The Djinn’s Wish (Bathhouse Beasts #11)

The Djinn’s Wish Waylon

The Djinn’s Wish: Waylon

“Good mornin’ ma’am,” I said, tipping my hat to the woman that had just opened her door.

She was dressed in a bathrobe, her hair was sticking out at odd angles, and she had a coffee cup in one hand.

But as soon as she saw me, her jaw fell open.

“I’m from the plumbing company,” I added with a smile.

“We got a call about a blocked pipe that you need help with.”

“Uh-huh,” she nodded dumbly, her eyes raking over me lustfully. I always got that in these tight company t-shirts. “Come on in.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” I replied, stepping inside with my tool bag. “Can you show me where the issue is?”

“Right this way,” she said, leading me through a meticulously decorated living room. Everything matched including the throw pillows, curtains, and even the little ceramic figurines arranged on the mantel. It didn’t feel like a house, it felt like a showroom.

She stopped at the bathroom door and pointed inside. “It’s the sink. Won’t drain at all. I’ve tried everything I can think of.” Her robe gaped open slightly as she gestured, and she made no attempt to close it.

“I’ll take a look,” I said, keeping my eyes firmly on the sink. “Thank you ma’am.”

“Great. I’ll, um... I’ll just go make myself presentable. Been cleaning all morning.” She touched her messy hair self-consciously. “Help yourself to anything you need.”

I nodded politely and set my tool bag down on the tile floor. As her footsteps retreated down the hall, I could hear her humming to herself. The bathroom sink was indeed clogged solid with the typical hair and soap scum situation. Nothing I hadn’t fixed a hundred times before.

I’d just removed the P-trap when I heard her return. The humming had been replaced by the click of heels on hardwood.

“So how’s it looking?” she asked.

I turned to find her leaning against the doorframe in a tight top and shorts that definitely hadn’t seen the light of day in at least a couple years.

Her hair was brushed, makeup applied, and she smelled like she’d bathed in perfume.

Clearly she was trying to make an impression.

Or at least knock me out with perfume that cost more than my car.

“Found the problem, ma’am,” I said, unable to stop from grinning at this obvious mating display. It wasn’t the first time I’d see it from lonely housewives and it wouldn’t be the last. “Nothing major, just a blockage. I can have it cleaned out in a jiffy.”

“Where are you from if you don’t mind me asking?” she asked, propping her hip against the doorframe. “I detect a little Southern charm in that accent. We don’t get a lot of that up here.”

I kept my attention on the clog I was fishing out. “Yes ma’am. Little town in Georgia you probably never heard of.”

“Georgia! I just love Georgia. All those peaches and that sweet tea.” She sighed dramatically. “My cousin had her wedding in Savannah. Most romantic place ever.”

I nodded politely while continuing to work, pulling a mass of hair and gunk from the trap. The smell was unpleasant, but I was used to it. This lady’s flirting, however, was getting harder to ignore than the stench. She was desperate.

“You married?” she asked, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

I glanced up at her and that’s when I noticed it. The pale band of skin on her left ring finger. Recently removed wedding ring. Classic move.

“No ma’am, not married,” I replied, focusing on reconnecting the pipe. “But I am seeing someone.” It was a lie. I was single, but she didn’t need to know that.

“Oh?” Her voice perked up like I’d issued a challenge rather than a gentle rejection. “She must be something special to land a man who looks like you.”

I tightened the connection with my wrench, satisfied with the repair. “He thinks I’m the catch, but I disagree.”

The silence that followed was so complete I could hear the refrigerator humming from the kitchen. When I glanced up, her smile had frozen in place, eyes slightly widened.

“Oh,” she said finally, taking a small step back. “I see.”

I ran the water to check my work, watching it drain perfectly. “Looks like you’re all fixed up now.”

“Right. Yes. Thank you.” She’d crossed her arms over her chest, all that previous flirtation evaporating like morning dew. “How much do I owe you?”

I cleaned my tools and packed them away. “The office will send you an invoice. Standard rate for a drain cleaning.”

As I followed her to the front door, she maintained a careful distance. The show was over, and we both knew it.

“Have a good day, ma’am,” I said, tipping my hat again as I stepped outside.

“You too,” she replied quickly, already closing the door.

Back in my truck, I couldn’t help but chuckle.

Another day, another disappointed housewife.

If only they knew how many times this exact scenario played out.

