Free Hotwife Hotel: A Wifewatching Romance by Jason Lenov Page B

offering tours. Whale-watching tours."
    "Whale-watching? Who's gonna come all de way here to see some fish?"
    Oh Sam. Good ole' out of touch Sam.
    "Probably a lot of people. That's what we're hoping for."
    "Yer crazy. You'll bankrupt yerself. Nobody wants to see dem big fish out there. Dey want resorts and shit!" Sam picked up the fallen wrench, then hunched over his truck.
    "You let us worry about that, Sam."
    "Well what do you need me for then anyways?"
    "We don't have a boat. You have a boat. We have to go out on the ocean to see the whales."
    He stood up, staring at me and pushed his cap back. "You think people will pay to sit in that leaky old bucket and stare at fish? You
have
gone friggin crazy!"
    I pulled the papers I'd printed out of my pocket with a sigh. "Look," I said, pushing them towards him.
    "What's dis den?" he asked, taking the papers with a greasy hand.
    "Our first reservations. We just put the ad up a few days ago and we already have customers."
    "Well I'll be...fucked." Sam let out a low whistle, obviously amazed. "But you don't have a boat?"
    "That's why I just don't know what to do Sam. What should I do?"
    "Alright, that's enough of takin' the piss," he muttered.
    "You'll do it then?"
    Sam scratched his head and handed back the crumpled pages. "Yeah, I knows...we'll have to fix 'er up!"
    "I'll help."
    "When're the first ones coming?"
    "Two weeks this Friday."
    Sam shrugged but seemed to accept the idea. "Fine. Whatever helps to make a bit of money!" When he looked back up at me, I could tell he was going to ask about something else. "Say John," he began, looking side to side as if there might be someone lurking in the garage and listening to what we were saying. "I know dis ain't any of my business but..." He scratched under his cap with a finger again. "You ever find out anything about dat der Andre fella?"
    I couldn't help a smile at his fishing for gossip. "A thing or two."
    "He ever, you know, make his indiscretions known?"
    I laughed at that one. "He's coming back in a month or so, if that answers your question."
    Sam raised his eyebrows at that one but after a moment of contemplation, decided to leave it alone. "Suit yourself. Don't say I didn't warn ya!"
    "I won't, Sam. I won't," I answered, walking out of the garage and heading towards the house.
    "Say, John?" Sam asked before I was around the corner.
    "What's up?"
    "One other thing. I've got a few fellas coming up mid-week, to do some fishing with me. Any chance they could get a discount at your place?" Good old Sam had his hat in his hand, the way people used to when asking for favours.
    "When are they here?"
    "Tuesday through Thursday."
    "For you Sam, they'll be staying on the house!"
    "Nonsense!" he barked, "I didn't mean to ask fer charity, just a little deal!"
    "On the house or not in the house, Sam. It's up to you!" I said, smiling as I walked away.

    ***

    Our guests that weekend were the retired Dr. Andrew Fergus and his wife Margaret. While they were lovely people and fine dinner companions, they weren't as boozy as the others had been and they went to be early, leaving us to talk. It took a few glasses of red, but Rebecca eventually seemed to loosen enough to resume our interrupted conversation.
    I decided to proceed with caution, nonetheless.
    "So?" I asked, smiling and trying to read what might be on her mind?
    "So?" she answered, her smile hinting that she might not mind picking up where we left off.
    "So what about what we said earlier?" I tried to fight the frustration I felt at having to be the one to do all the heavy lifting.
    She turned her eyes down and my heart sank a little. She'd seemed so...into it before. "I mean, what about it?" her voice seemed full of apprehension now.
    "I guess I just thought we could talk about it more," I said, barely able to hide my disappointment at her lack of enthusiasm.
    "John."
    It made me look at her. The way she said my name.
    "John...I don't know what to say."
    "Why?" I asked, wondering