Chapter 20

Brynley

“Do you really wanna know if I have a keychain on my keyring or is that just the excuse you’re using to call and check in on your mom?” Puppet Boy mirthfully investigates.

“It can be both.”

“ But is it? ”

Slowly turning the keychain rack in the giftshop occurs at the time I cheekily confess, “ It is. ”

“Sure, sure,” J.T. arrogantly chuckles. “No, I don’t currently have a keychain on my keyring, which could be because the only thing on it is a key to my personal P.O. Box given that everything else in my life is digitally operating on everything from keypads to biometrics-”

“You really do work for Starfleet.”

“-and Lauren’s completely fine.”

My finger’s actions momentarily pause to ensure hearing the details of his status report has all my attention.

“Her and Clark are watching ER together. They… clearly didn’t need me there.”

His implication gets a small giggle out of me.

Yeah.

They’re definitely banging.

Why hasn’t she told me yet?

Not entirely sure.

Maybe she thinks it doesn’t need to be said?

Maybe she doesn’t want her boss aka my boyfriend finding out?

Maybe it’s super new and she doesn’t wanna jinx it?

Whatever the case or cause I’m going to assume it’s a good one until told otherwise.

But for the captain’s log?

I like Clark.

And I like him even more knowing the aquarium on the property is properly nurtured by him.

“There have been no disturbance reports from security, so let go.” His pause is brief. “ Relax. Enjoy your night out like you’re at Ten Forward.”

“I would kill to work at a place like that.”

“You’d be a much hotter bartender than Whoopie Goldberg was.”

“Compliment accepted.” Wes’s displeased grumbling causes an eye roll and the resuming of my perusing. “And what exactly are you up to tonight, Commander Riker?”

“Enjoying a glass of our company’s product.”

All of a sudden, a faint, female voice says something in the background prompting me to inquire, “ Alone? ”

A long, silent lull precedes a practically whispered, “ God I hope not… ”

“Take it up to Warp 2 or 3,” I playfully encourage. “But don’t do it in Wes’s office. That’s one of our spots.”

“ Dude. ”

“Like we cover all that territory.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Text me if Mom needs anything.”

“Why? You’re horrible with your phone.”

“Fine. Text Wes.”

“ Do not text me ,” my boyfriend calls out from the other side of the store.

Puppet Boy’s laughter is followed by the call ending and me tucking the device in the back pocket of my ripped, faded jeans.

It’s weird being this far away from my mom for something other than work.

Ever since the announcement about someone trying to harm her, I’ve been in fucking tiger shark mode.

Aggressive.

Territorial.

Leery of anyone and everyone who wasn’t cleared that day as innocent.

Hell, Cassandra – Head of Laundry Services – was whispering on the phone yesterday outside the medical housing right as I was leaving to get ready for work, and I lost my shit.

Demanded to know who she was talking to and why.

Turns out, she was just trying to make sure the surprise chef jacket she ordered for Lucky had been properly embroidered with the Wilcox logo.

I didn’t exactly feel embarrassed – I mean why would I when my mom’s life is clearly in danger – but I didn’t feel good about it.

And it led to a very less than pleasant conversation from Wes about giving the woman we both treasure a little more space .

Giving us a little more time together besides that of when she’s asleep – or pretending to be.

Which is why I didn’t try to cancel our special anniversary outing I knew he had planned.

Because it is our little anniversary.

And Wes did plan this incredible after–hours visit to The Bower and Powell Aquatic Institute – one of the top five aquariums in the entire country – that includes spending the night in one of the watch rooms.

We really do need time alone outside of sex, although I am not complaining about having that constantly.

We just also need uninterrupted, quality, clothes on time.

And he’s been making this noticeable effort to leave the estate to be with me – always in his full gear – so I need to make sure he knows it’s appreciated by not insisting we stay there simply because I’m uncertain of who I can trust.

Thankfully, I trust Puppet Boy and know that he won’t let whoever his dick gets into tonight risk the safety of my mom.

I’ll cut it off if it does.

I know where Lucky keeps his extra special, extra sharp Chef’s Knife.

Carefully grabbing the seahorse keychain is followed by turning to face Wes. “Does Puppet Boy strike you as more of a penguin dude-”

“ Don’t say dude. ”

“-or a seahorse guy?” Holding up the latter causes the object to sway back and forth from its dangling location. “Or maybe a crab?” Juvenile amusement jumps onto my face. “ Ohmygod, should I give him crabs?!”

Wes tosses the baby blue shark t-shirt he’s found over his black hoodie covered shoulder at the same time his head tilts to the side. “ I disapprove of the double-entendres, Miss Winters. ”

“ And I disapprove of that shirt length you’re planning to buy me, Mr. Wilcox. ”

Despite my inability to completely see all of his face, I can spot his frustration. “It’s the same length as the one you have on!”

“No, it’s not. This,” my keychain free index finger gestures inward to the yellow shirt displaying a Batman symbol, “is a crop top. That,” the digit is tossed his direction, “is a nightgown.”

“ This ,” he taps the material, “reminds me of your eyes.”

“Then you wear one.”

“I don’t wear colors.”

Seeing a fun opportunity to push more of his boundaries is what leads to me suggesting, “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll wear a shirt you pick out if you wear one, I pick out.” The corners of my lips curl upward. “From this giftshop just to be Caribbean clear.”

Wes folds his arms firmly across his chest taking what I’ve come to brand as the negotiation stance. “It has to be black.”

“Mine can’t be blue.”

“Mine has to have long sleeves.”

“Mine can’t have any .”

A heavy sigh bounces his shoulders. “No puns.”

“No whales.”

“ Deal. ”

Glee instantly spreads through my expression.

“But I’m still getting you this one,” he motions his head to the one he already grabbed. “Even if you only wear it to bed.”

