Husband Sit (Husband #1)

by Louise Cusack

  She smiled then and the transformation was amazing—from solemn pleading to femme fatale in a second. No wonder he tolerated her infidelity. She was impossibly sexy. “We will devise a plan, you and I,” she said. Then she winked. “I will be gone a month. He will not resist you for that long.”

  As easily as my self-esteem had plummeted, it resurfaced, buoyed by Katinka’s confidence that I could seduce her husband. And after all, she should know, right?

  More importantly, forty thousand dollars. A third of the money Brittany needed.

  “Alright.” I straightened my shoulders. “Let’s sign the contract.”

  She winked again, this time a knowing gesture between two sexy women. Or at least that’s how it felt, because her kiss had somehow re-established my desirability in my own mind and—nuns be damned—the seduction of Finn felt like an exciting challenge.

  Katinka sealed the deal there and then. She even fished my keys out of the pond with her expensive tennis racquet. After I’d made my escape and my emotions had settled down, I cancelled the other appointments, determined to learn from this first husband sit before I booked any more. Katinka and Finn’s interview should never have been that upsetting. It was obvious even to a beginner like me that I needed practical experience of the job to handle future prospects more professionally.

  I had a month to find my next job, and my inbox told me there were plenty of potential clients, so I could afford to be choosy.

  That decided, I cancelled my next three months’ worth of house sits and finished Helen’s week, spending lots of time petting Princess Jasmine, imagining how it would be to pet a husband, to pet Finn. I tried to make myself laugh about that, remembering the fun we’d had before Katinka had gone to make her phone call. It could be like that, I told myself. Fun. Laughter. Maybe sex. Well, not at first because Finn would probably be awkward with me, but Katinka had promised to leave a letter that would explain exactly how to seduce him, and if I followed her instructions, he might succumb.

  The jury was still out about whether or not I’d try. Either way, two days before I was due to arrive at her house, Katinka paid me for the whole month up front.

  Forty thousand dollars.

  It was more than I earned in a year. When I saw the deposit in my online banking statement I was so overwhelmed, I wept. Then when I’d pulled myself together, I rang Brittany on Skype.

  “Brat.”

  Her face was pixilated on my phone, and the audio was crappy but I heard her say, “S’up sis?”

  “I’ve raised forty thousand. I’ll transfer it today.”

  “What! How?” Her pouty little mouth and upturned nose—which I’d always said made her look like a squirrel—seemed even more pronounced.

  “Scientific testing.” I knew she’d never bother to check on me. “I can earn ten grand a week. Should have you sprung by Christmas.”

  Her eyes were wide, and I cursed the signal lag that kept freezing her image, but at last I heard, “Fucken A!”

  I’ve never understood what that meant. Amazing? Astounding? I shook my head. “So keep your head down and don’t rack up any more bills. You hear me?” Putting on my best big sister voice.

  The next image I saw was her face collapsed into tears. “I want to come home, but… I look ugly!”

  Marginally lopsided wasn’t the same as ugly, but I said, “Sweetie. Don’t worry. We’ll fix that. When you get home,” I added, in case she had any ideas of finding another ‘cheap and cheerful’ plastic surgeon. She cried some more and I so much wanted her hug her then, which was rare. She was usually such a nuisance. But in that moment, I missed her like hell. So I sucked in a calming breath, knowing I had to be strong for both of us. “So text me whenever you want, but don’t ring me unless it’s an emergency. They get annoyed if you… interrupt the experiments.”

  “Okay,” she sniffed. “They’re moving me into a recovery hotel tomorrow. I’ll text you the address.”

  Typical Brat, only thinking about what was happening for her. I knew she’d never ask me what the ‘experiments’ were, and if they might harm me. And that was okay. I had girlfriends who worried about me. Brat had no one. Well, occasionally she had a bad boyfriend, like the twit who’d given her five grand for the cheap breast implant job, then bailed on her when it went wrong.

  Which reminded me, I hadn’t reassured her in this phone call that I wouldn’t tell anyone about her ‘problem’. I opened my mouth to do that, but she cut over me with, “Food’s here. I gotta go.”

  “Sure honey, I—”

  No. She was gone.

