Page 72 of Savage Seduction

I straighten up but don’t stand from the stool I’m on, and I force a smile.

“Dude,” Bretton says, reaching a hand toward the bruise on my cheek but then pulling back. “You, okay?”

His tender gesture surprises me; we aren’t good friends yet, and I’m pretty sure Bretton is straight. And while I can't help but find him attractive, we haven’t had much interaction. Plus, I'm trying to figure things out with Ben. “I’m fine. Had a situation a few days ago, but I handled it.”

“Handled it?” Bretton sits down on the stool next to me, his forehead wrinkling as he eyes my injuries. “What happened? You look like you were attacked or something.”

His knowing look makes me uneasy. I think about Dr. Nakamura’s words about someone not being who they appear to be and think, how much does Bretton actually know?Stop, Max. You’re being paranoid, I tell myself. Anyone who got a good look at my face would know I'd been in an altercation or some kind of accident.Don’t make it weird. “A couple of guys assaulted me and a friend,” I wave a hand to dismiss Bretton’s rising concern and inquiries for more information. “I don’t feel much like talking about it.”

“I understand… sorry for asking,” Bretton sighs and takes out his phone. “If you need to vent at some point in the future, I’m always available.”

I pull out my phone to double-check I have his number saved. After everything that’s been going on, my brain can’t keep track of it all. “Thanks, man. I might take you up on the offer.”

Bretton pats me on the shoulder. “I enjoy a nice margarita too, by the way… just in case you were wondering. I’ve heard good things about that place down the street from here,” he points to the west. “The new place.”

“Boca Tacos?” I side-eye him for a second. Was he asking me out? Or just suggesting a place with tacos because I'm Mexican? Not that it matters, tacos sound pretty great. “Who doesn’t love chips, salsa, and a margarita?”

We share a laugh.

“That’s better,” Bretton says. “Your smile…”

“Huh?”

Bretton smiles too but doesn’t finish his thought. I feel myself blush. “Maybe we can check it out tomorrow after work?” First of all who doesn’t want tacos, but there’s something about the tone of his voice that concerns me.

Nah, it can’t be. I push my thoughts of Bretton asking me for tacos as some kind of informal date.I mean, he’s straight isn’t he?

Bretton looks away and straightens awkwardly on the stool then clears his throat. “Sure,” he says without any real commitment to his tone. “I’ll check my schedule and let you know.”

“Great.” I watch him walk out of the lab.What was that all about?First, he seemed interested in hanging out, but then he got weird. I shrug. It wasn’t the first time a straight guy got a little uncomfortable around me.

Dr. Austin walks into the laboratory and declares, “We are ready to start uncrating the larger pieces in the exhibition room.”

I stand and stretch my back, looking around the lab. A few of the other curators are boxing up a few last remaining little antiquities to bring upstairs. Dr. Austin comes over and hands me a hammer.

“You’ll need this to pull the lids off the crates. They’ve been nailed into place to ensure they traveled here safely from Chicago.”

“Where do we start?” I ask.

“Last night I had a few interns help me move the pallets into four separate quadrants of the room, based on the shipping manifest.”

“Awesome,” I say. “I’ll meet you upstairs.”

“Great. Start in quadrant one and pull the lids off all thecrates. Once I’ve helped bring these remaining few items up to the exhibition hall, we can start unboxing.”

“See you up there, Doctor.” I turn and walk out of the lab.

This will be the distraction I've been needing from the events of this past week. It's exciting to think about pulling away the packing materials to reveal ancient pieces of art, funerary antiquities which include coffins, sarcophagi, and even a few mummies. Finally, my heart pumps for something other than being attacked or stalked.

It doesn’t take long to journey up a few floors and out into the main hall. The museum is busy with the usual hustle and bustle of regular business hours, but I soon find myself standing outside King Tutankhamun’s Exhibition Hall. I swing the door open and step inside. Dr. Austin has indeed taped off the entire expanse into four quadrants, each marked with a symbol. On the wall, there are lists of items taped for reference and a photograph of what the display would look like. I squint at the picture and see it's from the Field Museum in Chicago.

Dr. Austin and the other curators enter the room, and everyone gets down to business. I use the hammer to pry away the wooden lids, help pull away all the packing materials, and even catalogue and photograph each piece as it's removed from the crate. It's hard physical work, but it's all-consuming as well. One by one, each of the museum workers starts leaving for the evening. By the time I stop to take a break, I realize it’s dinner time, and my stomach growls.

“Dr. Salgado,” Dr. Austin says as he approaches. His shirt is covered in sweat stains, grime, and pieces of packing material. “It’s time for you to go home and rest up for tomorrow.”

I nod. “This has been exhausting but rewarding. I feel like Howard Carter back in the early 1900s, unearthing the tombs of pharaohs.”

A huge smile settles over Dr. Austin’s face. “My boy, I amso glad you feel that way. It is something that I never tire of no matter how much political red tape, corporate bullshit, and egos get in the way these days.” He slaps my shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow so we can continue?”

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