Page 9 of Glitz & Goals

The mermaid laughs. “Kidding. It’s a wig.”

The zipper doesn’t look like much, but it’s definitely stuck. I don’t want to risk damaging her tail, but I need to get the zipper free. I slide two fingers beneath the material to pull it away from her skin so that I don’t catch it in the mechanism.

As soon as I touch her, the mermaid lets out a little hiss and arches her back. “Damn,” she says, “your handsarecold.” Goosebumps form on her skin, and I resist the delusional urge to run my fingertips over the slight dip in her spine, trace the smattering of freckles on her skin, press my face against the back of her neck, and just breathe in.

“I think part of your wig got stuck in here,” I say. “Any chance you could take it off?”

“Sure.” She reaches up and pulls the blue updo free. Her hair is pinned up underneath, covered with a cap. Sure enough, a few blue hairs remain behind in the zipper of the tail.

Now that there’s not all that hair in the way, I can see better. In addition to the zipper itself, there are few other little clasps at the top, so cleverly sewn in that they’re almost invisible. I start disconnecting them, and when I do, the pressure on the zipper eases. One more tug, and it slides down to her mid-back.

She’s not wearing a bra. In fact, I’m not sure she’s wearing anything underneath at all. Am I going to get fired for undressing a mermaid in the hallway? The HR handbook did not cover this extremely specific scenario.

“I’ve got the little hook and eye things done,” I tell her. “Why has this thing not fallen off yet?”

The mermaid snorts. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Her tone is teasing, as if she wouldn’tmindthat I liked it. Are we flirting? God, I hope so.

“I thought that was the point,” I say. “You’re the one who wanted me to undress you, remember?”

She chuckles again, and the sound goes straight to my dick. Who knew I had a thing for mermaids? “So, there are buckles on the sides.”

I look around until I find them. They’re not hard to spot, but… they’re close to her side boob. As in, really close. As in, there’s no way for me to undo them without touching her breasts. Surely I’m getting pranked right now. Is this some sort of Venom hazing ritual? At this point, anything seems possible.

“You’re doing that thing where you stare and say nothing again,” the mermaid observes.

“Right. It’s just…” It’s not that I don’t want to touch her breasts. The problem is howmuchI want to. Tail aside, this woman is exactly my type: beautiful, confident, and offbeat.

She twists around to meet my gaze. Brain #1, which has apparently come back online, unhelpfully provides me with a mental image of what it would be like to stand behind her, undressing her in my bedroom. Swiping off my track pants and boxer briefs with just one movement. Then driving my aching dick into her over and over. “You don’t strike me as a guy who doesn’t know his way around some side boob. Just unhook it. You’re fine. I promise I won’t sue.”

I nod. “Fair. But surely your man wouldn’t be thrilled to have some stranger feeling you up…”

“My man?” The mermaid lifts a brow.

“Your merman,” I correct.

“Nice. I see what you did there.”

I reach out for the clasps in question. “And I see what you didn’t do.”

“What’s that?”

“Answer my question.” I am officially touching her lush side boob. I am both terrified and hopeful about the apparent lack of garments beneath her top.

“Was there a question? I feel like it was more of a statement. And I don’t do fill in the blank.”

“Got it,” I say. The clasps are free. “Now the other side.”

I circle around. This time, when I start unbuckling, the whole costume comes free. It drops to the ground, revealing flesh-tone tape she’s used to keep her boobs in place and a pair of boyshorts that are perfectly fitted to her ass and thighs. Even though the get up is discreet, it’s somehow intensely erotic at the same time.

“ThankChrist,” she groans, “I can breathe again.” With no sign of haste, she peels the rest of the costume away, then plunges her hand into the duffle bag at her feet. There’s a dress inside. I get one last look at her taped-down breasts and bare back before she’s covered in a loose sundress. She stuffs her mermaid costume into the duffle, although she opts to pull the wig and tiara back on rather than toss them in with everything else.

“Well,” I say, awkwardly fascinated and completely out of my depth, “I need to get going.” There won’t be time to sign the forms now. It’s almost time for morning skate.

“Going down?” she asks.

My eyes bulge.

“On the elevator,” she clarifies.

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