  And that was okay too. I transferred the money to the hospital, then rang their accounts receivable section to reassure them I’d pay it all within the next few months. They reassured me that Brittany wouldn’t be getting her passport back until the account was finalized, but at ten grand a week, they were happy.

  There was nothing more I could do for Brat, so focused on the coming husband sit. Katinka had promised me a $5,000 bonus if I could get Finn to go down on me—that being the ultimate betrayal by her standards. And I suppose it was. Any guy could turn the other way while his dick was sucked, and maybe switch off while he was fucking a stranger, but to actively give another woman pleasure was stepping across the line.

  I told myself I wasn’t going to try and work for that extra money. It wouldn’t be right. But at night, when I was alone in bed, I couldn’t stop fantasizing about Finn and his sexy mouth making me squirm and moan as his dreadlocks brushed against my thighs. It made me feel so guilty, I knew I had to stop, but the image just kept sliding back like a hot, hard tongue against a throbbing clitoris. I had no self-control whatsoever.

  I only hoped I could find some in his house…

  CHAPTER TWO: Finn

  Katinka was gone when I arrived. That’s how I wanted it, so that’s how we did it. Finn dropped her at the airport on this way to work and she flew out at 7am for Los Angeles. I arrived at noon, found the garage door remote control in the letterbox and let myself in. After parking my car, I took my belongings to the guest room, just like I did on a normal house sit, but there was nothing ‘normal’ about this, and now that I was installed in her house, my nerves were all over the place, jumping between mortal sins of greed, lust and pride.

  It didn’t matter how many times I told myself that even if we had sex, I was strengthening their marriage by easing Katinka’s guilt, I could almost see Sister Carmel, my fifth grade teacher, preparing to hand out a penance. I had to distract myself, so I focused on unpacking into my temporary ‘home’.

  My bed was a king-sized sled with crisp white Sheridan sheets and a gorgeous lime-green satin quilt. Candles of different shades of green lined both sides the room along a shoulder-high railing, and beyond the end of the bed was a mirrored wall-to-wall wardrobe that Katinka had thoughtfully populated with silk kimonos, negligees, baby doll pajamas and a leather cat suit that was clearly made for sex with strategic cut-outs and a neck-to-pubes zip.

  I felt selfconscious putting my boring tops and bottoms and a couple of good cocktail dresses in the other side. At least I had good shoes, and I lovingly stored the boxes below my dresses, stacked in piles of three, color coordinated from black to white with all the shades in between. Over the years I’d spent any spare cash I had on them, because like Carrie Bradshaw I knew that an expensive pair of shoes could lift any outfit from good to stunning. Besides, I had good legs and I wanted to draw attention to them.

  Only when I’d put all my things away did I look under the pillow to where Katinka’s letter was waiting. Then I made myself a coffee and took it out by the pool to read.

  Dearest Jill (I’d told them my real name. I couldn’t be Maree for a month)

  Finn will expect you to use the main bathroom but I have broken the shower so you must use his ensuite to bathe. I suggest the spa bath, availing yourself of the jets to find pleasure. Swim in the pool often, so you are in your bikini. Eat mangoes and let the juice run over your breasts. Te
ll him you adore art house films and make him watch erotica with you. Sleep nude and have loud nightmares. I want him to come to you, but if all else fails, massage his feet. That makes him hopelessly turned on. I cannot stop cheating and the guilt is eating me up. You are my last hope.

  Katinka.

  I could almost hear her accent, and it reminded me that both Katinka and Finn had agreed to my visit. If he had sex with me, it was his decision, his marriage. If he didn’t, I still kept the money. I really needed to stop torturing myself about this. I wasn’t the bad guy in this story. Cheating Katinka was. I was merely providing a marital service, like a sex therapist or something.

  Sunlight sparkled off the water in the pool beside me as I tried to convince myself I wasn’t a sinner, but some wretched internal compass was pointing north, toward virtue, and I could feel myself sliding further south with every second. My anxiety felt like a neon sign flashing MORTAL SINNER inside my brain.