“I thought you liked that I sleep naked.”

“I said to bed .” My boyfriend wolfishly smirks. “Not in it.”

Salacious snickers seep free prior to me preparing to hunt. After grabbing my mom the seahorse keychain, J.T. a crab, and Wes a shark pen, I drop them in my shopping basket, pick it up, and scurry to the outer walls where the clothing is displayed. Side by side, we shop the options, playfully criticizing one another’s “poor choices” and pretending to pick the worst items imaginable.

Eventually, we each find something suitable.

I grab Wes a black, long sleeve shirt with a shark shape made of smaller sharks in the center – and pay for it along with my souvenirs regardless of his complaining – while he snags me an aquamarine – which technically isn’t blue – “Jaws Ready to Party” tank top along with the other shirt, sleep shorts, a “hangry” shark mug, a stuffed hammerhead, and a glass blue shark figurine for his desk.

Just as we finish dropping our goodies off in the room we’ll be resting in, Heidi Fanning, one of the aquarists we’ve encountered during our visit, appears in the doorway with a warm grin. “You ready for your special activity, Bryn?”

Curiosity crinkles my forehead. “ What special activity?”

“I take it Mr. Wilcox-”

“ Wes ,” quietly corrects my boyfriend.

“-didn’t mention it?”

“ No, ” he states, tone firm yet friendly. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“I thought visiting this place afterhours at our leisure was the surprise.”

Wes’s smile reaches his eyes. “There’s another.”

“Follow me,” Heidi politely insists, warranting me to do just that.

Going from where we are to the mystery location is leisurely done to allow us time to admire the ocean life that’s often more lively at night than people typically expect. We hold hands as we walk, and in spite of the fact his hand is completely covered, the action still feels intimate.

And tender.

And exactly like something a normal couple would do.

Which I don’t necessarily need.

I just appreciate it in some aspects like this.

Our arrival to what’s clearly an employee’s only area instantly piques my interest, yet it’s the array of poles and buckets of food that successfully keeps it. “Do I get to watch you do a feeding?!”

“ Close, ” Heidi giggles during her approaching of the object. “You get to help me do some target feeding training.”

“What?!”

“Yup.” More snickers precede her pointing to the cart she’s nearing. “First, gloves on.”

There’s no hesitation for me to move towards the object until I notice Wes isn’t following. “Aren’t you coming?”

He simply shakes his head, leans his back against the closest wall, and lovingly states, “This is about you .”

“But-”

“Pay close attention to everything Heidi says and any tips she can give to impress Jennifer Weil.” His hands casually slide into his hoodie pocket. “That’s who you’re interviewing with on Friday.”

Additional disbelief has me squawking, “ Excuse me?! ”

“Weil is a total sweetie,” Heidi thoughtlessly interjects. “Nothing to worry about.”

There isn’t time to direct a comment her way due to the man I’m head over fins in love with continuing.

“Myra Newberry, head of my charities department, mentioned the institute had a couple of openings when she was verifying our quarterly donation amount. They were in aquatic merchandising-”

“The giftshop,” clarifies the woman preparing for a feeding.

“-and public aquatic adviser.”

“Tour guide,” Heidi effortlessly translates a second time.

“I instructed her to forward your résumé over.”

Stunned silence from me remains.

“Newberry received a confirmation time today for Friday.”

My jaw dramatically bobs; however, no sound seems to be able to escape.

“Whether it was because the email came from one that contained my company’s name or not, isn’t important,” Wes rushes to declare. “What matters is that you have an interview. That you have an opportunity to transition out of what you’re currently doing into a career you want. ” Once more, a grin seems to reach his eyes. “You’re gonna impress Ms. Weil simply by being you but being able to say you have target training experience may give you a slight edge.” Amusement darts into his mismatched gaze. “Besides, we both know you don’t need a reason to play with sharks, Bryn. You’d do this even if it didn’t double as résumé bait.”

“That’s very true,” I sassily state during my stroll back to him. “But either way.” My appearance in front of him is followed by me sliding my hands up his chest. “ Thank you. ”

He bashfully nods the same way he always does when teetering between accepting gratitude and banishing it.

“ Seriously, Wes. ” Rising to the tips of my toes is done to slyly slide his mask down just enough to brush his lips with mine. “ You’re incredible. ”

My tongue slips teasingly inside and like I hoped, his instinctively strikes to capture it, momentarily forgetting that we’re not alone.

That someone else he has not pre-approved may see a glimpse of his face.

His scars.

Attempting to pull back sparks displeased grumbles, yet it’s the light toying of just the tip of my tongue against his that receives darker growls.

Has him winding one hand possessively around the nape of my neck to enjoy what’s his.

What I can’t help but feel like will always be his.

“Um…excuse me?” Heidi meekly interrupts, successfully separating us, forcing Wes to turn his head in order to fix his mask. “Hate to mate block…” she pokes in a punish fashion, “but we really need to get started. It’s important for target feeding to stay on the schedule.”

“Yes!” I deliver one more kiss to his now covered cheek, grab a pair of gloves, and close the gap between us. “I’m all ears.”

Heidi begins the basic explaining of what target feeding trains aquatic life to do, how the different color poles are used for the different creatures, and the significant difference it makes in ensuring all living beings are getting enough to eat – especially smaller animals like pup sharks – which ultimately prevents them from turning wrong fish into food.

Her pole movement summons over a young hammerhead that excites me so much I can barely swallow my squeaks. My instructor motions her head for me to grab a handful of the food reward, and the instant I release it into the water, the small creature eagerly gobbles it up, flooding my system with additional excitement and gratitude alike.

This is by far the best gift anyone’s ever gotten me.

And Weston Wilcox is by far the best man a woman could ever ask for.