A Lie for a Lie (All In, #1)(34)

“No, no, no.” Without a phone RJ can’t call me and tell me he made it safely, that his brother is fine, that Joy and the baby are okay.

And I can’t tell him any of the things I planned to today. Like I want to come visit him in New York. Or that I think I’m falling in love with him.

As the next morning arrives, the phone lines finally come back on, but my time in Alaska has run out. And just like that, all my hope vanishes, and my heart breaks.





CHAPTER 12

DOLPHIN D*CK

Lainey

Present Day

Today is not my day. At all. After a night of little sleep, I arrived at work to be told two of our staff are off sick with the flu. Since it’s a Saturday, and they happen to be friends and college aged, I’m guessing the flu is code for hungover. Must be nice to have zero in the way of responsibilities.

Since we’re short staffed and one of the girls on today is new, I’ve been given the job of running the birthday party tour for a pair of three-year-old twins. This typically isn’t in my job description.

For the most part, I get to avoid the swarms of people who visit the exhibits every day, which is usually fine with me. Peopling takes a lot of energy, and I don’t have much of that to spare these days.

Unfortunately for me, today I’m the resident expert on all things aquatic, which apparently makes me the best candidate to run a tour. I was handling the responsibility well until about twenty minutes ago, when I found out the birthday party is for the sons of an NHL player. Apparently a very attractive, popular one, based on the way the girls who work here are freaking out.

I don’t know much about hockey, but I understand the basics: it takes place on an ice rink, and there are sticks, pucks, and helmets involved. Also, based on the fact that this hockey player has rented out the entire aquarium for the afternoon, NHL players have a lot of money to throw around.

The cake alone must have cost a small fortune. It’s in the shape of a shark head coming out of the water. It’s very realistic. I saw the price list for this event—it was on my manager’s desk—and I could pay my rent for an entire year with what this hockey player shelled out for an afternoon looking at aquatic animals.

In addition to this extravagant party, Miller Butterson—what an odd last name—and his gorgeous wife have donated a huge amount of money to fund the dolphin project I’m working on with one of the senior staff members here. It’s all very exciting. And the reason I’m currently trying not to hyperventilate.

I perform my sensory calming exercise for the third time in a row, hoping that I’ll be able to make it through this experience without embarrassing myself. On the positive side, at least I only have to contend with one group of kids and their parents, rather than hundreds of families.

I fidget with the end of my braid as I stand at the front of the group of adorable, well-dressed children. Their mothers are all very put together and attractive, making me feel dowdy in my beige-on-beige uniform. I stand with my back to the huge glass wall as I tell the children all about Daphne and Dillon, our dolphins. I can totally do this. I can pretend I’m presenting my findings to a panel of very small, cute professors.

Everything seems to be going smoothly until a dark-haired little boy tugs on my arm. “Is that the daddy dolphin?”

I look over my shoulder just in time to see what has his attention. “Oh my goodness.” I spread my arms and try to block the children’s view, but it’s futile. The dolphins have decided that right now, during this very expensive birthday party, is an excellent time to mate. They couldn’t wait for the aquarium to be empty. Oh no, they have to get their stupid hump on right here.

“It’s like a big pink lightsaber!” the dark-haired boy says gleefully to the redheaded little boy beside him. The redheaded boy holds his hands in front of his crotch and makes lightsaber sounds, and the dark-haired boy joins in for a few seconds, pretending to have a sword fight with their invisible lightsaber penises.

“Mommy! Look! That’s like Daddy’s peepee!” the dark-haired boy yells.

A petite woman with long auburn hair and huge boobs, who also appears to be significantly pregnant, drags her attention away from the giant of a man whose arm is draped protectively over her shoulder to address her son. “Honey, we don’t broadcast that.”

“But it’s true!” he protests, little arms flailing.

“I know, sweetie, but we don’t want to make the other mommies jealous.”

I can’t believe this is an actual conversation, happening right now, in public. I’d like to believe this mother is joking, but considering the statements are coming from a child and they’re generally not adept at lying, I have to believe that what he’s saying is true. I inappropriately wonder how that even works with a woman her size. And then, of course, because my brain is a messy place these days, I think about RJ and how . . . ample he was and how I’m close to the same size as that woman. I cut off that line of thinking right away, because it’s unhelpful and embarrassing.

Heedless of his mother’s warning, the little boy plasters himself against the glass, fascinated by what he’s seeing, and yells, “Daddy! The dolphin has a big peepee just like you! Mine is gonna be just like that!”

“Robbie, buddy, we don’t talk about that in public,” the handsome man says, his eyes glued to his wife, or, more specifically, her cleavage.