Page 3 of Naughty Wishes

Chapter Two

The next day on my drive to work, I try to convince myself that last night’s conversation with Dan was a dream, that he didn’t give me a ménage coupon for my birthday, that tomorrow night is going to be like every Saturday night for the last few years where we order pizza, watch a movie with the kids, and are in bed with the lights off by ten.

My self-delusion works until I am seated at my desk, trying to concentrate on a new contract for the hospital workers’ union, and Mimi Walters, the irritatingly cheerful hospital admin secretary, pops her head in the door.

“Morning, Kylie. Your husband called. He said he sent you a text this morning from the airport changing your Saturday appointment to seven p.m, but you didn’t respond. He needs confirmation by noon.”

Who makes an “appointment” for a ménage? Dentists, apparently. I wonder if he plans to squeeze me in between a root canal and a filling. “I’ll text him, thanks.”

“Also, the state health inspectors called to say they’ll be here on Monday instead of Friday.”

“Well, there goes my weekend. I’ll need to come in and run a final check on the hospital systems and operations.” I am at once disappointed and relieved that I now have an easy way out of a difficult situation.

“Oh no. Maybe I can help out.” Mimi brushes back her sleek, red bob with her perfectly manicured nails. Slim and pretty, with bright blue eyes, a perfect figure, and a way-too-cheerful disposition, Mimi is highly sought after by the male doctors and staff at the hospital. If Aiden Steadman is looking for something to do with his Saturday night, he would be better off posting his picture on Tinder and hooking up with someone like Mimi, who spends more time flipping through pictures of eligible men on her phone than she does actual work.

“I’m looking for overtime hours,” she continues. “If you want to carry on with your plans with Dan in the evening, I’m happy to come in and deal with the backend stuff.”

Damn. With Mimi’s help I just might be able to make it home to meet with Aiden after all. I force myself to smile, although I suspect the effect is more of a grimace. “Thanks for the offer. I’ll see what needs to be done and get back to you.”

Her face brightens. “Dan was pretty upbeat on the phone. It would be a shame to cancel. What did you guys have planned? Date night?”

Just a little ménage-a-trois with the kids’ dentist.“Something like that.”

Now that I may have to pull the plug on Saturday’s ménage-fest, I pull out my phone to let Dan know. He left early this morning for a business meeting in Denver and won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon, which I’m sure factored into his surprise attack plan. But his absence works to my benefit because now I can put an end to the whole crazy idea by text without having to deal with a face-to-face confrontation.

State inspection moved to Mon. I have to go in to work tomorrow. Might have to cancel Sat night.

Irritatingly, Dan answers right away. Like he had his phone in his hand and was just waiting for me to text him.

You said you were ready for that inspection last week.

Just need to double-check.

You said you were double-checking this week.

Can’t be too careful.

You’re afraid.

I have safety concerns. It’s part of my job.

That’s been handled. I’ve checked him out. I would never put you at risk.

I bite back a growl of frustration. Why does he have to be so . . . Dan? Although our marriage has cooled and we aren’t intimate the way we used to be, he has never stopped being protective of me and the boys. He might not remember my birthday every year, but he always asks me to text when I’m out to let him know I’ve arrived safely at my destination, and he is always waiting up for me when I get home.

Things aren’t so bad. Why shake them up? Let’s just do pizza & movie when you get home.

Let’s do something different.

Chinese food and board games? Visit my mom?

He’s experienced and knows what he’s doing. He’s bringing his own equipment.

I should hope so, is my first thought. It takes me a second to realize the equipment I’m thinking of—and it was difficult not to notice Dr. Steadman’s “equipment” when he was standing beside my chair in his treatment room and lowered my face to “equipment” level—is not the same equipment Dan is texting about.

What kind of equipment?

Seven o’clock tomorrow night. Come and find out.

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