Free How To Tame Beasts And Other Wild Things by A. Wilding Wells Page A

the sight, this is a nature jackpot! Needing some vet advice, I text Duke. He tells me that, while we should leave them alone, a day would be fine to keep some turtles in my bathtub.
    The three of us and our dozen turtles head back to the farmhouse, chattering as we toddle along. After scrounging through the kitchen for makeshift turtle islands our little creatures can rest on, we head upstairs. I dump my bucket of lake water into the bathtub once I’ve plugged the drain, the boys immediately unload their turtles. Each tiny creature gets named and gently touched by the twins’ tiny wandering fingers. I’m in love with the turtles, but the boys own my heart.
    After laying Jinx and Jax down for a nap, I decide to take a bath. Tiptoeing across the hall, I head toward Balthazar’s bathroom. As the tub fills, I notice a copy of Keats sitting on his marble countertop. Keats? My goodness. Does he read romantic poetry? I can’t help but smile, picturing him naked in the tub, a beer in one hand and Keats in the other. This is too good.
    I scurry downstairs and open a bottle of champagne. “Why ever not,” I mutter as I warily take the steps back up, one at a time.
    Eye patch, tattoos, muscles, handsome daddy, and poetry lover? I pray that he doesn’t forget my batteries.
    With opera blasting in my earbuds, I enjoy a hot tub full of bubbles, while I sip champagne, grin, and read Balthazar’s copy of Keats.
    I have so much of you in my heart.
    “Me too,” I mutter.
    An M is scribbled next to the quote. I read it again and again . In my heart ? I search for more markings. M? For me? I wish.
    You cannot conceive how I ache to be with you: how I would die for one hour...
    Again, an M. I pray that he reads this and thinks of me.
    I never was in lov e— yet the voice and the shape of a woman has haunted me these two days. 
    “Oh, god.” I exhale as my pulse races. One long sip of champagne and my heart skips into a sprint. Another M along with yesterday’s date. Holy shit! I flip forward a few pages and find nothing. Then I turn to a page that’s dog-eared.
    I wish I was either in your arms full of faith, or that a Thunder bolt would strike me.
    Today’s date, M, and the word… please .
    Once I’ve finished reading the quote for the third time—aloud—I look up . Shit! So maybe I’ve just died a little. Balthazar.
    Sinking under the water, I pray that the remaining bubbles cover my body. My nipples, though, can’t hide for anything. My breasts act like buoys that push them out of the water—little, screaming, pink ninjas. I don’t shriek—the boys are sleeping in the room next door.
    I yank my earbuds out, eager to hear him speak. Maybe he’ll say a quote from Keats. Wishful thinking? He says nothing for longer than I can stand. But he does look at me. All of me. I wish I knew what he was thinking. Maybe he’ll get undressed and climb into the tub with me? Please, I will him .
    Nothing. Fuck. Maybe he’s thinking something else, like My god, she is lovely naked. I want so many things right now. And I’m pretty sure I’m about to get none of them as his fingers tap the countertop, where I found the book. His eye remains on me, all over me, constantly roving, probing. Why is he saying nothing? I’m wordless—for once. I don’t know what to say. Maybe I’ll faint and slip under the water. He’ll feel helpless and need to give me mouth-to-mouth. Or I could cry wolf with chest pains to see if he’ll place his hands on mychest to fee l… where it hurts.
    Okay, then. He’s still looking. Still tapping. I’m tapping too. Aaaaannndd feeling more than a little uncomfortable. Awkward, even. I decide to do the ladylike thing and fill the empty space with chatter. Oddly, the question I planned on asking comes out differently than it should have. What I meant to say was, do you want me to cook a big lunch for the fishing trip?
    Weird thing is, it comes out, “Do you have a big cock I can have for