INTRODUCTION

Summer Camp Swingers has always been a serial, published a chapter at a time. So the books in this series don’t begin and end like normal ones do. They’re meant to be read as a complete story, one after the other. When you reach the end of this book, pick up the next one and keep going. And when you reach the end of this series, start the next one. Keep going until you finish the Christy series. That’s 26 books in total, more than two million words. The Epilogue in So Long, Summer Camp (book 8 in the Christy series) will wrap up the whole saga and answer the two big questions from the very beginning—who’s the wife and who died? – Nick

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PROLOGUE

Trip and Wren were already at the private terminal when we arrived. So were my parents. I hated to arrive last, but life didn’t always go the way I planned. The girls opened their doors as soon as the SUV stopped moving. “Whoa!” I said before they could leap out. “Take your bags with you. Dad’s taxi doesn’t do luggage.” They reached over the back seat and pulled out their backpacks. Then they jumped to the ground and ran inside to talk to Trip and Wren’s kids. “This is just a big adventure to them,” I said after they’d gone. “They’re young,” my wife said. “No one close to them has died before.” She looked at me for a moment. “Are you okay?” “No. But yeah.” She nodded. “I guess I still can’t believe she’s gone. I mean, one minute she’s part of our life, and the next…? Bam! Gone.” “She’s still part of our life.” “Yeah, but you know what I mean.” “I do.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I know I say this all the time, but I love you. And it’s times like now that I really appreciate all we have together.” “I love you too. And I can’t imagine life without you.” I leaned across the center console and gave her a kiss. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Laurie come out of the terminal. She took one look at us through the windshield and went back inside. “We’d better get going,” my wife said with a laugh, “before the girls tell them we’re making out.” “Oh, no! They might think we’re married or something.” She rolled her eyes. “All right, all right. Let’s go.” In the terminal we exchanged hugs and greetings. And for the first time I could remember, I thought my mother looked old. Her eyes were puffy from crying. “Don’t say a thing,” she warned. “Wasn’t even thinking it.” My father joined us with a very excited Emily under his wing. “You want to fly left seat?” he asked me. He’d been retired from the airline for less than a year, and his current “job” was chief pilot for a hotshot architecture and engineering firm that happened to have his name on the building. It wasn’t a sinecure, but his boss was easy to work with and the hours were good. “I don’t think so,” I said. “You take it.” He nodded and then glanced down at Emily. “Can I fly the right seat?” she asked me. “Grandpa says it’s okay with him if it’s okay with you.” “Are you sure?” I asked him. “Are you kidding? She handles the radios and nav better than you do.” I laughed and agreed. “Come on, short stuff,” he said to her. “Let’s go do the preflight walk-around.” “Hey! Who you callin’ short stuff?” “Sorry, First Officer Short Stuff,” he corrected. “Much better.” I smiled as they walked out to the flight line together. Even at ten years old, Emily already knew what she wanted to be: a Navy pilot. She’d do it, too! I was sure of it. She was the most willful child I’d ever met. She never, ever let go of an idea once she decided to do something. And heaven help anyone who stood in her way, deliberately or not. As I watched her, I thought of all the women who’d come before her. Those trailblazers had cleared obstacles from her path before she ever knew they existed, much less encountered them. Thinking of them made me think of the women in my own life. They hadn’t blazed any trails for me, but their influence had shaped me in so many ways. Oh, men like my father and Laszlo Joska had played a part, but I owed much of my personality to the women in my life. My mother was the most important, but I was so much like her that I couldn’t think of a time when she hadn’t influenced me. The others had come into my life later. Susan was the first, obviously. She’d opened my eyes to sex and relationships. And she’d introduced me to the radical idea that men and women were equals and should be treated that way. I’d learned about love and heartbreak from Gina, and even how to handle a second chance when it came around. I’d also learned the meaning of compassion and the value of public service. Kendall had taught me to take off my blinders and learn from my mistakes. And for the record, she wasn’t the mistake. She was just the unfortunate woman who’d suffered because I’d been paying too much attention to the “what” and not enough to the “why.” With Wren I’d learned that things happen for a reason. And when they didn’t go the way I wanted, I could sulk about it or make the most of the situation. Leah had played a big part in that lesson too. And then Christy had taught me the value of patience, as well as the equally radical idea that my perspective might not be the only right way to look at things. And I’d probably changed her as much as she’d changed me. I stared out the terminal windows for several minutes before I felt someone beside me. My wife and I shared a smile, and I put my arm around her. “Thinking about her?” she asked softly. “Yes. And you, in a roundabout way. But mostly the past.” She fell silent for a long moment. “Did you ever think…?” “That we’d end up together? No. Well, not at first.” “Me neither.” “I’m glad we did.” “Me too.” She breathed a deep sigh. “I can’t believe it’s been twenty years.” I chuckled. “Nineteen.” She furrowed her brow. “Trust me,” I said. “It was 1983. That fall. School was about to start, and…”

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CHAPTER 1

Trip, Wren, and I spent the Monday after Labor Day in Atlanta, packing boxes and loading a rental truck. The next day we drove to his parents’ house in Franklin, where we added even more to our fledgling household. Then we ignored the advice of age and experience (Trip’s father and stepmother) and drove to Knoxville. We probably should have listened, but we were young and eager. We arrived after dark and spent the next five hours unloading the truck. Trip and I did most of the grunt work, while Wren sorted and stacked boxes inside. We moved the last piece of furniture—a small couch to a third-floor bedroom—in the wee hours of the morning. We were exhausted and glad it was over, but the house was ours. We were home.

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I woke up after only a few hours. I tried to go back to sleep but finally threw back the covers and swung my feet to the floor. I went to the window and opened the curtains. Streetlights glowed on parked cars, their windows opaque from dew. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound. I decided to go for a run, partly to work out the soreness from the move, but also to explore the neighborhood. The streets were laid out in a grid, so it was almost impossible to get lost. I spent a blissful hour jogging through Fort Sanders as the world slowly came to life. When I returned to the house, I came to a halt at the front porch. I watched in silent amusement as a hundred-pound bundle of energy, Christy, paced back and forth in high dudgeon. She jabbed the doorbell. Then she pounded on the door. She seemed like she’d been at it for a few minutes. She wore plaid flannel pajamas that were a couple of sizes too large, which made her look like a kid playing dress-up. Her slippers didn’t help. They were fluffy white bunnies, complete with cotton-ball tails. She balled her fists and stomped a foot. The result was less than earth-shattering, and I couldn’t help but laugh. She rounded on me. She didn’t recognize me at first, but then her eyes widened. “Mornin’,” I said with exaggerated southern politeness. “Good morning.” She looked me up and down. “What happened to you?” I blinked. “Did you lose weight?” I felt self-conscious all of a sudden. “A little, yeah.” “A lot.” Her irritation returned. “Where have you been?” My shirt was tied around my waist. I was breathing heavily and my bare skin steamed in the cool air. Those should’ve been her first clues. My shorts and running shoes should’ve doubled the clue factor. I looked down at myself, if only to make sure I saw the same thing she did. “Don’t you ever wear clothes?” she snapped. “And I don’t mean where have you been. I mean all of you. Where have you been?” “Nice to see you too.” Her eyes narrowed. “Okay, I give up,” I said at last. “What’re you talking about?” “I’ve been here for days! Waiting. Where were you?” The front door opened before I could answer. Wren, clad in a blue terrycloth bathrobe, stared out blearily. Christy turned. “Where have you been?” “Wha’?” I caught Wren’s eye. “She means, ‘Good morning. Nice to see you. May I come in?’” Wren mumbled something and stepped aside. I followed them into the house and headed upstairs. “Shower,” I said over my shoulder. “Back in a bit.” “Clothes!” Christy called after me. I stuck my head over the railing. “What about ’em?”

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As it turned out, Christy had good reason to be annoyed. Wren had forgotten to tell her about the change in plans. So Christy arrived in Knoxville to find the house locked and empty. She’d called Wren’s parents and left several messages, but never heard back. And she didn’t know Trip’s number or mine. So she’d been waiting five days, with no idea where we were. Wren apologized profusely, but Christy was still in the mood to fume. “What did you do?” I asked when she finally paused to breathe. “I called Sayuri. I’ve been staying with her.” “Friend of yours?” She looked at Wren in exasperation. “Is he serious?” “Probably,” Wren said. She yawned. “Do we have any Coke?” Christy ignored her and said to me, “Sayuri lives next door. She used to own the house.” “Ah. That explains your pajamas. They’re fitting, by the way. Very… Victorian.” She thought I was making fun of her. I was, but in a friendly way. I gestured at the house around us. “It’s Victorian too.” “Is it?” She waved a hand. “It’s just a house.” “That’s a bit like saying Michelangelo was ‘just an artist.’” Her five-foot-nothing glare wasn’t very intimidating. I smiled. “Down, girl. The house isn’t the Sistine Chapel, but it isn’t ‘just a house’ either. It’s a work of art.” “No it isn’t.” “Sure it is. You just have to know how to look. There’s beauty in everything.”

