Page 9 of Hotwife
Desmond pulled himself to sit upright and leaned an elbow on one propped knee. “You’re a fucking nutcase, you know that? What the fuck?”
Sitting up, I inhaled, willing myself to stop cackling, still delirious. Desmond stood and offered me his hand, pulling me up. His white shirt revealed his wide and chiseled body. “You’re lucky I didn’t have my camera on me. No way would I risk ruining it. Come on, let’s get out of here before Ted gets back and commits you to the mental hospital.”
He was joking, surely. But the thought of being wheeled into my husband’s hospital for less-than-stable mental health silenced my hysteria. I nodded. “There're some boxes of gift shop merch down the hall. We can change in there.”
With a firm grasp on my wrist like I was an errant child, my cocky rescuer grabbed his camera and stuffed it back in its bag before slinging it over his shoulder and motioning for me to head down the ladder. Turning around and gripping the bars, I cast one more glance over the rippling water of the tank and caught sight of a fin breaking the water-line. My heart caught.
What beautiful, dangerous, and misunderstood creatures.
I lead the way to the storage room and began sifting through boxes of cheap fleece hoodies and sweats. “These should work,” I said, noticing Desmond leaning on the doorway, looking down at something.
“If I sit down, are you going to make a break for it?” he asked, raising an accusing eyebrow.
“Why would I run?” I pulled out two extra large pairs of sweatshirts and joggers in an off-putting royal blue.
“Oh, I don’t know. Because you’re trying to off yourself, like a fucking idiot, maybe?”
Anger burned in my throat. “I’m not trying to kill myself, I just wanted to see the sharks.”
“Yeah? Well an aquarium is a good place to do that. You know, like behind glass? Like what this whole goddamn place was designed for? Where the fuck do you get off doing something so irresponsible—”
“No one asked for your commentary, Desmond. Or your stupid flirty behavior the other day, either.” I leveled him with an angry look and pulled on my pants under my sopping wet dress and turned around, peeling the wet fabric off. Cool air touched my bare back. I felt my accomplice’s eyes on me and shivered with heat. God, he looked good all wet like that.
I heard movement behind me and pulled on my hoodie. “I tripped. I didn’t mean to fall in,” I said, spinning around to see Desmond unbuttoning his pants.
“Yeah, and dangling your legs like hotdogs in front of a deadly animal? You meant to do that one too, right?” He yanked the sides of his dark jeans down and I flushed.
Smirking, he held eye contact until he stepped out in only his black boxer briefs. My eyes trailed his hips to his bulge, then landed on his prosthetic leg. The metal thin and contrasting to his muscular thighs and the chiseled calf on his other side. Pulling my eyes away, I met his.
“I’m going to need your help, flight-risk. Can you handle that?” Pulling off his shirt in one swift movement, he sat down with a thump on a large cardboard box.
Asshole. Hot asshole.
“Yeah, sure. What do you need?” I asked, crossing my arms.
“I don’t have much time until the saltwater gets into the joints and fucks up my machinery here. I’m going to need a wet cloth and a microfiber towel. Know where we can find any of that?”
Oh shit. Jumping in after me could ruin his leg. Now I felt like the asshole.
“There’s a janitor's closet right next door to this room. I’ll grab those,” I answered, finding the elastic on my wrist and pulling my already-frizzing hair into a ponytail.
“Cool. Avoid any dangerous animal habitats while you’re at it,” he muttered, running a hand over his knee and surveying the metal.
Walking by, I threw his hoodie at his head. “Thank you for the concern, jackass.”
The door drifted shut behind the sound of a deep chuckle. Thrill trickled down my body at the sound of it. Dark, smoky, sexy.
Hesitantly, I glanced around to make sure no staff had wandered in. The coast was clear. Ducking into the janitor closet, I found the towels requested flew out the door- right into a stick-like figure.
“Dorothy? What are you doing back here? This area is for professionals only.”
Ted.
Ted Murry was the assistant manager of the aquarium. Like most assistant managers, he served no real purpose. All of our departments worked like clockwork without anyone hanging over our shoulders. But owners and investors want the appearance of control on paper, thus, Teds. Wandering around from room to room giving asinine suggestions. Back in the spring, when a teenage penguin was molting, Ted suggested someone take her to a groomer. It was still an inside joke that whenever an animal or fish would need attending, we would all suggest calling up a kennel.
“Oh, hey, Ted. A kid stuck a piece of gum right on Pino’s exhibit. I didn’t want to wait around for janitorial to notice. Nancy scanned me in.” Wow, lying was a talent I should add to my resume at this point.
Ted slung his clipboard by his hip and looked down at me above his pencil-thin mustache. He was taller by me but only by the length of his oddly long neck. “You see? That’s the kind of initiative I like to see. Keep up that work ethic and you’ll be a paid staff member in no time.”