It’s like all of them had read or watched just one too many Hallmark movies.

Then again, I couldn’t help but feel bad for her.

If she was that desperate, her husband wasn’t taking good care of her.

Another reason to never tie myself down. One person couldn’t be everything I needed. It wasn’t fair to them and it wasn’t fair to me. So why bother trying to make it work and end up miserable?

I checked my phone for my next job and sighed.

Mr. Volker in apartment 4C down by the lake.

Great. The werewolf with the perpetually clogged shower drain.

Every month like clockwork, I’d get called out there to deal with the fur situation.

You’d think he’d invest in one of those special hair catchers they make for shifters, but no.

Twenty minutes later, I was knocking on his door, already dreading the familiar wet dog smell that would hit me when he opened up.

“Waylon! Thank god you’re here,” Mr. Volker said, swinging the door wide. His bushy eyebrows were knitted together in distress. “It’s worse than usual this time. The full moon was last night.”

I nodded sympathetically. “Don’t worry, sir. I’ve seen it all before.”

The bathroom was a disaster. Water pooled on the tile floor, and tufts of gray-brown fur clung to every surface. The shower drain was completely matted over with a thick layer of wet hair.

“Sorry about the mess,” Mr. Volker mumbled, hovering in the doorway. “My arthritis is acting up, or I’d have cleaned a bit.”

“No problem,” I said, rolling up my sleeves. “You mind giving me some space to work?”

Once he shuffled away, I got down to the grim task. This was the unglamorous reality of my job. Being elbow-deep in werewolf fur, fishing clumps from a drain while trying not to gag. The things they don’t tell you about in plumbing school.

An hour later, I was finishing up when Mr. Volker appeared with a glass of lemonade.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he said, handing me the drink. “Most plumbers refuse to come back after the first time.”

I took a grateful sip. “Just doing my job, sir.”

Back in my truck, I checked the time. One more call before lunch. It was the dragon in the high-rise downtown. Ms. Emberscale and her infamous shower issues. If werewolf fur was bad, dragon scale buildup was worse. The scales were incredibly corrosive. And then there was the heat problem.

The security guard at the luxury building recognized me and waved me through. “She’s expecting you,” he said with a knowing look. Every maintenance worker in the city knew about Ms. Emberscale’s plumbing problems.

“Darling! You’re here!” she trilled when I knocked, her forked tongue flicking between sharp teeth.

In human form, she was stunning with copper-red hair, golden eyes, and skin that seemed to shimmer with hidden scales.

And she was filthy rich. No wonder she always had people knocking at her door.

“The shower is simply unacceptable again.”

I followed her through the penthouse apartment, noting the scorch marks on several pieces of furniture. Dragons weren’t the easiest tenants. They could be a little too free with their fire.

“It’s the temperature,” she explained, gesturing dramatically. “It barely gets warm! I need heat, real heat!”

“Ma’am, we’ve discussed this before. The building’s pipes aren’t rated for the temperatures you prefer. That’s why they keep melting.”

She pouted, a wisp of smoke curling from her nostrils. “But I can’t possibly get clean in cold water.”

What she called “cold” would scald any human. I sighed and opened my tool bag.

Three hours and two melted PEX connectors later, I’d installed a special high-temperature section just for her shower. It would hold for a month or two before we’d have to do this dance again.

“You’re such a dear,” Ms. Emberscale said, pressing a generous tip into my palm. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

As I drove to my favorite fast food place for lunch, my mind drifted to my evening plans.

The work day couldn’t end fast enough. The bathhouse in the warehouse district was calling my name.

It was the one place in this city where I could truly be myself.

Men only, monsters welcome, no pretenses, and no games.

Just raw, honest fucking with no names exchanged.

My cock stirred just thinking about it. After a week of rebuffing housewives and fixing supernatural plumbing disasters, I needed release.

A big one. Tonight, I wouldn’t be the polite Southern gentleman fixing pipes.

Tonight, I’d the guy fucking every single hole I could find until I collapsed from exhaustion.

I pulled into the drive-thru line, tapping my fingers impatiently against the steering wheel. The sun beat down through the windshield, making the truck’s interior feel like an oven. I cranked up the AC and checked my phone again. Two more appointments after lunch, then freedom.

The speaker crackled to life. “Welcome to Burger Barn, what can I get for you today?”

“Double cheeseburger, extra pickles, large fries, and a chocolate shake,” I said, already tasting the greasy goodness.