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Since I was the only one who was awake, showered, and dressed (in clothes and everything, as requested), I offered to make a grocery run. “We need Coke,” Wren said with another yawn. “And coffee and filters too.” She nudged a cardboard box with her toe. “I’ll find the coffee maker. I hope.” I nodded and glanced at Christy. “Anything you want, m’lady?” She tried to decide if I was making fun of her again. “Apples,” she said at last. “Grapes. Maybe a melon.” “Cantaloupe or watermelon?” “Cantaloupe. Or honeydew. Whichever is fresher.” “Anything else?” “Carrots. Celery. Radishes.” “In other words, the usual bunny food?” She turned to Wren. “Has he been like this all summer?” “Worse,” I said. “And the word you’re looking for is ‘unrepentant.’” “I was thinking ‘annoying.’” “That too,” I agreed cheerfully.

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We met Sayuri after breakfast. She was a tiny Japanese woman, neither young nor old. I guessed that she was in her early fifties. She had black hair, dark eyes, and a plain face. She spoke with a pronounced accent, but was easy enough to understand if I paid attention. She was unfailingly polite, although she studied Trip and me without seeming to look at us. We were being evaluated, judgment deferred. Trip must have felt it too, because he didn’t object when I suggested we move Christy’s things to our house. We had to make several trips to haul over four large suitcases, three small ones, a half-dozen dress bags, several large boxes, and more. It must’ve cost a fortune to ship from California. When we finished we took an impromptu tour around the front of Sayuri’s house. It was also Victorian, smaller than ours, without all the ornamentation and extra rooms. It was built as a workaday house for a wealthy family, a home instead of a statement. The inside was well-kept and tidy, with a mixture of Japanese and western decorations. We sat at the dining room table and made small talk until Wren brought up the subject of the other renovations. Sayuri owned two more houses in the neighborhood, one across the street and one a block away. She didn’t entirely trust her current contractor (I couldn’t blame her, especially after her experience with the first guy), but she had no way to know if she was getting the runaround. Trip and I promised to check things out. She nodded and smiled, agreement without confidence. Christy said something in Japanese and then nodded at us. Sayuri asked something that sounded suspiciously like, “But they’re so young. How can they possibly know what they’re doing?” She smiled when she said it, but her dark eyes didn’t echo the sentiment. Christy answered respectfully. I watched their conversation and slowly reevaluated Sayuri. She reminded me of Susan, especially the way her mind worked. I didn’t understand a word she said, although I didn’t really need to. Her manner was restrained, and her voice never rose above polite conversation, but her questions were quick and direct. Her meaning was clear too: she wanted value for her money and wanted to make sure that Trip and I could protect her interests. Much to my surprise, Christy argued in our favor. She spoke Japanese, although her looks and gestures came through loud and clear. Trip and I knew what we were doing, she explained. Trust us, she said. She folded her hands in front of her and lowered her eyes in deference to the older woman. Sayuri thought for a moment and then smiled. Once again, I had the feeling of deferred judgment. She clearly liked Christy, but Trip and I would have to earn her trust. Fair enough, I thought. Trip could dig into the contractor’s estimates and expenses, line by line if necessary. And I could do the same for the houses themselves. Sayuri said to us, in English, that she’d be very grateful if we would advise her on the renovations. We said we’d be happy to, of course. We exchanged a few more pleasantries and then said goodbye. “I hope we haven’t bitten off more than we can chew,” Trip said. He gestured to our house as we approached. “This place isn’t even close to what I’d call a good job.” Wren started to object. “He’s right,” I said. “You probably don’t see it, but we do. It’s little things. Lots of ’em. Rough edges, cut corners, half-assed work.” “I don’t even know how some of it passed inspection,” Trip said. “Nonsense,” Wren said. “It’s fine.” “Fine to live in,” I agreed. “But the work isn’t something I’d brag about.” Wren started to say something else, but I stopped her again. “Most of the things I’ve noticed are cosmetic. Trip and I can fix them. But it’ll be a problem if we find anything structural.” “Or any serious code violations.” “Exactly.” “And these other two houses might also be a mess—” “Our house isn’t a mess,” Wren objected. “We had it inspected before we bought it.” “Okay, maybe not ‘a mess,’” I said to placate her. “But it certainly isn’t up to Hughes-Whitman standards.” “Whitman-Hughes,” Trip corrected absently. I grinned. It was a friendly argument we’d had many times. “But he’s right,” Trip went on. “These other houses might take up a lot of our time, especially if we find problems.” He turned to Christy. “How do you think Sayuri will take that? Does she want to hear the truth, especially if her contractor isn’t… um… up to our standards?” “Absolutely.” “Have to be careful, though,” he mused aloud. “We don’t want the job ourselves.” I perked up. “Why not? I mean, I’d like to see the houses first, but they might be fun projects.” “No way. Maybe if we could work on ’em full time, but not with school and everything else.” “Yeah, you’re probably right.” Still, I imagined what we could do with an old Victorian. Most of them had fine bones, even if they’d seen better days. We could make them beautiful again.

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We spent the rest of the day unpacking boxes and arranging furniture. Wren and Christy concentrated on the kitchen and dining room. Trip and I worked our way through the living room, octagonal front room, and the little main-floor bedroom. The next day Trip and Wren worked in the master bedroom, while Christy and I did the same in our separate ones. I heard her struggling to move furniture, so I offered to help. Then I hung around to unpack an entire box of purses and store them on the top shelf in the closet. “I know what to get you for Christmas,” I teased. “A stepladder.” “Very funny.” “I’m serious. Why do you want these up here? You won’t be able to get ’em down yourself.” “I don’t need them very often.” “Then why’d you bring them?” “In case I do need them.” “Yeah, but…” I made a quick guess, “Thirty?” “Most go with formal outfits or cocktail dresses.” “How many formal events do you plan to attend?” “I don’t know. But I’ll need the right outfit.” She opened another large box. “Holy crap! Are those all shoes?” “Of course. That box too.” “What do you need all those for?” “They match different outfits. Some match purses. Some are just pretty. I haven’t found an outfit for them yet.” “Are you serious?” “Of course. Why?” She looked up. “What’s the matter?” “I can’t believe you have all these shoes and purses.” I pointed at the pile of dress bags on the bed. “And those. Same with them?” “Same what?” “Formal dresses, cocktail dresses, dresses you haven’t found shoes and a purse for yet?” She smiled but was clearly nonplussed. “Yes.” “And you shipped all this stuff from home? From California?” “How else was I supposed to get it here?” “Why?” “Why what? I can’t wear them if they aren’t here.” “Why do you even need all this?” “I don’t understand.” “Clearly.” She knew she was being insulted. She bristled like a Chihuahua snapping at a Doberman. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Never mind.” “No, tell me. What don’t I understand? And what’s it to you anyway?” “Whoa! Sorry I asked. You can have whatever you want. It’s your stuff.” She continued to look belligerent until I gestured innocuously at the shoe boxes. “You want me to put those in the top of the closet too?” She wasn’t ready to back down but couldn’t find a reason to argue. “Yes,” she said eventually. “Please.” I stacked shoe boxes on the shelf below the purses. I silently counted—twenty-one—but knew better than to make a comment. The mood between us slowly defrosted. I helped her hang dress bags—six of them, with several dresses in each—which filled half the closet. Once again, I kept my comments to myself. I collapsed the empty cardboard boxes while she unpacked her everyday shoes and lined them along the bottom of the closet. She just kept adding more, from sneakers to loafers to docksides. She even had a couple of pairs of knee-high boots. She had six pairs of jellies alone, almost every color of the rainbow. The girl liked shoes. What could I say? I managed to compose my expression by the time she finished. “Thanks for helping.” “My pleasure.” “And thanks for letting me have the room with the bigger closet.” “It was luck,” I said, “but I’m glad you’re happy.” “I just wish it were bigger.” I swallowed a laugh. “What?” “I don’t hear that very often.” “Hear wha—? Oh!” Her tan cheeks turned rosy. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” “Very funny.” I shrugged, unabashed. “Speaking of which,” she said after a moment, “how’s Gracie?” “Fine, I guess.” “You ‘guess’?” “Well, yeah. ‘I guess.’ I haven’t talked to her in a while. A couple of months.” “A couple of months? Some boyfriend you are!” “What? Why should—? Hold on… Gracie and I broke up. Didn’t Wren tell you?” “I told her n— Um… I mean, no, she didn’t.” “It was a while ago. Before the summer. But after you left, I guess.” “What happened?” “Long story. We weren’t ‘compatible,’ I guess you’d say.” “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.” She didn’t sound very sorry at all. She must’ve heard it too, because she immediately said, “So I guess you had fun this summer.” Something about her tone made me frown. “How d’you mean?” “Nothing. Just that you could date a lot of different girls.” I heard the euphemism and felt the heat rise in my cheeks. “Is that what you think I do?” “What do you mean?” “That I sleep around?” “You mean you don’t?” I clamped down on my temper. Then I took a deep breath and let it out slowly through my nose. Christy practically dared me to say something snide. “I’d better get back to work,” I said instead. “In my own room.”

