“Yep, it’s recording now,” I assure, “which means it’s also picking up audio, so…”
“Oh yeah?” Kirsten says with an edge to her voice. “Hey, Greg, if you’re watching this, that means we’re about to watch your sorry butt stride out that door to have a romantic, hot springs date with your little girlfriend. I hope your junk catches a disease and falls off.”
I twist my head, still hovered over the screen, and give Kirsten a warning glare. “You saying my wife has a disease?”
“I’m saying I hope thewaterhas a disease and that theybothcatch it. I hope all their…stuff shrivels up and falls off.”
I bring my focus back to the screen. “Okay, can we just…stick to narrating what we see?”
The men’s door swings open. I wave Kirsten closer and shuffle over a bit.
I’m staring, barely breathing, as Kirsten nudges up beside me and hovers over the screen as well. A trio of teenage boys piles out of the door.
I exhale.
Kirsten does too.
Yet just as I’m about to shift my gaze back to the lady’s side, a tall, pasty man with a receding hairline glides out. A light blue towel hangs over one doughy shoulder. A pair of sunglasses sits stupidly on his head. Not that he needs them at night. It’s probably an attempt to cover his balding scalp.
Greg strides right over to a grinning Trish. Trish loops a hand around the guy’s flimsy-looking forearm and leans into him.
“Oh my gosh,” Kirsten says under her breath.
I know what she means. I feel like I’m going to pull a Kirsten in reverse. Like mine’s going to come out the other end.
Greg and Trish stand in the fray of light, pointing at pools and deciding where to go first. I know where Ihopethey’ll go. The hottest pool there. We have the best view of that one.
As soon as they pick a direction, they step out of the porch light. It gets harder to see them, but not impossible since strands of lights hang throughout the entire park.
“You guys are idiots!” Kirsten hisses. “Grossest, trashiest, nastiest behavior ever.”
“Yeah,” I add as Greg helps Trish into the second hottest pool. It’s the next best option from this angle. His knobby fingers move overmy wife’slower back, grazing her barely-there bikini. “Thanks for touching my wife like that,” I hiss. “I hope when you watch this, it makes you cry like the big bald man baby you are.”
“He’s not all the way bald,” Kirsten defends. “Yet.”
“Once he gets his eyes on this footage, what’s left of it will fall right out, I guarantee it.”
“Yeah, well…Trish is…probably going to poke her own eyes out with those claw paws of hers.”
“Claw paws?”
“She looks like a wild animal with those nails,” Kirsten continues. “A raccoon. No,” she amends as Trish tips her head back to cackle a laugh at Mr. Funny Bones. “A hyena.”
Once the two are thigh-deep in the steaming water, Greg takes a seat along the edge to immerse himself to his shoulders. Instead of sitting beside him, like I hope she’ll do, Trish takes a few paces toward the center of the pool, then turns to face Greg where he sits. She slides a silky scrunchie off her wrist and proceeds to make a show of gathering her platinum hair into a heap on top of her head.
I manage to get the backside of Trish and a view of half of Greg’s face as he pops his brows like a pervert. At once he stands, closes the distance between them, and slides his hands over my wife’s hips. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, and suddenly, they’re kissing.
And kissing.
And kissing some more.
The dumpster fire flares hotter.
“I thought you hated kissing,Greg,” Kirsten snaps.
“He doesn’t kiss you?” I say, hoping I don’t pass out or punch a tree trunk.
“Nope,” she assures.
