Naughty Wishes

by Sarah Castille

  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.

  ***

  I manage to get through the rest of the day without typing “ménage” or “kinky dentists” into the search engine of my hospital computer. After work, I pick up the boys for hockey practice.

  “I’m starving,” Peter says as he climbs into the vehicle. Despite Dan’s protests, we had to buy a minivan to fit all the hockey equipment and the vast quantity of food needed to sustain two growing boys on hockey road trips. I shudder to think what will happen when they hit their teens.

  “You didn’t give me enough for lunch.”

  “Cooler is in the back.” I glance up at him in the rearview mirror. Our oldest boy, now ten, is a spitting image of Dan, from the thick brown hair, to the dark eyes, and from his height—already over five feet tall—to his athletic build. “And I gave you two sandwiches for lunch, a thermos full of soup, two pieces of fruit, a bag of carrots, and a bag of chips.”

  “I ate it for my morning snack,” he says, reaching for the cooler. “Then I had to beg my friends to share theirs with me.”

  “I ate my lunch for lunch.” Justin, who inherited my auburn hair and hazel eyes, beams at me in the mirror while at the same time punching his brother in the ribs to divest him of the cooler. “But it wasn’t enough. Maybe we should stop for a pizza.”

  “You’re having pizza at the Richardson’s tomorrow night,” I tell him. “And don’t hit your brother.”

  “What are you going to do without us?” At eight, Justin is the baby of the family caught between wanting a bit of independence but still needing hugs and cuddles from Dan and me.

  I choke on my coffee—a necessity for hockey moms who spend long hours standing around in a freezing rink. “Not getting into trouble like you.”

  Peter snorts a laugh. “They’ll watch Netflix and go to bed early. That’s what happens when you get old.”

  “Mom’s not old,” my lovely Justin says. “She’s two years younger than dad. He’s the old one.”

  Not old enough, apparently, since he’s the one all raring to go for a kinky Saturday night.

  “I have a sore tooth.” Justin says. “Can we go back and see Dr. Steadman? The parachute toy I got at my last checkup broke. Maybe he’ll give me a new one.”

  My breath catches in my throat, and I imagine I am in Edvard Munch’s painting, The Scream. “No.”

  “No?”

  “I’m busy at work,” I tell him. “We have the state inspectors coming to the hospital for a visit on Monday.”

  “But it’s sore.”

  “It’s probably getting ready to fall out. I’m sure it will feel better tomorrow.” Desperate, I play the competitiveness card. “Peter had two wiggly teeth at once, and he walked around in pain for a whole weekend without complaining.”

  “That’s true,” Peter says, nodding. “I’m too badass to feel pain.”

  “I’m badass,” Justin complains.

  “You’re eight. Don’t say badass,” I admonish, simply because it’s a parental requirement, but I don’t take it farther than that because I want Justin to be a “badass” so I don’t have to make an emergency trip to the dentist where I might be required to talk in a coherent manner about our upcoming “appointment” when we’re alone dealing with the invoice. Or do people even talk openly about such things?

  “I’m looking forward to Saturday night,” he says, giving me a wink.

  “Yes. I’m super excited. I wasn’t sure where you wanted to have sex with me and Dan so I’ve washed the kitchen floor and vacuumed the living room, the hallway, and the bedroom. I’ve put a plastic cover on the dining room table so it doesn’t get scratched, and extra towels in the bathroom. Oh, and I’ve got fresh sheets on the bed.”

  He nods because he is experienced with these things and approves of my location choices. “I hope your bed is big enough for three.”

  “It is if we’re not sleeping in it.” Imaginary Kylie delivers the killer comeback with a knowing smile.

  “Then stop whining and suck it up.” Peter yanks me back to reality when he grabs the cooler from the front seat, pumping his fist in victory.