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I didn’t speak to her the next day. I wasn’t rude about it, but she was persona non grata around me. She had a huge argument with Wren too. Trip and I stayed clear of both of them, which suited me fine. The following morning I returned from my run to find Christy waiting on the porch. I couldn’t ignore her without being a jerk, so I stopped at the bottom of the stairs. She shifted nervously as I waited. “I talked to Wren yesterday,” she said at last. “I heard.” The neighbors probably had too. “She told me about the summer.” “What about it?” “About trying to set you up with her friends.” I felt a stab of irritation with Wren too, not only for the matchmaking, but also for discussing my private life. Christy fidgeted with the hem of her pajama top. “She said you didn’t date anyone at all.” That word again! “And?” “And I’m sorry.” I wasn’t ready to forgive her just yet. “What for?” “What do you mean?” “What are you sorry for?” “I don’t understand.” “Are you sorry you called me a man-whore, or just sorry you were wrong?” “I—!” Her eyes fell. “Both, I guess.” My anger flared anew, and I bounded up the stairs. “What gives you the right to judge me?” “I’m sorry.” “You don’t know anything about me!” “I know. You’re right. I—” “And why do you care who I ‘date’?” I made it sound like pious doublespeak, which it was. “It’s my business, not yours. Don’t apply your goody two shoes Catholic schoolgirl morals to me!” I stormed inside and slammed the door for good measure. I replayed the whole thing in my head while I stood under the shower. When I finally calmed down, long after the hot water ran out, I felt a mixture of frustration and guilt. Christy had no right to judge me by her standards. And I had no right to yell at her when she was only trying to apologize. Worse, I had no idea why I’d gotten so upset. I dressed and went to find her. She was sitting at the kitchen table, poking halfheartedly at a slice of cantaloupe. “Hey,” I said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” “It’s all right. You were right. I shouldn’t have judged you.” “Yeah, I guess there’s enough blame to go around.” She nodded glumly. Wren entered the kitchen in her blue bathrobe. She yawned. “What was all the shouting and slamming about?” “No clue,” I lied smoothly. “Must’ve been the neighbors.” “Or crazy people,” Christy added. “Definitely,” I agreed. “Crazy people.” We shared a hesitant grin. Wren filled Mr. Coffee and started him gurgling for Trip. “Well, I hope they’re gone now.” “Me too.” She grabbed a Coke and shuffled out of the kitchen. Christy and I were silent. The tension had ebbed between us, but it wasn’t completely gone. “Want some cereal?” “Yes, please.” I set out two bowls. She went to the refrigerator. She passed me the carton of milk and then poured two glasses of orange juice. I opened the pantry. “Grape Nuts or Froot Loops?” “Whichever you want.” My hand wavered between them. “On second thought, Froot Loops.” I chuckled. “What?” “I’d just decided the same thing.” “Oh. Good.” We sat across from each other and ate in silence. “I never realized…,” I said at last. “What?” “That bunnies eat Froot Loops.” “They do.” She smiled into her bowl. “But only on special occasions.”

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By Monday we had the house more or less unpacked. Most of our matching furniture, courtesy of Wren’s mother, went in the main living room. Trip had set up his expensive McIntosh stereo in the octagon room, along with a vintage console TV that took more than a minute to warm up. We filled the room with odds-and-ends furniture that didn’t fit anywhere else. Christy and I claimed the two small bedrooms on the third floor. Their windows faced south, so they offered plenty of afternoon light. They’d originally been servants’ rooms, but we wanted to use them as studios. She arranged a couch and a couple of beanbags in hers. They were castoffs from the Nixon-era decor that Trip’s stepmother had inherited when she married his father. She also added a small desk that had been mine when I was much younger. My studio boasted a pair of mismatched cloth easy chairs and a large bookcase. I used an old writing desk in place of a drafting table I didn’t own yet, along with an ugly Naugahyde barstool that would do the job of a drafting stool until I found a proper one. Christy didn’t have much to do in her studio, so she helped me unpack. “I didn’t know you liked art so much,” she said as she arranged books on the bottom shelf. “What do you think architecture is? It’s functional art. The best of it, at least.” “I know. But I guess I never think of it that way. Art is sculpture and paintings.” “Art is lots of things. I mean, most of the best Renaissance artists were also architects. Michelangelo, Raphael, da Vinci. Heck, Brunelleschi is the guy who discovered linear perspective.” “Who?” “You’re kidding, right?” She shook her head. I rummaged for a book and sat next to her on the floor. “He was the world’s worst loser.” “Huh?” “He lost a competition to Ghiberti—” “I know him! The Gates of Paradise, right?” “Right. Well, after Brunelleschi lost, he threw a huge temper tantrum.” “Sounds like someone I know.” She said it with a grin but flinched when she saw my reaction. “Me! I was talking about me!” “Oh. Okay. Sorry. Well, anyway, Brunelleschi went on to build the dome of the Florence Cathedral.” I paged through the book until I found what I was looking for. “See? He used a catenary arch, like the Gateway Arch in St. Louis, along with chains that acted like barrel hoops…”

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Trip and I spent half a day going over details for Sayuri’s houses. She was surprisingly organized. She had all the original contractor’s estimates and invoices, as well as everything from the new contractor, including bid documents, specifications, construction drawings, and more. Trip pored over the paperwork, while I studied the drawings. I thought I’d be disappointed, but I was wrong. The drawings were professional and thorough. Trip grunted a few times but didn’t find any problems either. “What’s the verdict?” I said at last. He straightened his stack of papers. “I think,” he said slowly, “that you and I should be working for this guy.” He nodded toward the drawings. “You find any red flags?” “Nope. I couldn’t do better myself. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever done as well.” We gave the news to Sayuri but warned her that the houses themselves might not reflect what we found in the planning. She smiled a secret little smile. “I check a few times,” she said. “Work looks good.” “Let’s hope so,” Trip said. “We’ll take a look and let you know.” We crossed the street to the first house. We found the site foreman and told him that the owner had asked us to take a look around. He answered our questions, albeit grudgingly. He didn’t say so aloud, but his attitude made it plain that he thought we were snot-nosed college kids sent to second-guess him. He was right, in a way, but he didn’t know the whole of it. “Listen,” Trip said about halfway through, “we aren’t here to make your life difficult. The owner asked us to look out for her interests. All right? So give us a break.” “Her first contractor really screwed her over,” I explained. “First contractor?” the foreman said. “Who? We started this job.” “On that house.” Trip pointed to ours. “Oh. Okay. Well, that’s different. Who was it, if you don’t mind me asking?” Trip told him. The foreman rubbed his jaw. “Yeah, that guy. I don’t like to speak ill, but…” “We’ve seen his work,” I said. “We’ll probably be fixing things for the next couple of months.” “Who? You?” “Yes, us,” Trip said. “I’m a general contractor, and he’s an architect.” It was a white lie, but I didn’t correct him. The foreman laughed before he realized Trip was serious. “Don’t let my age fool you,” Trip said. “I’ve been doing it for years. Him too.” “Where? In Knoxville?” “No. Franklin, outside Nashville. And Atlanta this year.” The foreman looked dubious but decided to humor us. We finished our tour of the house and didn’t find anything wrong. Trip asked most of the questions, while I kept my eyes open and poked around in the background. The foreman walked with us to the second house. “Haven’t done much here,” he explained. “Won’t start demo for another six weeks.” “Not till you get closer to done with the first house,” Trip agreed. “I read the bid documents.” The man looked surprised. Again. “Listen,” Trip said in exasperation, “I can look into these houses like a building inspector, or you can just believe me when I say I know what I’m doing.” “Whatever. I just work here.” “Yeah. And we’ve kept you too long. Thanks for your time.” “No problem,” he said insincerely. Trip was in a surly mood as we walked back to report to Sayuri. “I don’t like the foreman,” he explained to her, “but I didn’t see anything wrong.” “Neither did I. Like Trip said, the foreman was a bit of a jerk, but the work is good.” “That is all I ask,” Sayuri said. “We’ll check on progress every week, if that’s all right with you,” Trip said. “And I can review any invoices before you pay them.” “That would be fine.” “Otherwise,” he finished with a shrug, “I don’t know what else to tell you. The crew is doing a good job. And I’ll be honest, they’re doing it for cheaper than I could do in Atlanta.” “That is also good to know. Christy said you have a wealth of experience for your years.” “She’s right about that.” Trip warmed to the compliment. “We’ll definitely make sure you’re getting your money’s worth.” “I already am,” Sayuri said with a smile.

