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"No," she replied quickly, "I was not watching. I just glanced out a couple of times."
Seeing attack was the best defense, I quickly same back: "You were watching." The emphasis on the 'were'.
"Did you have a good look?" I added with a bit of sarcasm, which she ignored.
Closing off the conversation from her point of view she quipped: "Just get them to use the bathroom."
I laughed and repeated: "You were watching."
She gave up a turned back to the sink giving me a perfect view of the tight shorts covering her ass. The distinct panty line showed that beneath the shorts was something skimpy. I took in the view, enjoying the tight pink shorts and imagining what was underneath them. I'd never looked at her like that before and it was a strange feeling.
"Anyhow," I said not wanting to dismiss the idea that she'd been watching all of us as we went around the lemon tree, "Jimmy says it's good for the tree, adds acid to the soil."
"Jimmy," she said turning around, her hands on her hips and the tee shirt hugging her tits, showing that while they might be small they were firm and looked good. "Well, you'd expect Jimmy to say that. He's always got an angle."
By now we were both laughing and I relaxed knowing that she was not about to throw drama about where we had pissed. She seemed more playful than usual, perhaps even a little coquettish, something I'd not seen before.
"But I think," she added, unable to give away making her point, "you'd better get the hose out." There was a smile more like a smirk when she finished her point with: "You can dilute some of that acid. Too much and you might kill the tree."
With nothing left to banter, I nodded. But before I did go outside, I slipped into my bedroom and, on some inexplicable impulse, I took off both my shorts and boxers and only put my shorts back on. That my cock was almost free of restraint was both sensual and erotic. I didn't know why I did it but I just did. It may have been the effects of the beer or the sun or maybe I just wanted to feel the unrestrained freedom. After that I went outside to grab the hose and do what she'd asked.
I was liberally hosing around the edge of the lemon tree when she came out of the house and, in another surprise, she grabbed one of the remaining bottles of beer out of the ice box. Twisting off the top she settled into one of the chairs and sipped the beer as she watched me.
"You know," she said, resting the cold bottle on her thigh, "when I was a kid we used to play under the hose on hot days. It was the only way to keep cool."
"You used to hose me when I was younger," I replied. "I remember that. Also, running under the sprinkler."
"Better than a swimming pool," she said, "although we were never able to afford a pool."
Holding the hose where the water was coming out in a soft spray I looked at her and smiled.