Hotline Fling

9: Not Mexican Food

Juneau's POV

"Juneau?" Celia's eyes widened at my waddling past her desk. "Are you alright? Did you eat Mexican food?"

Again with the Mexican. It was only the–

"I have some assless chaps in my desk. They'll help air things out," Dave offered. I glared at his thinning dark brown hair, definite formation of man boobs, and hairy forearms. His shoulders bounced, and his mouth twitched from holding back a laugh.

I didn't know what was grosser, that he had assless chaps or thinks I would want to wear anything of his. "I'm fine," I lied at the colony of fire ants in my crotch and lifted a palm to Celia's gawking stare. Wide-legged like I birthed an elephant, I hobbled to my desk, unsuccessfully avoiding friction rubbing my crotch with each step.

Such a bad idea.

Why was I such a sucker for coupons?

By far, my weakest moment was after I tipped Portia. Fernanda stopped me at the front desk, offered me a yearly membership special where twelve waxes were the price of ten, and threw in one extra free wax and a giant bag of lotions. 'Free' was the only convincing I needed. The waddle back was a sobering experience, with equal parts self-pity and reflection.

I needed help with my weakness for good deals.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Adam smirked with a curious gaze. I hissed like a leaky tire on the descent into my chair. "Almorzaste comida mexicana?"

One time. One time, I ate Mexican for lunch, and the office never let me live it down.

Okay, stinking up the floor deserved that.

"Ugh, no," I groaned because shifting my hips was a bad idea. "I may have had some stupid...ladyscaping done."

"At lunchtime?" I loved Adam for needing no further explanation, and his sympathetic smile.

"Not my brightest idea." I winced at my stockings squeezing my swollen crotch. It was like one of those hams bound with string at the grocery store.

"That's where you were." He chuckled, shaking his head. "What were you thinking?"

"I had a coupon," I whined, attempting a couple of side leans, but my inflamed vagina protested. "Worst, they talked me into a year's worth of this torture." Legs splayed out wide with a fan blowing up my skirt sounded like the perfect option to get me through this afternoon.

"You won't have to sit for the phone yet." His blue eyes rolled, and one corner of his mouth drew into his cheek. "Kevin's called a staff meeting. Depending on what he says, you might be glad you got that wax job."

"Staff meeting?" Only the four of us were here. Most cubicles were emptiest on Mondays and Fridays, and why I picked them to come in. Adam made the same choice to see each other, but Dave and Celia here today were unusual.

"That's right." Kevin's handsome face popped between us. He tapped his watch and pointed at the conference room. "See you in five."

"Five what?" I winked at Adam.

"Minutes." Unamused, Kevin's eyes lingered on mine. Something flickered in them, most likely confusion at how I resembled someone who'd rubbed a bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos on her lady bits. Wordlessly, he turned and left.

"Oww." I slid to the edge of my seat.

With slow, labored breaths, I hobbled bow-legged down the cubicle hallway, trying to ignore Adam's chuckles behind me. "Beauty pains, Junebug," he murmured.