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Classes started on Thursday. Trip and I didn’t have a single one together. He wasn’t disenchanted with architecture, but he knew he’d never love it like I did. So he’d decided to avoid the intense competition of Professor Joska’s class, not to mention the long hours. He was taking an extra business class instead. I felt a little lost when I entered the design classroom and took a seat in the first row. I also dreaded seeing Gracie. I didn’t have anything against her, but was pretty sure she didn’t feel the same about me. Part of me hoped that we might be friends again, but another part told me to let it go. Besides, the things I didn’t like about her had only grown in my memory. I was talking to someone else when she entered. She sat at the other end of the row and pointedly ignored me. I halfway expected the air to freeze between us. Freddie DeFeo saved me from brooding about it. He dropped his bag on the floor next to mine and gave me the full paisan treatment, including a back-slapping hug straight out of The Godfather. Professor Joska arrived and started class with his usual brusqueness. He gave us the third-year version of his speech and then handed out copies of the syllabus and schedule. I skimmed them and groaned at the last page. We had a quarter project to design a building, from proposal to final drawings, as though we had a real client at a real architecture firm. It was a third of our grade and in addition to our normal coursework. Joska seemed to read my mind. “Your lives will only get busier from this point forward. Fourth- and fifth-year students have almost double the workload.” He unscrewed the cap of a fountain pen. “I will sign withdrawal slips if anyone wants.” No one did. Most of us had understood what we were getting into when we signed up for his class. I was a bit surprised that Freddie was there, but the others were familiar faces, the best and most competitive third-year students, including yours truly.

✧ ✧ ✧

Wren made a special dinner for the end of our first week of classes. It had only been two days, but we still felt the need to celebrate. We polished off several bottles of wine and lingered over our empty plates. “You think you have it bad?” Wren said, after Trip complained (again) about his course load. “Christy and I are seniors. So all our courses are 4000 level.” “Two of mine are technically graduate classes,” Christy said. “Yeah, okay,” Trip agreed, “but Architecture is a five-year program. So it’s even tougher than a regular degree.” “Says who?” Wren shot back. Christy sipped her wine and nodded. “I’m taking six classes,” Wren continued, “plus a senior seminar in mass media.” “And I found out today,” Christy added, “that Siobhan wants me to exhibit at a major show in November. November! That’s, like, barely two months away.” Trip refilled her glass. “Drink up.” “I’m going to need it,” she muttered, and took a long sip. “So,” I asked her, “do you have a piece in mind?” “For what?” “For your exhibition?” She shook her head. “I have a bunch of ideas, but…” She shrugged. “I’ll think of something.” “What about you?” Wren asked me. “You’ve been unusually quiet tonight.” “Deadlines as far as the eye can see. Crushing workload. Be surprised if I have time to breathe.” She snorted and opened another bottle. “How’s Joska?” Trip asked with a heartless grin. “Are you kidding? He’s half the deadlines himself. We have a huge project for his class. A design proposal, case study, full set of drawings, a model, the works.” “Professor Liang is pretty laid-back,” Trip said. Then he frowned. “Management class will more than make up for it, though.” “Told you it wouldn’t be easy,” Wren said. “You were right. I’m playing catch-up, ’cause I’m not a Business or Finance major.” “Yeah, but you have real-world experience,” I said. “This is different.” “How?” “You know what it takes to build a house, right?” “More or less.” “Nothing like design class, is it?” I snorted. “It’s theory versus real world,” he continued, mostly for the girls’ benefit. “They teach you how to design buildings, but it’s totally different on the job site.” “Most construction guys think architects are idiots,” I told them. Wren arched an eyebrow. “Are they?” I glared and held out my glass for a refill. “Most of them, yes,” Trip admitted. “At least when it comes to practical construction.” Christy glanced at me to see if I agreed or not. “Sadly, he’s right,” I said. “Most people in class couldn’t design a workable building if their lives depended on it. You should see some of the projects from fifth-year students.” I shook my head in mock disappointment. “Beautiful buildings, but completely impractical.” I gestured at Christy with my wineglass. “Remember the dome? By Brunelleschi?” “Mmm hmm.” “That’s what you get from an architect who’s also a builder. Beautiful and feasible.” Trip raised his glass. “Amen, brother.” The wine and conversation continued to flow until very late. We were all drunk by the time we went to bed. Unfortunately, I was still too keyed up to sleep. I thought about jerking off, if only to pass the time, but decided against even that. Then I heard a strain of familiar music from across the hall. It was Trip’s make-out tape. A small part of me was annoyed that they hadn’t asked me to join them, but that was completely irrational. Wren was Trip’s girlfriend, not mine. I didn’t have any claim on her. Besides, Wren didn’t want two boyfriends. She wanted Trip, with some fun on the side. I was the fun on the side. Sometimes. I closed my eyes and tried to will myself to sleep, but couldn’t help listening to the faint, rhythmic sounds from across the hall. The house was old, with lots of night noises, but not so many that I couldn’t imagine what was going on. I finally pulled on shorts and a T-shirt and went upstairs. I was standing in the foyer, still trying to decide what to do, when I heard a creak on the stairs behind me. “You too?” Christy said. “Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.” We glanced toward the master bedroom. “They weren’t exactly loud…,” she said. “But it was kinda obvious.” “Yeah. So, um… you wanna hang out?” “Sure.” I made an expansive gesture toward our little studios. “My place or yours?” “Mine,” she said after a moment. “Good call. Those beanbags are comfy.” She kicked off her bunny slippers and curled up on the smaller bag, an ugly orange thing with a suspicious stain on the underside. The other bag wasn’t much better, a brown blob that had been patched several times. We chatted for a few minutes, mostly small talk. Then she dropped a bombshell. “How come you aren’t… you know?” She glanced again toward the master bedroom. My eyes widened. Did she know about Wren and Trip and me? How could she? She wasn’t the type to understand swinging, much less condone it. So I couldn’t imagine why Wren would’ve told her. I took a deep breath and said neutrally, “How come I’m not what?” “You know… with someone? Like, a girlfriend.” “I dunno,” I said with disguised relief. “I guess ’cause I don’t have one.” “Why not?” My face grew still. I didn’t need another lecture about how I was a male slut. “Oh, gosh— Sorry! I don’t mean it like that.” “Then how do you mean it?” “I was just making conversation.” I doubted it, but decided to answer anyway. “I don’t really want a girlfriend. Not right now, at least.” “Oh. But… why not?” “That’s harder to answer.” I shrugged. “I guess I want to find myself first.” “Find yourself?” “I need to be happy on my own before I can be happy with someone else.” “I think I understand.” “Do you?” She nodded. “So… are you? Happy, I mean.” “I think so.” “I can tell.” I raised an eyebrow. “You’re… different… from when I saw you last.” “I had a lot to think about over the summer.” “Wren said you turned into a philosopher.” “Ah. What do you think?” “Me? I dunno. I think you’re different. That’s for sure.” “Different-good or different-bad?” She cocked her head to the side. “Too soon to tell.” “Fair enough.” We fell silent. She thought of something and smiled. “You remind me of someone.” “Oh? Who?” “Nobu.” My eyebrows shot up. “The Japanese monk?” “You remember?” “Of course.” She smiled again. “He used to tell me there’s beauty in everything.” “Ah.” “And he was always very calm. Like you are.” “It’s an illusion.” “What is?” “Me. Being calm. I have to work at it. All the time.” “I think he did too,” she said. I let her enjoy the memory. “I’d better go,” she said all of a sudden. “I need to get some sleep.” “Oh. Okay. G’night.” She left before I could say anything else. I listened to her pad down the stairs. Then I realized that she’d left her slippers. I thought about taking them down to her, but decided to leave them where they were. I went next door to my own studio and turned on the desk light. I pulled a book at random from the shelf and sank into the nearest easy chair. I read for a while but didn’t really see the words. I was thinking about Christy and what she’d said. After a while I closed my eyes, just to rest them for a few minutes. I woke up the next morning in the same chair. I was a bit stiff, but not so much that a good run wouldn’t take care of it. I went to rub my eyes and realized that someone had covered me with a blanket during the night. My book had slipped off my lap and now lay on the floor, closed, but with a scrap of paper to mark my place. My eyes fell on a drawing in the other chair. I picked it up and looked at it. It was a quick sketch in pencil, the kind of thing I made in my own sketchbook when I wanted to remember a design. Christy had drawn me as I’d slept in the chair, covered with the blanket that still lay across my lap. My hand rested on the book I’d been reading. The scene was still and very serene. You looked so peaceful, she’d written across the bottom. I smiled. She must have come upstairs during the night. For her slippers, I decided.

