swim."
Mark's breath caught -- and in that moment, something shifted between them, something neither of them quite understood yet
The next afternoon, Mark came home early, humming to himself, only to find the house quiet. He checked the clock: 4 p.m. Emily's note was on the counter.
"Over at Chris's for a swim. Come join us when you're home! xoxo"