  I’d never done anything like this before, and I suddenly wondered if I could. What if Finn touched me and I freaked out? Damn Sister Carmel and her lectures on the dangers of wearing short skirts and sitting with your knees not touching. This was her fault! She’d indoctrinated me, and I had to get over that.

  I was living in a beautiful house with a very sexy man. We might have sex, and that would undoubtedly be pleasurable. We might not, and that could be awkward. Bottom line, no matter how I reacted to Finn, I would stay for the month because I’d already spent their money. I could see no alternative to that.

  Strangely, that revelation brought peace. I tore Katinka’s letter into tiny pieces and binned it, telling myself that the best way to get through this was to hang on to my sense of humor. Because soon enough Finn would be home and we had to live in the house together.

  Luckily, we’d agreed on gourmet pizzas the first night so I didn’t have to cook, and with a few hours to wait before his arrival, I decided to swim. I went to my bedroom and donned my black polka-dot bikini and stared at myself in the mirror. Okay, I wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, but I did have dark Italian eyes that Doug had told me were sexy, and shiny brown hair that teenage boyfriends hadn’t been able to keep their hands off, plus enough tits and ass to compliment my long legs.

  I was attractive, and Katinka was convinced Finn would be attracted to me. Maybe a whole month was long enough to get under his skin. Or maybe I’d just live here like his housemate. Either way, I was okay with it, so I headed to the pool to do laps. I lost count at forty and only stopped when my arms ached, exiting on wobbly legs to flop face-down on the poolside lounge and soak up some rays which did wonders for my relaxation. So much so, in fact, that I succumbed to the exhaustion of several nights’ broken sleep.

  Finn’s hand on my shoulder woke me later that day.

  “You’re burned,” he said.

  “Oh shit!” That wasn’t the plan. Now who was awkward? I tried to get up.

  “Are you okay?”

  “No.” I peeled myself off the sweaty banana lounge and stood, trying not to stretch my back. What I hadn’t realized until I looked down was that my bikini top had stayed on the lounge. “Jesus!” I squealed and covered my breasts.

  Finn stood there in designer jeans that hugged his thighs, and a black Oxfam tee-shirt that clung to his very nice chest. His dreadlocks wriggled from side to side as he shook his head. At first, he smiled. Then he laughed.

  “What?” I said, trying to frown and failing. “This isn’t funny. I’m injured. You better have personal liability insurance, mister.”

  He kept smiling and I couldn’t hold it back any longer. We smiled at each other for a full minute before he picked up my bikini top and put it into my fingers so I didn’t need to uncross my arms.

  “I’m glad you’re not trying to seduce me,” he said.

  I raised an eyebrow. “It’s a piss-poor job if I am.”

  “You need a cool shower.”

  I opened my mouth to say, I’ll go first, then I realized I had to pretend to use the main bathroom, so I could discover that the shower was broken. Damn Katinka’s plan. I now had to fluff around in my own bathroom, before I could ask to use his.

  My back desperately needed to cool down, but you can’t help rotten luck, so I nodded and set off for my bedroom to grab some clothes, only to wince when I surveyed the damage in the wardrobe mirror. Even if Finn did show interest in sex, I was going to be out of commission for the first week at least. I could only hope Katinka didn’t ring, or I’d have to tell her I was lulling him into a false sense of security.

  I gathered my toiletries and a pair of pink cotton pajamas; you know the type with the long shorts and the tee-shirt top that has a cute logo. This one said, Pink is the new black. Nothing suggestive there. Anyway, out of my bedroom and into the bathroom I went, holding my toiletries bag over my boobs so I didn’t look like an exhibitionist.

  The bathroom was a white marble affair with a huge shower compartment and one of those trendy square vanity sinks with gold taps—a tad pretentious, but probably Katinka’s style. I put my toiletries bag down and didn’t bother to unpack it. Then I opened the glass door of the shower cubicle and turned on one of the taps.

  Surprise, it worked. A steady flow came out, which I knew hadn’t been her plan. So I turned on the other one and nothing happened. No more water came out. That meant Katinka had sabotaged one of the taps, but not the other. Bottom line: I couldn’t have a shower here, and I was just deciding whether I should have stripped off by this time, or if it was natural to still have your pants on while you were mucking around with taps, when I realized that the water splashing onto my ankle was stinging me.