✧ ✧ ✧

Life settled into a routine in the new house. Class and studying took up most of our time, but Trip and I started working out together at the Sports Bubble. Wren and Christy found an aerobics class at the same time, so we went together. Separately, I kept up my morning runs, mostly to have some time to myself. I also made time for judo twice a week with my friend Glen. The girls went to the swimming pool about as often, while Trip joined an intramural football team with a couple of guys from his management class. Wren made dinner most nights, although the rest of us promised to take an occasional turn to give her a break. Christy was a decent cook, but Trip and I were pretty bad. I steeled myself for Wren’s criticism, but she always found something to compliment (except once, when I carbonized dinner because I’d been sketching ideas for my design project; we ordered pizza that night). Christy still hadn’t decided what to do for her exhibition. She was starting to panic, so I brought it up one evening as we lingered over wine after dinner. “How should I know?” she snapped. “You think of something.” “Okay,” I said, unruffled, “how about a modern take on a classic? You know, like you did with Michelangelo’s David. You could do a Discobolus or Doryphoros. Or maybe something like the Farnese Hercules.” “Now you’re just showing off.” “About what?” Wren said. “How much he knows about art.” “I like art,” I said. “Yours especially.” I was trying to cheer her up, but she wasn’t having it. “Why don’t you do something like The Dying Gaul?” “More like The Dying Paul,” she muttered. “Sure, I’ll pose for you. It’ll be fun. I miss doing it for Siobhan’s class.” “You just like getting naked in front of a bunch of women,” Wren teased. “There were some guys in those classes.” She snorted. “I can’t do anything like that,” Christy said gloomily. “Sure you can,” Wren said. “We’ve all seen your work.” “And you’d better get started soon,” Trip added. Wren glared at him, but he ignored her. “November is right around the corner. When’s the show?” “The 22nd,” I said. Christy’s head came up. “How do you know?” “Well, it’s all over the A&A building. And, um… Siobhan sort of talked to me. A few days ago.” Christy blinked in surprise. “What did she say?” “She… uh… said that you might need a little inspiration.” She’d actually said that Christy was depressed and suffering from a creative block, and could I help? Wren met my eyes and understood immediately, although she didn’t say so aloud. “What’s this dying guy look like?” she asked instead. “The Dying Gaul,” I corrected. “He’s a warrior sitting on the ground, dying. Duh. I know that doesn’t do it justice, but…” “It’s very emotional,” Christy said. “He’s been stabbed, and he knows he’s dying. You can see his pain.” “Sounds depressing,” Trip said. Wren shot him another glare. “It isn’t,” Christy said. “He’s brave and very dignified. He’s a warrior.” She looked at me. “Do you really think I can do it?” “You can do anything you set your mind to.” “And you’d pose for me?” “Absolutely. As long as you don’t mind if I read or study to pass the time.” She shook her head. “Then it’s a deal.” “I don’t want to do an exact copy,” she said. I smiled to myself and watched her creative wheels start turning. “I want to do something new and original, but inspired by the classic.” “That’s the spirit!” Wren said. “I know just the thing,” I said. “Let me run upstairs and get a book. It’s perfect. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?” “Huh?” “Trust me.”

✧ ✧ ✧

And so I began posing for Christy. We worked in the afternoons, when the light in her studio was best. The Gaul himself was nude in the classical sculpture, but I wore a pair of running shorts. The pose wasn’t very comfortable, but I could manage for a couple of hours at a time. Christy focused completely once she started on a project. She was all artist, consumed by her creation. We talked before and after each session, but never during. Consequently, I had a lot of free time on my hands. Mostly I worked on my own project, albeit in my head. My original idea had been to design a museum. I’d written the proposal and Joska had approved it, but I hadn’t been particularly inspired by any of my design sketches. Then Christy unknowingly gave me an idea. She liked to work in her beanbag chair. She lay half-curled as she sketched me from different angles. One day I was simply staring into space when my eyes started tracing the lines of her body, from thighs to hips to waist. She was a tiny girl, but not skinny. She had all the right proportions, and I was thinking about how she was basically a regular-sized woman, only smaller. Then I imagined a woman like her, but larger, the size of a building. Could I design one like the curve of a woman’s body? I didn’t want a lot of support structure to mar the lines, so the roof would have to be cantilevered from the rear. That would let me design the façade as a glass curtain wall. I didn’t want the building to be sexual or even obvious; I simply wanted it to suggest a woman’s curves. The challenge was exciting: how to design a workable building in the shape of a woman. I made several sketches, first of Christy as I remembered her, then of the building itself. Since the entire project was simply made up, I decided that my site would be the face of a low hill. The cantilevered roof—the visible part, at least—would be supported by a long pier that was actually the back wall of the museum itself. The rear half of the roof would slant into the hill and be covered by earth. That let me add landscape elements, which would make the building blend into its surroundings. The interior would be natural materials and woods that mimicked skin tones. It was all very Frank Lloyd Wright. I was talking about it to Trip one day when the girls returned from the pool. They came into the dining room to find out what we were talking about. I laid out my design sketches and explained a couple of creative leaps. Trip liked the idea. So did Wren. Christy leafed through the sketches in my book. She was an incredibly talented artist, especially where people were concerned, so I wanted her opinion. She nodded several times, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. She turned another page and reached the early drawings, the sketches of her. “You gave me the idea,” I said enthusiastically. “You were curled up in your beanbag, drawing me, while I was drawing you in my head.” “That’s pretty cool,” Trip said. “This is me?” Christy said. She traced a finger over the sketch and then looked at the larger drawing of the building itself. “It is. Do you like it?” She was silent for a long time. I found myself holding my breath again. She looked up, her expression unreadable. “Do you think I’m going to sleep with you now?” she said. “Just because you drew me?” I was so shocked that I didn’t know what to say. Then I felt a flush of anger. “Is that what you think this is about?” “Well, isn’t it?” I suddenly felt disconnected, like a wall had sprung up around my emotions. I gathered my drawings and closed them in my sketchbook. I looked at Christy but couldn’t think of a single thing to say that wasn’t spiteful. I stared at her for a moment. Then I turned and left. “Wow,” Wren said to her, “you really don’t understand him at all.”

✧ ✧ ✧

I spent the next day brooding, and I avoided the house when I knew Christy would be there. Screw her, I thought viciously. If that’s what she thinks about me… I was so full of pent-up frustration that I challenged Glen at judo practice. He was bigger, stronger, and a better fighter, but he couldn’t compete with cold fury. He knew I was upset, but he never said a thing, even when I slammed him a lot harder than I should’ve, especially in a friendly match. I left before the sensei could kick me out. I heard Glen talking to them as I stormed off, telling them that he was fine, that I just needed to work some things out. I felt guilty, especially as the adrenaline wore off and I thought about what I’d done. I went home, but only because I knew that the girls would be at the pool and Trip would be at football practice. I took a long shower and let the cold water run over me until I felt the anger wash away. Why did I let Christy get to me like that? The phone rang as I was sitting on my bed. “Hello?” “Paul? Hey, it’s Mark!” I drew a blank. “Mark who?” “Leah’s Mark, ya doofus. I’ve been trying to reach you for days!” He laughed. “Doesn’t anyone answer the phone there?” “Sorry. We don’t have an answering machine.” “Hey, no problem. I understand. So let me get to the reason I called. I wanna have a small party for Leah’s birthday.” I felt a fresh wave of guilt, but for a completely different reason: I’d forgotten. “I know it’s last-minute,” he said, “but she’s feeling kind of ignored.” “Ignored?” “Yeah. Everyone’s getting ready for Kara’s wedding next week. They still…” I wanted to kick myself. I’d forgotten about the wedding too, and I’d known for a month. Kara had even asked me to be an usher. “…so things’re a bit crazy over there,” Mark was saying when I tuned back in. “No one’s said a thing about Leah’s birthday. Anyway, I’m hoping you and Trip and Wren can come to Atlanta this weekend.” “Trip and Wren can’t,” I said immediately. “They’ll be in Savannah.” “Oh. Can they do it another time?” “No. Wren’s cousin is getting married. It’s… um… a bit of an emergency, if you know what I mean.” He laughed. “Shotgun wedding?” “Not entirely. They were planning to get married anyway. They had to change the date is all.” “Ah. Gotcha. So that leaves you. Are you going too?” “I wasn’t invited.” “Great! I mean… well, you know. Sorry. But now you can come to Atlanta.” My first instinct was to decline, even though it was Leah. I was in a foul mood and didn’t want to be around people, much less people I actually liked. Mark heard the hesitation in my silence. “Leah would love to see you.” “I know, but—” “Look, man,” he said reasonably, “come to Atlanta. Have fun with us.” “I’m afraid I’ll ruin things for Leah.” “Not possible. Come on down.” “I really appreciate it, Mark, but I’m lousy company right now.” “What’s the matter? Never mind. This is exactly what you need.” I sighed. “Listen, man, get away from whatever’s bothering you.” “I don’t think that’ll work,” I said. The problem wasn’t Christy; it was me. “All right,” Mark said, still reasonable, “then if you won’t do it for yourself, do it for Leah.” “C’mon, Mark, that isn’t fair.” “Of course not.” “You aren’t going to stop until I say yes, are you?” “Nope. Sorry.” “And if I’m still in a foul mood this weekend?” “Then we gave it our best shot.” I let the silence drag out. “Look,” he said at last, quieter and less like a sales pitch, “I don’t know what you’re upset about, but nothing’s ever as bad as it seems.” “Easy for you to say.” “Yeah, but I know how it is, man.” He waited and then went on, “Come to Atlanta. It’s a small party, just the four of us.” “I dunno, Mark.” “Leah would love to see you. So would I. Even Erin said she misses you.” “Erin?” “Your sister?” he teased. “About 5’4”, blonde, kinda looks like you, only prettier.” I laughed in spite of myself. “Whaddya say, man. Will you come?” “Yeah, okay. I’ll be there.”

