Page 2 of The Werebear's Swing
"Ferguson, your delivery boy was about to leave," the desk clerk said.
Ferguson's eyes landed on me, and his serious expression melted into a smile. "Well, that would've been a tragedy." He walked closer, and I caught the scent of chlorine and some kind of cologne. "Sorry about making you wait. Tuesday nights are always busy."
I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "No problem. Enjoy your pizza."
"Hold up," Ferguson said, reaching for his own wallet. "Gary here is a notorious cheap-skate." He pulled out two twenties and held it out to me. "You probably drove all the way across town for this."
I stared at the bills, wondering if this was some kind of joke. "Uh, thanks."
"Don't mention it." He winked at me as I took the money. "You work for RJ Pizzeria, right? I've seen their delivery cars around."
"Yeah," I replied, still stunned by the unexpected and large tip. "Seven days a week, it feels like."
Ferguson nodded, his eyes lingering on mine a bit longer than necessary. "Well, maybe I'll order from there more often." He picked up the pizza boxes. "Have a good night..."
"Johnny," I supplied.
"Johnny," he repeated, like he was testing how my name felt in his mouth. "I'm Ferguson.” He gave me a once over, his eyes raking across my body. I saw them widen slightly as they drifted down and a grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. “So Johnny, are you done for the night?”
“Y-Yeah,” I replied, feeling strangely nervous. “I was just about to head home.”
“Well, you look like you could use a break after all those long days you’ve been working.” He gestured toward the door leading into the bathhouse. “Would you like to come inside?”
“The bathhouse is for membersonly, Ferguson,” Gary chimed in through gritted teeth. “You know that.”
“Thank you for the reminder, Gary,” Ferguson replied, clearly annoyed. “Please sign this man up and put his membership on my tab.” He gave me a small grin. “Iknowhe’ll like what he finds inside.”
“Ferguson, I can’t just go letting anybody in here off the street, this isn’t?—”
The Werebear growled, his fur bristling. “Gary,” he said calmly but forcefully. “You’re being rude. I have invited this man to join the bathhouse. Now take a copy of his driver’s license and give him a locker key.” Ferguson turned back to me, a placating smile on his face. “Don’t let him bully you. Go inside and relax.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble…” I started.
“You’re not,” Ferguson insisted. Then he nodded toward Gary. “He’s the trouble.”
I watched Gary reluctantly pull out a clipboard from behind the counter, his jaw clenched tight. The whole situation felt surreal. Ten minutes ago I'd been delivering pizza to what I thought was some sketchy warehouse, and now a seven-foot Werebear was buying me a membership to what appeared to be some kind of exclusive sauna club.
"I'll need to see your ID," Gary said tersely, sliding the clipboard across the counter toward me.
My hands were shaking slightly as I pulled out my wallet and handed over my driver's license. Ferguson noticed, because of course he did, and his expression softened.
"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, Johnny," he said quietly, his deep voice somehow reassuringdespite his intimidating size. "But I think you might enjoy yourself. When's the last time you did something just for you?"
I couldn't remember. Work, sleep, work, sleep… that had been my life for months. Even when I got the chance to go to the gym it was just another way to burn off the frustration of dealing with shitty customers and shittier tips. “It’s been a long time,” I said at last.
Gary finished copying my license information and slapped a key attached to an elastic wristband on the counter. "Locker fourty-seven. Towels are provided. The rules are posted in the locker room." He looked at Ferguson with obvious irritation. "And Ferguson, if he causes any problems, it's on you."
"He won't cause any problems," Ferguson replied confidently, then turned back to me. "Will you, Johnny?"
I shook my head, still not entirely sure what I was agreeing to. The heat in my jeans hadn't subsided. If anything, Ferguson's attention was making it worse. I grabbed the key, the plastic warm against my palm.
"Good," Ferguson said, balancing the pizza boxes in one massive arm while gesturing toward the door with the other. "Come on in. Let me give you the rundown.”
I followed Ferguson through the door, my pulse quickening with each step. The hallway beyond was dim compared to the lobby, lit only by soft blue lights along the baseboards. The humid air wrapped around me like a blanket, making my branded polo suddenly feel too heavy and restrictive.
"So, Johnny the pizza guy," Ferguson said over his shoulder, his massive frame taking up most of the narrow corridor. "First time in a bathhouse?"
"Yeah," I admitted, watching the muscles in his back shift beneath his tank top as he walked. "I didn't even know this place existed."