  About then I realized there was steam everywhere—it was the hot tap working—so I should turn it off before I went to get Finn, because otherwise the hot water tank would empty while I was mucking around and we’d both be stuck with a cold shower. Even with sunburn, I could never tolerate icy water. It also seemed cruel to inflict that on Finn, so I reached in to turn it off—and scalded my wrist. For some reason the shower head was angling the stream of water toward the taps.

  “Shit! Fuck!” I screamed and groped at the tap, only to realize I was turning the wrong one! “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I shouted as I reached across, copping a stream of boiling water across my already burnt shoulder.

  The next thing I felt was Finn wrenching me away from the shower and putting me beside the sink. Then he snatched up a towel, wrapped it around his arm and calmly reached in and turned off the tap.

  I stood sobbing in my bikini bottoms with my hands over my mouth, because my wrist stung and my back was burned and I was also a complete fuckwit.

  In the meantime, Finn had dropped the towel onto the shower floor, shut the glass door and turned back to me with a look of bemusement on his face. “Are you okay?” he asked, for the second time in ten minutes.

  “I’m a complete fuckwit,” I blubbered.

  “Kinda looks that way,” he replied, “But I won’t hold it against you.”

  That made me cry more, but somehow I was laughing at the same time so it was okay. “My back hurts more. And I burnt my wrist.” I held it up for inspection like a toddler showing her dad.

  Finn frowned in sympathy, both of us ignoring the fact that I was topless. “Looks bad,” he said, and he made that soothing tisking noise adults do when they want to show kids that they care. God help me, even that was sexy. “We better soak that,” he said. And with those big hands of his, he moved me gently out of the way and ran cold water into the sink. I stood sniffing back tears, very aware of how little I was wearing and how close we were. My mind was battling with thinking he was kind, and thinking he smelt like sex against the shower screen.

  About then I realized Katinka was the fuckwit. How could she be unfaithful to this amazing man?

  “Here,” he said, taking my hand and leading me back to the sink, all solemn concentration while I bumbled about like a three-year-old. “Hold it under the water.” I did. He left me in t
he bathroom for a minute and came back with a towel that he’d soaked in cool water. “I’m going to put this on your back. It might sting at first, but we need to cool that skin.”

  We.

  “Okay.” I wiped my nose with my free hand. Then he laid the towel gently across my shoulders and I tensed, but I didn’t let myself make a sound. I’d done enough squealing like a girl for one afternoon.

  “There you go,” he said and I looked up through my damp hair at the two of us in the mirror, me hunched over to hold the towel in place, and him standing behind me with a you poor thing look on his handsome face.

  “I’m a fuckwit,” I said again, as if the situation needed further clarification.

  “So you said,” he replied, but it made him smile, and he was so delicious I wanted to groan. How on earth was I going to stay out of this man’s bed for a month? At this rate I’d be pouncing on him tonight, sunburnt or not. He patted my shoulder gently. “I’ll run you a bath. You stay here.”

  “Okay.”

  It was only after he’d gone that I looked back at my reflection and realized that the hunched posture did nothing for my boobs. Rather than the perky mounds I displayed with shoulders back, they currently looked like a pair of mangoes trying to meet in the middle over a belly that made me look three months pregnant.

  “Fuck,” I said again softly. If Katinka could see this, she’d be demanding her money back. Bedraggled hair, smeared mascara, all I needed was a whisky douche and the crack-whore impersonation would be complete. “Fuck. Wit,” I whispered to my reflection. The idiot in the mirror shook her head in despair. I’d be lucky if he didn’t kick me out the first week.

  “Bubble bath?” Finn’s voice floated in from down the hallway.

  “Please!” I shouted back, and straightened up, using my free hand to pull the ends of the towel across my boobs and secure them in a bunch at the front. “I’m coming!” I said, hoping I could think up a way to redeem myself. I pulled my burnt hand out of the sink so I could use both hands to wipe mascara off with the edges of the towel. Then I bunched it up again demurely, grabbed my toiletries bag and trotted off down the hallway, thankful that the house was tiled instead of carpeted as I dripped water everywhere.