Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“Do you get a lunch break or something?” I ask. “Maybe I could eat with you?”
Or eat you out. Whichever.
I have spent days, and quite a few nights, thinking about this woman, fantasizing about her, and the urge to taste Briar’s mouth, her skin, and—fuck me—her pussy is riding me hard. I won’t lie, either, I’ve been waking up most mornings harder than a hockey stick, images of her still in my mind as I untangle myself from my sticky, precum-dampened sheets, only to finish the job with her name on my lips. Still, I try to maintain some semblance of public decency despite the images running through my mind.
“I have a better idea,” she says with an arch of one brow. “Want to help me with the animals? Like behind the scenes?”
I’m well aware of my savior complex, not that I’ve done a damn thing about it. In fact, right this minute, I want to help her any way she’ll let me. But yeah, we can start with the animals. “Let me guess, the fountain needs clearing out again?” I tease, already resigned to the loss of my tennis shoes, which will end up in the trash like the other pair did. There’s just no washing bird shit out of Nikes.
“No,” she says, laughing along. “But this might be just as messy and smell just as bad.”
“You’re really selling me on this idea,” I deadpan. But the truth is, she is. I’d do damn near anything to spend a few more minutes with her.
Apparently, that includes shoveling elephant shit, because that’s exactly what we do. And let me tell you, Earl the ten-year-old Asiatic bull elephant might be a spa-day prince, but he is not particular about where he relieves himself. There’s not one pile that’s easy to clean up. There are mounds throughout his inside enclosure that have to be scooped, scrubbed away, and then washed out. With a fire hose.
And then we do the same thing to the rhinoceros area. And then the giraffes, cheetahs, and hippos.
And that’s just the Wilds of Africa section of the zoo. Apparently, this is a daily quick clean, too, not the deeper scrub-down each enclosure routinely requires. That involves brushes with plastic bristles that look like they could pierce flesh.
“Is this what you do all day?” I ask as we finish the hippo enclosure.
Briar swipes her hair back from her forehead with her arm, making sure she doesn’t touch anything with her gloved hands. “Pretty much. Feed, clean, care for the animals. Why? Is it not as glamorous as you thought it’d be?” She strikes a pose, one hand on her apron-covered hip and the other flicked into the air like she’s a model, which might be believable with her good looks, except I’m reasonably certain the latest fashion trend isn’t dust-covered polo shirts, cargo shorts, and knee-high muck boots. Or maybe it is? I wouldn’t know. All I know is that on Briar, it looks good. So does the faux pout she’s trying to maintain, but her naturally infectious smile keeps busting through. “Glamour is my middle name, ya know?”
She thinks I’m judging her, but I’m not. Not at all. Smiling in surprised awe, I tell her, “You’ve been working your ass off all day, but I don’t think you’ve said one bad thing the whole time. No whining, no frowning, nothing. You love this.”
Her real smile slowly appears on her face, like she’s not sure she can trust my words. “I do. This is what I always dreamed of doing.”
From anyone else, it’d sound sarcastic. I mean, who dreams of sweating in the afternoon heat, covered in rubberized protective gear, getting misted by what’s likely some sketchy splashback, while picking up actual shit, for what I’d argue is most definitely not enough money? But looking at the happy glow on Briar’s face, she’s completely genuine.
The truth is, Briar hasn’t been just not complaining. She’s working her magic, leaving pixie dust behind with every step. It’s like everything she touches—with her hands, her attention, her heart—is better for her presence. Each area we enter, the animals scurry over to greet her as soon as she calls out to them. If there’s a guest who looks interested, she happily shares her vast knowledge with them. She waves at children, makes smoochie noises at animals, and romanticizes even hard labor into whimsical fun with songs and some pretty interesting dance moves with a shovel.
And I feel like a bastard who accidentally lucked into the best day ever, all because of her.
Leaning into her, I smack her on the lips. Just a quick kiss that’s over nearly before it starts, but I need to feel the happiness that bubbles out of her. “You are so beautiful.” She blinks, surprise in her eyes. I move to her ear to add, “And sexy.”