✧ ✧ ✧

I wanted to avoid Christy until I left for Atlanta, but living in the same house made it almost impossible. I was working in my studio when she came to find me. I could tell it was her. I’d heard her come up the stairs and hesitate outside my door. I closed my sketchbook and waited for her to knock, which she eventually did. “Come in.” “It’s Christy,” she said through the closed door. “I know.” “Can I still come in?” I tried not to smile. I wasn’t an ogre. “Yes.” “Are you sure?” She opened the door a crack and peeked around it. “I won’t bite your head off.” “Serve me right if you did.” “Yeah, probably.” She opened the door a bit further. “So,” I said, as lightly as I could, “is this normal Christy or jump-to-conclusions Christy?” “Um, normal… I hope.” I nodded at the other chair. “Sit down?” “D’you mind? Standing makes me feel like I’m in the Principal’s office.” “You only go to the Principal’s office if you’ve done something wrong.” She stopped halfway into the seat. “Maybe I’d better stand.” “Sit down,” I said with a laugh. “Thanks.” I waited. She fidgeted. I looked at her expectantly. She fidgeted some more. I settled in for a long silence. “I never know how to apologize…,” she said eventually. “Maybe you should stop doing things you need to apologize for.” She laughed, dark and humorless. “You sound like Nobu.” I thought I sounded like Susan, which made me smile inside. “I’m… sorry.” She took a deep breath and mustered the courage to look me in the eye. “I’m sorry I accused you of… you know.” I raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to make me say it?” “I’m not sure what you accused me of,” I said after a moment. “I mean, I know what you meant, but… what kind of person do you think I am?” “A forgiving one?” she said hopefully. “I am, but you need to understand something about me.” I tried to find a delicate way to put it. “I’m a guy, sure. And sometimes I think with the little head. But most of the time I use the big one.” “I know.” “In other words, I don’t think about sex all the time.” “But I thought all guys…” “We don’t. Then again, I’m not like all guys.” “Tell me about it.” She digested that for a moment and then asked the question she’d been building up to. “Why did you draw me?” “Not because I want to seduce you or anything. I did it ’cause…” I searched for the right word. “Well, because you inspired me.” She blushed and looked at her hands. “It’s very flattering.” “I didn’t do it to flatter you or anything like that.” “I understand. Besides, if you had— I mean… Um…” “No, what were you going to say?” “Promise you won’t get upset?” “Cross my heart.” “Well… they weren’t very good.” My eyes must have bugged, because she hurriedly continued, “The sketches, I mean. Of me. The building was great! But the drawings of me…” I laughed in a sudden release of tension. “Sorry. I hope that doesn’t make you angry.” “Not at all. I’m an architect, not an artist. And I’m definitely not as talented as you.” “Thank you.” She lowered her eyes but then looked up. “But you are. As talented. You just can’t draw.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh, my gosh! I should stop talking. Of course you can draw. You’re awesome at… um… drawing.” “Boy, you really know how to flatter a guy.” “I mean you’re awesome at drawing buildings and landscapes. Yours are just… amazing! But… you can’t draw people.” “I never learned how.” She looked at her hands and fidgeted again. “I could teach you.” “Would you?” “Yes. You’re really very talented. You just haven’t had the training.” “Thank you.” I chuckled at a thought. “Then I accept. On both counts.” “Both?” “The apology and the offer. I accept both.” Her smile lit up the room. “Awesome! We can start tomorrow.” “What about Monday instead?” The room seemed to darken. “I’m going home for the weekend,” I explained. It brightened again, but not as much as before. “Oh, okay.” She mustered a smile. “So we’ll start Monday then.” “Yep. Monday it is.”

✧ ✧ ✧

Wren came upstairs a little while later. I silently grumbled that I’d need a waiting room for all my visitors. She pulled the door closed and sat in the empty chair. “So,” she said without preamble, “Christy said she talked to you. She apologized?” “Mmm hmm.” “She was totally unfair.” “I thought so too.” “But… um… maybe it wasn’t entirely her fault.” I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. “Lemme guess,” I said at last, “you were matchmaking again?” “Maybe just a little.” “Seriously? After I asked you not to?” “Hear me out… I wasn’t trying to get her to go out with you or anything. I was just telling her that you totally changed since last year, and—” “Hold on a second. What d’you mean, ‘totally changed since last year’?” “What?” I repeated the question. “Well, you know.” “No. Enlighten me.” She rolled her eyes. “You were a total horndog last year.” “What!” “Yeah. You nailed everything but the crack of dawn.” She talked over my glare. “You did! Daphne, Sara, Gracie, and a whole bunch of others whose names I don’t even know.” “I never had sex with Sara,” I protested. “Okay, but the list is still pretty long. And then there’s Leah.” “She’s different.” “I know. But—” “She is.” “All right! But I’m just sayin’, you slept with a lot of random women last year.” I shot her a baleful look. “Okay! Not Leah.” “Not Daphne either.” “Fine. But the others?” “They weren’t random.” “Then what were their names?” I sighed in exasperation. “Tracy. And, um…” She gestured impatiently. “Lemme think!” She let me flounder for a ten count. “See what I mean?” “Fine, whatever. But why is my sex life anyone else’s business?” “It isn’t, but…” “But what?” Her eyes searched mine. “You really don’t know?” “Know what?” “Christy.” She sighed and debated whether to keep going. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this,” she said at last, “but she had a major crush on you last year.” That cut through my irritation. “For real?” “Totally.” “I had no clue.” “Didn’t think so. And I didn’t tell you ’cause…” She shrugged. “She got over it. You were a total jerk and then… well… you sort of went off the deep end after you found out about Trip and me.” I’d had good reason, I thought sulkily, even if it was selfish and immature. “But I think she might still like you.” “Why is my life so complicated?” “Just lucky, I guess.” “Gee, thanks.” “No problem. Anyway, I’ve been telling Christy how you’ve changed.” I waited for the other shoe to drop. “And…?” “Well… I might’ve told her that you’re saving yourself for someone special.” “Super,” I said sarcastically. “And lemme guess, she could be The One?” Wren had the good sense to look chagrined. “Thought so.” I took another deep breath and exhaled through my nose. “You’ve been spending so much time with her lately. I thought it might be true.” “I’m modeling for her! It’s nothing.” “I know, but…” She leaned forward earnestly. “She’s really great, Paul. I know you’d like her if you gave her a chance! She’s per—” “Stop,” I said. “Just… stop. I really, really don’t need you to fix me up. Least of all with Christy. She’s more of a goody-goody than Kimberly. Aha! Kimberly! Total prick-tease. Catholic, too. Uh-uh, no thanks!” “Whatever. Christy’s—” “Paige,” I blurted. “The other girl’s name was Paige. Huge hypocrite. Said she was ‘saving herself for marriage,’ even though she— Well, you get the picture.” “Christy isn’t like that.” “I don’t care.” “But you’d—” “Wren, please! I asked you before. Please stop. I don’t need help finding a girlfriend. I don’t even want one at the moment.” “But—” “Quit! I know you mean well, but seriously! You aren’t in charge of my life.” “I just want you to be happy.” “Then let me be happy by myself. I’ll find someone when I’m ready. Okay?” “Don’t be mad at Christy. It wasn’t her fault.” “Fine. I’ll blame you next time she says she doesn’t want to sleep with me. Fair enough?” “Yes. But if it makes you feel any better, I think—” “Stop! I don’t wanna know. Sorry. Just leave it alone.” “Okay.” “Listen,” I said to lighten the mood, “I appreciate the thought. I really do. But I don’t need help in the relationship department. I’m fine the way I am, alone.” She put her hand on mine and squeezed. “Are you sure? I know you haven’t… you know, had sex. Not since camp. You must be…” “I’m fine. I jerk off twice a day. I swear.” “Twice a day? You’re probably serious.” She rolled her eyes when she saw my expression. “Hey,” I spread my hands, “a guy has needs.” She laughed but then turned serious. “I just want you to be happy.” “I know. And thanks. But I’m pretty happy now.” “Okay. Well. I’m sorry I started this whole mess.” I nodded amiably. “Now, I’d better get downstairs and start on dinner, or you’re going to tease me about having to order pizza.” “What, you didn’t like my tuna flambé?” “Flambé is an actual cooking technique. What you did is called incineration. That poor casserole. Disgusting!” “Stank up the house too.” “God! Don’t remind me. It was awful.” She stood and planted a kiss on my head. She genuinely cared about me, which made it hard to stay irritated. “I’ll stop matchmaking,” she said. “I swear.” “Why don’t I believe you?” “Because you know me too well.”