  One hour and two coffees later, I am huddled on the bench beside my hockey mom friend, Alexis Morales, watching the boys play. After putting aside her Culinary Arts degree and giving up the prospect of a promising career as a pastry chef to raise her kids, Alexis was devastated when her husband ran off with his secretary and left her with two kids, an empty bank account, and a huge load of debt. Not one to take things lying down, Alexis moved in with her mother, hired a lawyer from Dan’s firm, and dragged that bastard’s sorry ass through the court. She used some of the proceeds from the sale of their house to buy the local bakery when the owners retired, and took a job at the local post office to pay the bills while she renovated. Her cute-as-a-button-mini-me daughter, Megan, is six, and her son, Quinn, is Peter’s age and plays on the same hockey team.

  “I think it’s about ten degrees colder in here today,” she says. “I can’t feel my fingers or toes. Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

  “It might be because you’re wearing fashion boots and no gloves.” I hand her my coffee and she takes a little sip, then runs a hand through her purple streaked hair—her new signature move to indicate she’s on the hunt. Alexis is slim and fit, her skin deeply tanned, dark eyes framed by criminally long thick lashes. She started working out after her divorce, lost fifteen pounds, and is constantly nagging me and her best friend, Lily, to join her for her early morning runs. Like that’s going to happen. I am so not a morning person. Dan and the boys don’t even try to talk to me before I’ve had my first cup of coffee.

  “Who are you freezing your hands off for this time?” I ask, retrieving my cup.

  “I met Rick Taylor, the new coach, after practice last week.” She counts off his attributes on her ungloved hand. “He’s forty, divorced, no kids . . .”

  “I thought you were after the vice principal of the high school.”

  “That was last week.” She leans back against the bleacher and sighs. “All he wanted to talk about was the school recycling project and his new hair implants. He’s no Dr. Steadman.”

  “I was wondering why you hadn’t mentioned the town’s most eligible bachelor.” After my first visit to Dr. Steadman’s office, I called Alexis and encouraged her to make an appointment to check out the newest bachelor in town. After eating lots of sugary treats, she showed up for her cleaning, but all she got out of it was a sparkling smile.

  Alexis shakes her head. “I made another play for our drop-dead gorgeous dentist when I took Megan for her checkup last week, but he wasn’t interested. Not even a wink. I think he might be seeing someone.”

  How about two someones? At once. Nausea roils in my gut.

  “He’s been here over a year now,” I say. “I wouldn’t be surprised. All the moms I know have been falling over themselves to get their kids’ teeth cleaned.”

  “I’m talking about single people.” Alexis laughs. “Why would he go for someone married when he could have his pick?”

  Why indeed?

  “All that thick, dark hair,” she continues, her face soft and dreamy. “The blue eyes, the chiseled jaw, the bit of scruff . . . he looks like Chris Pine, except a bit younger.”

  “I didn’t notice.” Well, I did, but only in passing. Although I’ve fantasized about other men, I’ve never wanted to be with anyone else but Dan. If I met him for the first time today, he wou
ld still take my breath away. But maybe I don’t do the same for him. I had assumed Saturday night was just about me. Now Alexis has made me wonder if it’s really about Dan, and he’s been keeping a secret from me.

  “Liar,” Alexis says, interrupting my train of thought. “Everyone notices him. He has universal appeal. And he’s a nice guy. Kind. Gentle. Good with kids. Great sense of humor. Interesting to talk to. Genuine. My Megan wants to marry him, but if he is available, then it’s goodbye Rick Taylor and his seventeen cats, and hello root canal, or whatever reason I can come up with to get Dr. Steadman’s attention.”

  “You didn’t mention Rick’s cats,” I say.

  “I think that’s why he got divorced, but I’m desperate, and I’m not prepared to leave Revival to find a man. I’ve lived here all my life. All my friends are here, my mom, my abuela . . .”

  “You don’t need a man. You’re doing fine on your own. Better.”

  She laughs. “I’m not saying I want to get married. I just want a little loving from something that isn’t made of silicone or plastic. And nothing against Dan, he’s a great guy, but wouldn’t you want to have just one night of all the hotness that is Dr. Steadman in your bed?”

