Watching the Wilsons (Carrie & The Wilsons) (4 page)

Naughty Young Becky

Friday

Mr. Wilson worked at the community college where I was studying. He wasn’t an instructor, he worked in the finance department, and in the first seven months of my freshman year I had yet to see him on campus. The night before we left, however, Mrs. Wilson called and mentioned that they wanted to leave early, if possible, to beat traffic out of the city. She gave me her husband’s office number and I told her I could meet him there at noon, after my last class.

I
had a massive duffel bag, plus all my snowboarding gear. It was a bit ridiculous, but I had a lot of trouble deciding what to pack and in the end, stuffed everything I had been considering into the largest bag I owned.

Mr
. Wilson waved to me as I approached his open office door. He was on the phone, so I settled into the chair across from his desk and crossed my legs. I was wearing a black turtleneck and a red kilt over black tights, and high heeled mary janes. My business management classes had a dress code, but it wasn’t the most practical of outfits for travel.

“
Ready to go, Carrie?” Mr. Wilson gave me a big, easy grin, obviously excited about a week off.

“
Absolutely! I was just wondering if maybe I should change into something a little more snow-friendly.”

He
leaned back in his chair, his eyes roving over me in quick appraisal. “No, don’t. You look beautiful, and we’ll probably go out for dinner when we get there. The kids have a team practice for a few hours, so we’ll pick them something up on the road, but I’d like to take you and Ellen out for an adults-only meal.”

I
beamed at the idea. What a perfect way to start vacation.

***

The Bar and Grill was packed with college students, so we wedged ourselves in at the bar while we waited for a table to free up. Mrs. Wilson teased Mr. Wilson about being surrounded by so many hot young women, and he nuzzled her neck, reminding her that she was five years younger than him and totally gorgeous herself. I giggled and nodded in agreement. She smiled at me, not just with the curve of her lips, but with her whole face, her eyes crinkling with happiness, and a warm flutter of excitement rippled through my belly. I had learned a lot about that smile last year, how Mrs. Wilson uses it to seduce women, and I wondered if that’s how she meant to use it on me.

The
barstool beside me opened up and Mr. Wilson slid on to it, pulling his wife into the vee of his legs, squeezing her into his body. He was much larger than her, tall and broad across the shoulders, and he was still wearing his fitted polo shirt and khakis from work. In comparison, Mrs. Wilson looked more like one of the college kids around us. Truthfully, even though she was in her early thirties, she radiated youthfulness. It wasn’t just that she was in amazing shape and had perfect skin that had never been abused by sun or smoking. She was a chameleon, and in this environment, her generic tight white t-shirt and dressy dark jeans made her look a decade younger. At home, she probably would have looked like the perfect soccer mom. Here she looked like a grad student being seduced by her professor.

A
new wave of arrivals squeezed the remaining standing room out of the bar, and Mrs. Wilson wiggled into the gap between me and her husband. My legs parted to make room for her, and she looked down. “Oh Carrie, I’m sorry, you’re wearing a skirt. Here, let’s trade places.”

Before
I could explain that I was fine, she slid her arms around my waist and pulled me into her personal space, our bodies pressed together between the stools, and then she rotated, pushing my back into Mr. Wilson’s chest. His hand snaked out to steady my hip as she slipped away from me to perch on the stool I had just vacated. She smiled again, pleased with herself, and I couldn’t help but notice that her nipples were standing hard at attention in her white t-shirt.

Behind
me, I heard Mr. Wilson ask the bartender for three more drinks. His hand stayed on my hip, and I looked at Mrs. Wilson. A nervous thrill fluttered through my belly. It was probably another twenty minutes before our table was ready. Nothing else happened, but his hand didn’t move, and her smile just grew. It was infectious, and by the time we sat down and ordered, I was flashing my own grin right back whenever she looked at me. Like we had a special secret, only I didn’t think it was a secret anymore.

***

We picked up the kids after practice and went back to the condo. Mrs. Wilson announced that it was bedtime for everyone who wanted to go skiing in the morning, so the twins and Mr. Wilson went off to brush their teeth. I took a quick look in the fridge. There wasn’t much, so I mused aloud that we would have to go grocery shopping.

Mrs
. Wilson come up behind me and rested her chin on my shoulder. “Hmmm, yes. Make a list, and we’ll go together tomorrow. We’ll have the whole day to ourselves, unless you want to go skiing?”

I
swallowed hard. I did want to hit the slopes, but not as much as I wanted to spend time with her. “What else could we do?”

She
gave me a quick hug, her breasts pressing into my back, then moved to the hallway leading to the master bedroom. “Whatever you want to do, Carrie. Everything’s up to you.”

I
looked at her for a beat, then nodded. “Maybe we could go to the spa? Get pedicures, relax in the hot tub?”

She
smiled at that, wide and bright. “We can hot tub right here, remember?” She nodded toward the deck. “We’ll decide tomorrow.” And with that, she disappeared into the bedroom she shared with her husband. I stood there for a few minutes, wondering if I might hear ... something. Anything. I didn’t, so I went to bed. I fell asleep, my thoughts swirling a tortured mix of disappointment and relief.

Cover
design by Zoe York

ISBN: 978-0-9919736-0-6 (Kindle edition)

Watching the Wilsons
© 2013 Becky Young

All
rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner for personal or commercial gain without the express written permission of the author.