Page 24 of The Husband Diet
Shaking his head, he reached down and easily tore my front zipper down before pulling them off my legs, checking every inch of wobbly thigh as I frantically kicked, repeating, ‘Kill it, kill it!’ I didn’t give a shit if he saw my flesh jiggling all over the place – I’d never see him again. All I wanted was to be rid of the monster.
At some point, I finally collapsed under him, exhausted but still digging my nails into his flesh, still shaking and bawling and clawing at his shirt until he was half-naked next to me. He felt so safe, so solid, like a nice cozy cabin in the middle of a snowstorm. And he smelled fantastic, like a real man, without the nauseating mist of different colognes I have to fight through to get from the lobby to my office every morning.
But more than anything, I remember how he’d calmed me with his deep, soothing voice and how it had enveloped me, warmed me, like a father’s should when you’re a scared child or a husband’s when you’re a woman down in the dumps. I’d never had either source of comfort in my life from my dad or Ira, and it was like the other shoe had finally dropped. This voice, this presence, this kind of man was what I’d lacked my entire life. If I’d had this kind of solid support and understanding all that time, and not for just a few terrifying seconds in the ladies’ room, my whole life would have been made. I’d be a different woman today. Sweeter. More self-assured. Less aggressive. More loved.
This was the kind of patience and loyalty that I’d sorely lacked. Someone who would believe me and act upon my fears as if they were as important to him as they were to me. This man had taken me seriously. This man had been my security. If Ira had been here with me, never in a thousand years would he have agreed to rip my pants off in public, just like that.
The stranger put his lips against my ear and whispered, ‘It’s alright. It’s gone. Calm down now.’
‘Are you sure?’ I croaked, burying my head deeper into his chest, my arms and legs still wrapped around him like a real whack job.
‘Absolutely positive. Take a look for yourself – see?’
I stopped and lifted my face to scan the floor with trepidation. He was right. No sign of the thing. The coast was clear. And then I finally looked up at him. And almost fainted dead away again, but for another reason this time.
He was surreal. Handsome didn’t even begin to cut it. Wide shoulders. Muscles. Strong. Perhaps enough to lift me. Black hair that fell over his forehead. Big dark eyes and the most awesome, longest lashes. Dark five o’clock shadow. Pure man. Pure, sinfully gorgeous man.
‘Hands up!’ twin voices echoed in the empty bathroom.
My savior turned toward them and raised his hands, his torso still stuck to mine so that he looked like he was doing sit-ups against my breasts.
‘It’s OK, lads. It’s only me,’ he assured them. Then he turned to me. ‘I’m a regular here.’
One of the guards re-holstered his gun. ‘Sorry, sir.’
‘It’s fine. A little accident with a big hairy monster,’ he explained, tucking his shirt back into his jeans as the two guards looked at me.
I crossed my arms in front of my chest and shot them an evil glare. ‘He means the spider.’
One of the guards stifled a snort and I shakily crawled away, making a break for my pants, which were now in shreds, much too humbled to look my savior’s way. It was a good thing that Paul always waxed the hell out of me, otherwise the guards would have thought the poor man was tackling a grizzly bear in the ladies’ room.
‘Oh, OK,’ agreed the other guard all too easily.
I hid my face in my torn pants. ‘He was just helping out a hysterical lady,’ I contributed, not wanting to seem ungrateful. ‘Go now, please. I’m in my underwear, in case you hadn’t noticed.’ And they weren’t my best pair, either.
At that, my savior chuckled and wrapped his jacket around me like a kilt. I’m big, but this thing fit all the way around me. My face still hidden, I muttered a muffled ‘Thank you,’ and skulked back into the stall – a different one, though.
‘OK, let’s give the lady some breathing space,’ I heard my hero say. ‘I’ll be sitting outside if you’d care to join me for lunch?’
‘Uh, I don’t know. Thanks anyway.’
A pause. ‘OK, then. I hope to see you again soon.’
Yeah, like that was ever happening. ‘Me too. Thank you.’
‘We’re at our desk if you need us, ma’am,’ called one of the guards.
‘Alright. Thank you. And thank you again,’ I called to my hero from over the stall, too embarrassed to show my face.
‘My pleasure,’ he said in a charming British accent.
I raced home wearing the guy’s jacket around my hips, shot up the stairs past the aghast babysitter, who must have thought I was a freak, and hopped back down the stairs, one leg in a new pair of jeans. By the time I reached the front door, I was dressed. When you’re a working mom, you learn to multitask quickly.
‘I’ll pay you the extra time!’ I shouted over my shoulder as I catapulted myself out the door and into my Kia, flooring it. No wonder I always got speeding tickets.
Paul was sitting up brightly in bed as if he’d just had a groovy haircut instead of breaking his leg.
‘Hey, sunshine, what’s up?’ he chirped as I kissed his cheek and sank down, winded, in the chair next to his bed, his overnight bag at my feet.