  As a matter of fact . . .

  I fake my way through another hour of conversation without succumbing to the urge to text Dan and tell him Saturday is definitely off. How can I sleep with the man Alexis is lusting over? Granted, she’s not my best friend, but we’re friendly, and we’ll be hockey moms together for at least another eight years.

  After hockey, I take the boys home, feed them, and help them with their homework. When the lunches are made and the chores are done, I crawl into bed and make the call I’ve been dreading all day.

  “Are you gay or bi?” I blurt out after Dan answers the phone. “Is that what this is all about? Were you afraid to tell me so you plan to show me instead?”

  Dan barks a laugh. “No, sweetheart. I’m not gay or bi.”

  I lower my voice although there is no way the boys could overhear me. “I don’t think I could watch you with another man.”

  “Aiden and I won’t be touching,” he says. “It’s just about you.”

  My hand drifts down over my curves. “And you’re okay with another man touching me? When we were first together, you went crazy when guys even talked to me in the bar. You almost broke someone’s arm when he asked me to dance. You would have gone ballistic if I had asked to have someone join us in bed.”

  Dan sighs, and I imagine him lying on his hotel bed in his pajama pants, his chest deliciously bare, albeit his dark hair is now slightly peppered with gray. “I’m older now, Kylie. I’m not as rigid as I used to be. I want you to be happy, and when I saw the book you were reading . . .”

  Not just one book. I’ve been on a ménage reading kick for the last year, although I’m not about to share that with him.

  “Have you done anything like this before?” I ask.

  Silence

  “Dan?”

  “Before we were together,” he says. “I tried a lot of different things—BDSM, ménage, and other types of kink. That all changed when I met you. I couldn’t imagine you in that lifestyle, and I could never have shared you with another man, so I put it aside. Kink was a preference. You were a need.”

  “But we did . . . stuff,” I protest. Although I hadn’t had a lot of sexual experience before Dan, I knew even then that our sex life was unconventional. Dan was rough and dominant in bed. He had to be in control; he was happiest when my hands were restrained and he could tease and torture me to his heart’s content. I was uncertain at first, but I couldn’t deny how much it turned me on when he got bossy and manipulated my body until I was mindless with pleasure. When did we stop having that kind of fun in bed? When did our sex life become routine?

  “That was pretty mild compared to what I’d done before,” Dan says. “It was BDSM-lite.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” And how could I have lived with him for so long and not know this about him?

  “It was in the past,” Dan says. “And I was never unhappy with how things were between us. Just lately, I feel like I’m losing you, and if I was that man again, the man you fell in love with . . .”

  “The man who could never contemplate sharing me?”

  His voice tightens the tiniest bit. “I can do it for us.”

  “Most people try counselling first.”

  Dan laughs. “We aren’t most people. I enjoyed kink and from what little we did, I think you’d enjoy it too. Aiden’s in the lifestyle. He knows what he’s doing. I want this to be special for you. I want to show you the man you fell in love with . . .”

  “I still love you,” I say.

  “Then let’s try this, sweetheart,” he says. “For both of us.”

  Chapter Three

  Of course, everything goes wrong on Saturday, and I am stuck at work until six making sure things are fixed up for Monday’s inspection. With no time left to shop, I race home, only to walk into an empty house. I check my phone and find two missed messages from Dan. His plane was delayed, but he’ll be home by seven thirty. He’s already talked to Aiden. We should start without him.

  How are we supposed to engage in a ménage with only two people? What am I supposed to wear for the hottest man in town? Somehow I don’t think my hot-pink department store lingerie from five years ago is going to cut it—much less fit. And how does this kind of thing work? Should Aiden and I just strip off our clothes and get down and dirty on the coffee table until Dan shows up?

  I can’t even imagine how awkward this is going to be. So I don’t. Instead, I pretend Alexis is coming over for a chat. I change into my sexiest pink bra and panties, yoga pants, and a fitted, V-neck T-shirt. Although I’m not comfortable with my curves anymore, I am always looking for an excuse to show off my breasts.