✧ ✧ ✧

Mark arranged a limo for Leah’s party. The driver picked us up and drove to a disco club called the Limelight. It was a legendary place, with a glass dance floor over a massive fish tank. Mark had finagled his way onto the VIP list, so the limo dropped us at the head of the line, which already stretched to the road. The inside of the club was an assault on the senses, a maelstrom of light, sound, and heat. I immediately regretted my sport coat. The girls wore slinky party dresses, so they didn’t have to worry about heatstroke. I took off my jacket while Mark tried to get us seats in one of the curtained booths. Unfortunately, we weren’t rich or famous enough. “Hey, I tried,” he shouted over the music. Erin spotted a table with someone she knew. She and Leah headed that direction, while Mark and I made our way to the bar. We joined them about ten minutes later with four Long Island iced teas. “Paul, you remember Mindy,” Erin shouted in my ear. She gestured at a pretty girl sitting next to her. “Yeah, of course,” I lied. I shook her hand. “Great to see you again.” I introduced myself to her date, who looked like he came from a Sears catalogue: Fashion Trend Yuppie, Also Available in Tall. “And you remember Landon,” Erin said. I turned to the other guy and shook his hand. Then my eyes widened. I knew him. “Hey, man!” He pulled me into a hug. “Great to see you. How you been?” “Great! You?” I turned to Mark. “Landon and I were on the wrestling team together, back in high school. He was a year behind me.” Landon introduced us to his girlfriend, Diane, and then something in my memory clicked. Landon had a twin sister. I looked at Mindy. She laughed. “I knew you didn’t remember me!” “I…” I hung my head. “I’m an idiot.” “It’s okay.” “The last time I saw you…” “I was skinny and flat-chested.” She laughed. “Well, you don’t have that problem anymore. So, what’ve you been up to?” We spent the next few hours talking, drinking, and having a good time. I even spent some time on the dance floor, mostly with Leah or Mindy, much to her date’s annoyance. She didn’t seem to care. Mr. Fashion Trend even disappeared for about an hour, and no one noticed until he reappeared to tell Landon he was leaving. “I told Landon I don’t wanna date one of his frat buddies,” Mindy said in my ear. Her look told me exactly who she did want to date. Leah gave me a wink and headed to the dance floor with Mark. I put an arm around Mindy and pulled her close. Might as well enjoy myself, I decided. We partied a while longer and fended off several people who offered to sell us coke. Mark was incredibly cool about it, and made us sound like we were too well-connected to need extra party favors. I was buzzed enough to be curious what it was like, but not so drunk that I was willing to try, even when Mindy hinted that she might like to. A small part of me laughed at how much my attitudes had changed. I used to think drugs were only for losers. And being gay was wrong. And relationships were simple. Period, full stop, end of discussion. Somewhere along the line I must have realized that the world wasn’t black and white. Mindy pulled me back to reality before I could ride away on my high horse. We danced for a couple of songs before she maneuvered me toward a little alcove near the stage. We started making out. Plenty of other couples were doing the same, including a surprising number of gay men. Two of them jostled us and then moved away with a wave of apology. Mindy overreacted. “Relax,” I told her. “They make me wanna barf.” “Why?” “You aren’t grossed out?” “Why should I be? People are people. Besides, I have better things to do.” “Oh?” “Yeah. Like tell you how good you look.” “You aren’t so bad yourself.” I was just wondering how far I wanted to take things when Mark appeared beside us. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “Landon needs your help, Mindy. He’s drunk.” “Can’t Diane take care of him?” “’Fraid not,” he said apologetically. “She tried, but…” Mindy huffed. “He always does this.” We went back to the table, where Landon had more or less passed out. He was bigger than me, and Diane was doing her best to keep him upright. We decided it was a good time to leave. Mark and I ducked under Landon’s arms, while the girls gathered our things from the table. We carried him to his car and laid him on the back seat. Mindy rummaged in the glove compartment until she found a pen and scrap of paper. She scrawled her phone number and handed it to me. Then she gave me a boozy kiss that was half goodbye, half invitation. Erin and Leah both smirked as I helped her into the passenger seat and shut the door. “God, that took forever,” Mark said as they drove off. “What?” “You’re such a goof,” Leah said, and rose to kiss me. “Come on,” Mark said. “Let’s find the limo and get the real party started.”

