Page 49 of Afternoon Delight
Then I realized the handles and stirrups were adjustable. I tugged the appropriate grip, and my knee went up.
That, right there, should have been enough. I should have stopped there.
However.
My phone was in my lap, and it started to slide to the floor. Reflex had me trying to catch it while still holding the upper adjustment strap. My weight tipped, yanking my right leg higher. The sudden shift opened the two straps cradling my ass. My other leg lifted off the floor.
It was like being stuck in a toilet while holding onto a towel rack.
I hung there swaying, too shocked by my predicament to move. I could almost reach my phone. My fingertips grazed the slippery screen as I gently drifted back and forth above it. My other hand was still clinging for dear life to the adjustment strap.
It was so ridiculous, I started to laugh, which only made me weak and even more helpless. What the hell was I going to do?
Gingerly, I took hold of one of the suspension ropes and released the adjustment strap. It didn’t lower my leg. It had some kind of locking mechanism that kept my knee up around my ear. The best I could do was grasp a different strap and try to lean far enough to catch my phone as the swing continued to sway.
What if a customer came in and found me like this? What if my mother or Roddie did?
With supreme effort, I stretched a tiny bit more and managed to pick up my phone. Zak was going to laugh himself wet, but I thumbed for his name and hit “call.”
“This is Elvis,” he answered.
“Zak.” I was still gasping with laughter at the utter ridiculousness of my situation. “I need help.”
“What’s wrong?” His alarm made it funnier.
“I’m okay. I just need you to?—”
“Meg?” The door jangled. Loud.
He appeared from around the shelf and halted when he saw me. His tension fell away as he put superhuman effort into holding a straight face. His expression was still priceless. He ended our call and tucked his phone into his back pocket.
“Kitten’s up the drapes again,” he called over his shoulder to no one.
“Have your laugh, then help me.”
“This is what you get when you fuck Spiderman.”
“My mother warned me, but I didn’t listen.”
“I hope you have a reserve chute.”
“One more and no photos.”
“I’m definitely taking a photo.” He did. The bastard.
Then he came over and scooped an arm beneath mine. He splayed his hand on my lower back, his hard thighs braced between mine. His pelvis was exactly where the illustrations had anticipated it would be. He squashed my boobs against his firm chest as he pulled me upright, then studied the mechanism. He flicked something that released my leg.
In a very swoony move, he finished pulling me free of the swing and stood me on my feet.
I was every breathless romcom heroine who had ever stumbled over invisible obstacles and landed in the hero’s arms, weak and bemused.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
We both dropped our hands but stayed where we were, standing too close.
“Good luck with Cirque du Soleil. I’m going to miss you, but I support you following your passion.”