  I feed Rusty, our Labrador retriever who we rescued from the pound five years ago. Then I vacuum the living room, whip up an avocado dip, cut up some veggies, and put Dan’s favorite beer in the fridge.

  By the time the doorbell rings, I have almost forgotten about the ménage.

  My heart pounds. Sweat beads on my forehead and trickles between my breasts.

  I take a deep breath.

  Let it out.

  Open the door.

  “Hi, Kylie.” Aiden Steadman smiles, and I almost melt into a puddle on the floor. He looked hot in his office, wearing his dentist coat with the little tools lined up in the pocket, but standing on my front porch, in a pair of low-rise jeans, his abs rippling beneath his tight black T-shirt, a duffel bag in his hand, all ready to have sex with me and Dan, he takes my breath away.

  And my voice.

  My mouth opens. Then closes again. Rusty rushes in to save the day by sniffing at Aiden’s crotch, as if he knows that’s why Aiden’s here. I force my lips into a smile and will the ground to swallow me up.

  Finally, I manage to squeak. “Come in.”

  Aiden gives Rusty a pat and then steps inside, closing the door behind him.

  “Sorry about Rusty. He always sniffs strange, new things . . . I mean, people. He sniffs strange people. Well, not strange people. Strangers. He sniffs strangers. Although not usually in the penis.” Oh. My. God. “Crotch. I mean crotch. He doesn’t usually sniff crotches . . .”

  Shut up, Kylie. My cheeks heat and I look away.

  “No problem,” Aiden says. “I’ve had dogs all my life. I’ve just bought a German shepherd pup. I’m picking him up next week. My wife kept our collie after the divorce.”

  I’m not sure if he’s happy because he hated the collie and his wife, or sad because he liked the collie and hated his wife or liked the collie and liked his wife, so I just nod. “I have snacks.”

  Aiden makes himself comfortable on the couch while I race to the kitchen and contemplate sticking my head in the oven and turning on the gas.

  “Nice place,” he says when I return with the beer and veggies and dip.

  “We’
ve been here since Peter was born.” I perch on the edge of the loveseat, while a betraying Rusty curls up on the couch beside his new best friend, Aiden. “We redecorated this year. Since I’m the only woman in a house full of guys, I had to give up my dream of pink and chintz and settle for dark leather, wood, and browns and creams.”

  “I see a woman’s touch in here.” Aiden plucks a carrot from the veggie plate.

  Is that a sign? Is there a reason he took the long, hard carrot and not the cherry tomato?

  “Those paintings are beautiful,” he says. “Lots of color.”

  My cheeks warm with a small burst of pride, and I glance up at the colorful landscapes on the wall behind me.

  “I painted them when I was young and wild and thought I’d be able to make a living as an artist.” I ease back on the chair. “My parents convinced me to go to college instead. I met Dan, got a degree, tried a few different jobs before settling on hospital administration, had kids, and that was the end of the dream.”

  “I had a dream too.” Aiden crosses one leg over the other, and I try not to stare at the significant bulge in his jeans. Oh to be a dog.

  “I used to be in a jazz band, but just as we were making a name for ourselves, my dad had a heart attack and passed away. I needed to get a real job to help with the bills, so my grandfather arranged for me to work part-time for one of his friends from dental school. I decided to pursue dentistry as a profession, met my wife in dental school, and opened up my own practice. After we divorced, I wanted to start over someplace new, and as luck would have it, my grandfather had just decided to retire.”

  “I’m sorry about your father.”

  Aiden shrugs. “I still miss him, but it’s made me more relaxed about life. I take each day as it comes. Try to enjoy myself. I don’t spend time with people who bring me down, and I don’t hold onto things that make me unhappy.”

  I assume he is talking about his ex, not that I would ever ask. But maybe that’s the mistake Dan and I have made. Once we drifted apart, we should have cut it off and sought our happiness elsewhere, instead of trying to patch up our marriage by inviting a stranger into our bed.