The neighborhood barbecue was meant to be a dry event--strictly speaking, of course. Jacob had arrived looking sharp in a moss-green polo and tan chinos, perfectly prepared for a polite afternoon of burgers and small talk.
The heat, however, had other plans. By mid-afternoon, the air was a thick, shimmering curtain that made even the shade feel like a sauna. When the host jokingly suggested that anyone who jumped in fully clothed would get first dibs on the brisket, he didn't expect anyone to take him seriously.
Jacob didn't hesitate. He didn't even pause to take off his leather dress shoes.
With a sudden, bold stride, he walked straight down the shallow steps and plunged into the deep end. The cool water was an instant, glorious shock, soaking through the cotton of his polo and turning his chinos into heavy, leaden weights. The transformation was total--one moment he was the picture of suburban decorum, and the next, he was submerged, his clothes billowing out before plastering themselves to his frame.
As he waded back toward the steps, water poured from his pockets and cascaded over his polished shoes, creating a miniature waterfall with every movement. He emerged blinking behind his wet glasses, hair slicked down and shirt clinging to his chest, but with a grin that was wider than anyone else's at the party. He might have been the only one there with a ruined outfit, but as the breeze hit his drenched clothes, he was easily the coolest man in Houston.