✧ ✧ ✧

Mark had also booked rooms at a hotel, since the Coulter house was already full of family. Elizabeth’s parents had flown in from England and were staying in the main house. Her sister and brother-in-law had just arrived from Scotland. They currently occupied the pool house with their two grown children. I chuckled at the thought of trying to have an orgy with all those people around. Fortunately, Mark interrupted before the scene in my head turned into an X-rated episode of The Benny Hill Show. “Sorry about what happened back there,” he said as the limo pulled away from the club. “Landon and the girls were fun and all, but they aren’t swingers.” “Ah. Right.” “So,” he finished matter-of-factly, “I had to keep buying Landon drinks.” My eyebrows shot up. “You mean you got him drunk on purpose?” “Yeah. But he wasn’t really the problem. Mindy was.” I looked at Leah out of the corner of my eye. She was more amused than annoyed. “She wasn’t going to let you go until you took her home.” “Um, no,” Erin agreed. “So I had to figure a way to get rid of them, without hurting anyone’s feelings.” “Tonight is a private party,” Leah said. “Now, isn’t there some rule that says the birthday girl gets a kiss?” Who was I to refuse? Mark and Erin began making out too. I pulled Leah’s hand to my lap, and she began squeezing my resurgent erection. “Don’t get too carried away,” Mark said. “We’ll be there soon.” A couple of minutes later, he moved Erin’s hand from his own lap. He turned around to see where we were. “Better cover up,” he said absently, and I realized that Erin’s breast was exposed. She grinned at me and waited until the last second before she lifted the strap of her dress. The limo pulled to a stop outside the hotel entrance. Mark and I helped the girls out of the back while the driver unloaded our small overnight bags from the trunk. “I checked in this afternoon,” Mark said as we grabbed the bags and headed into the lobby. “Adjoining rooms,” he added, and pulled a key from his pocket. “We can party in one and sleep in the other.” We tossed our bags on the beds, and the girls disappeared into the bathroom. “Grab the ice bucket,” Mark said as he opened the door to the other room. “Why? Duh. Never mind.” “Be right back,” he said. “Make yourself comfortable.” I poked around the room—a standard hotel double—and then decided to turn on some music. Mark had brought a boom box. Trip would’ve made a special mix tape just for the party, but Mark hadn’t brought any, even store-bought ones. So I turned on the radio and found a station I remembered from my high school days. “We’re all set,” Mark said when he returned. He put the buckets on the table and plunged two bottles of champagne into the ice. “I brought the stuff to make B-52s. You wanna hand me those bottles?” He lined up shot glasses and filled them partway with Kahlúa. I watched in fascination as he used the back of a spoon to add Bailey’s Irish Cream. Then he carefully finished with a layer of Grand Marnier. “They’re a pain to make and cost a fortune,” he said, “but they’re awesome.” The girls emerged from the other room. I glanced their way and did a double take. “We were overdressed,” Erin explained. I felt a twinge of guilt when I looked at her. The feeling passed quickly, though, and I let my eyes roam over her nude body. I winked at her and turned to Leah. She smiled, warm and inviting. I drank in the sight of her, from tousled dark hair to painted toenails. Then my eyes returned to her face, and I felt a surge of emotion. She must have felt it too, because she looked away quickly. I glanced at Mark, but he hadn’t seen it. “God, you look awesome,” he said. “Both of you.” He crossed to Leah and held her in his arms. For a moment I wished things had gone differently between us. But they hadn’t, I told myself, and now she was with him. I’d missed my chance with Wren too. She said we wouldn’t have made a good couple, but I wasn’t so sure. Erin slid her arm around my waist. I automatically put mine around her shoulders. “You okay?” she asked quietly. “Yeah. Just… thinking.” “I could tell. You get this look.” “That obvious, huh?” “You and Mom… you’re so alike. You overthink everything.” “So you’re an expert on Mom now?” “Have to be,” she said flippantly. “Never be able to do anything otherwise.” “Ah.” “You’d better watch out, though.” “Why’s that?” “Means I’m an expert on you too.” I chuckled. “Somehow I doubt it.” Mark and Leah pulled apart before Erin could reply. “Hey,” Mark said, “who wants shots? They’re your favorite.” “Really? B-52s?” “Yeah. Come on.” He handed out shot glasses. “Happy Birthday!” Leah smiled as we echoed the toast. I paused with the glass at my lips and realized that I should sip instead of toss it back. I tasted the first two layers, but didn’t see what all the fuss was about. Then I grimaced my way through the Kahlúa. “What’s the matter?” Mark said. Leah chuckled. “He doesn’t like coffee.” “That’ll change,” Erin said out of the side of her mouth. I shot her a curious look, which she ignored. “Hey,” she said, louder, “you guys are still dressed.” “We’d better fix that,” Leah said. A look passed between them. Erin set her empty shot glass on the table and began unbuttoning my shirt. I glanced at Mark. “Um… hey, Erin… why don’t you help Leah instead?” “Why? Are you shy?” I wasn’t sure how to react as she undressed me. On one hand, we were nudists, and we saw each other’s bodies all the time. On the other hand, we rarely touched each other. Worse, I hadn’t had any female attention in more than a month, and the little head didn’t care who it was, sister or not. Erin smirked and made sure to press her breasts against me when she took off my shirt. Then she unzipped my pants and surreptitiously tickled my balls through my underwear. Finally, she knelt in front of me to pull off my trousers and boxers. She tugged them far enough down to reveal my pubic hair and the base of my semi-hard cock, which bent as the elastic waistband inched lower. Then she leaned close and looked up at me with a knowing grin. She gave my boxers a quick tug. My cock sprang up and hit her in the chin. She feigned surprise, but pulled back slowly. My dick bounced gently in front of her, so close that I could feel her breath as she laughed. I silently begged Leah to hurry up with Mark. If she didn’t, I was likely to— “There,” Leah said. “That’s better. He’s all ready for you, Erin.” I breathed a sigh of relief as the girls switched places. Leah knelt in front of me. “Ooh, what’s this?” “It’s a hard-on,” Erin said. “You’re supposed to suck it.” “Really? I never would have guessed.” “I can show you, if you like.” “I might need some help later,” Leah said, “but I think I’m fine for now.” She planted a kiss on the tip of my shaft. Then she kissed toward my balls and sang, “Happy birthday to me…” Erin grinned and turned her attention to Mark. She teased him for a bit and then started sucking in earnest. I felt a touch of déjà vu as I watched. She looked a lot like Mom, including the way she held his hips as she bobbed her head. Leah continued humming “Happy Birthday” while she nuzzled my balls. She sucked one into her mouth and swirled her tongue around it, which sent shivers of pleasure up my spine. Then she did the same to the other. I stroked her hair and gently guided her toward the tip of my shaft. She closed her eyes and began sucking. A few minutes later Mark groaned and emptied his balls in Erin’s mouth. She looked up at him as she swallowed. His dick didn’t go soft, so she kept going. The sight was enough to push me over the edge. Leah pumped the base of my shaft and sucked the head until I coated her tongue. She closed her eyes to savor the taste. “Ready for round two?” Mark said. He nodded toward the beds. “Together or separate?” “Together,” the girls said in unison. “Your wish is our command.” Leah stifled a snort of laughter. “What’s so funny?” “Long story,” I said. “Just be glad Wren isn’t here. She’d’ve bitten you. Or worse.” “I’ll tell you later,” Leah promised as I helped her to her feet. I sat on the bed and gestured for her to join me in a sixty-nine. She swung a leg over my head and aimed my cock at her mouth. Erin lay beside us and played with her nipples as Mark went down on her. After about ten minutes he stood, lifted her legs, and slid into her. She groaned and pulled him toward her. He began thrusting with easy strokes. I patted Leah on the flank. “Let me get behind you.” She moved into position, and I entered her from behind. Mark watched as I began fucking her with long, slow strokes. I maneuvered her toward Erin, and they immediately began kissing and playing with each other’s nipples. Mark rubbed Erin’s clit while he fucked her. After several minutes she cried out softly and clutched the bedspread. Leah kissed her and twisted her nipple. Erin went rigid and held her breath at the moment of climax. She beckoned to Mark when it passed. “Come up here. We need your dick.” He climbed onto the bed. Leah began sucking his cock while Erin licked his balls. The temperature in Leah’s pussy went up a couple of degrees. I held her hips and buried my hard-on as deep as I could. Then I reached around and found her clit. The dense little button slid under my fingers as I started rubbing. I rocked my hips at the same time, and my cock moved within her. Mark eventually groaned and held Leah’s head as he erupted in her mouth. Afterward he sat back on his heels. His cock was still semi-hard. Semen oozed from the tip and made a small damp spot on the bedspread. I released Leah’s clit and held her hips as I began thrusting. I quickly worked up to a pounding rhythm. She cried out each time my hips slapped her ass. After less than a minute, she let out a moan and went rigid. I buried my cock and grunted as heat and moisture flooded her pussy. She collapsed on Erin’s chest when her orgasm finally dwindled to aftershocks. Erin looked up at me, her eyes alight with mischief. “Your turn.” “Um, I’m good for the moment.” Leah looked over her shoulder. “I wanna taste you. Just…” She laughed. “Gimme a sec.” “Take your time. No rush.” “Want me to do it?” Erin teased. I glanced at Mark, but he didn’t seem the least bit shocked. “Not on your life,” Leah said. “I’m the birthday girl, remember?” “No problem. Just checking.” Leah pushed herself up. My shaft slid out, shiny with her juices. She turned and saw it, and her eyes lit with excitement. She sighed in pleasure when she tasted herself on my cock. Erin grinned and propped herself on one elbow to watch her friend suck me off. I came after barely a minute. Leah moaned in surprise when the torrent didn’t slow after the first couple of spurts. They eventually tailed off, though, and she pursed her lips. She held my semen in her mouth instead of swallowing. Then she tilted her head back and turned to Mark to show him. “Holy crap! How do you do it, man? I mean, that’s more than a mouthful!” “You can say that again,” Erin joked. Leah closed her mouth and swallowed twice. She took a deep breath and then smiled in satisfaction. “All right, who’s ready for champagne?” Mark climbed off the bed without waiting for an answer. He had a full erection. Again. I blinked in surprise. He hadn’t been playing with himself, so it was probably from watching me and Leah. Whatever floats your boat, I thought. “Sorry about the plastic cups,” he said as he poured. “I couldn’t find my mom’s picnic set.” “I have a toast,” Leah said once we all had cups. Mark looked surprised, but adjusted quickly. “Oh. Okay.” “To the best friends a girl could have.”

✧ ✧ ✧

Mark opened the second bottle of champagne. I turned down another cup. Then Erin and I both declined another round of shots. He made four anyway. He and Leah drank ours. They still had a good buzz from the club, and the shots went straight to their heads. Their birthday kiss turned into making out, with groping and stroking aplenty. “Let’s give them some privacy,” Erin suggested. I knew what she wanted, but wasn’t sure how I felt about it. Still, I went into the other room and turned as she closed the door behind us. “Okay,” I said slowly. “What now?” “What do you think?” “You know what I think.” She didn’t deny it. “How long have you been planning this?” Part of me was curious, but mostly I wanted to buy some time. “Not long.” She moved closer. I took a half-step back. “Only since Leah told me Trip and Wren wouldn’t be here.” “Uh-huh. So Leah was in on it?” “Of course.” She took another step. I moved back. “What about Mark? Does he know?” “Probably. He’s a smart guy.” I ran into the edge of the bed. Erin eased into my personal space. I felt the heat of her body. She looked up at me and moistened her lips, and I willed my penis not to react. It did anyway. Treacherous organ. “See?” she said. “Your dick knows what I want.” I tried to move back but hit the bed. I sat down abruptly. “What about the rules?” “They never really applied to us. They’re only for parents and their own children.” She sank to her knees and gently pushed my thighs apart. “But… we’re pretty drunk.” “Seriously?” “Well, we were. And I still kinda have a buzz.” “Why try to deny it? You want it as much as I do,” she said reasonably. She reached for my dick. It grew in her hands. “See? Besides, you know we’re going to do it.” “I do?” “Mmm hmm. It’s in our blood.” “How?” “Mom and Dad.” “Well, duh. But what about them?” “Mom used to do this with her brother.” Erin leaned forward and kissed the tip of my shaft. “Hank?” “Mmm hmm.” She swirled her tongue around the crown. “Just him and Ginny at first. Then Mom caught wind and wanted to join them. Ginny taught her how to give head.” “Are you serious?” “Totally. Ginny and Hank even went all the way.” She raised my shaft and kissed my balls. “Mom never did, though. She only sucked him off.” Erin chuckled. Her breath was a tingle of pleasure over my sensitive skin. “That’s why she’s so hot for your dick. It reminds her of Hank’s.” “How do you know?” “I’ll never tell.” “Fine,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean you and I are going to—” “Sure it does. I told you, incest runs in the family.” “Maybe Mom—” “Dad too.” “Wait… he doesn’t have a sister. He’s an only child.” “He has a cousin.” Cousin Val. I’d met her at family reunions and the occasional holiday get-together. She’d been a knockout when she was younger. As an adult she was one of those women who radiated sex appeal, like Marilyn Monroe or Raquel Welch. “He lost his virginity to her,” Erin continued without a pause. “They did it every chance they got.” I wondered if they still did. Then I shook off the thought and focused on my current predicament. “So? What’s that have to do with us? With you and me?” “It means,” Erin said, and paused to suck for a moment, “that it’s only a matter of time before we go all the way.” “But the rules…” “Forget the rules. You already did it with Mom. Dad and I did too.” “You mean…? You and Dad…?” I flashed back to Mom’s comments about Erin and “inappropriate behavior.” “Yep.” She stroked my shaft and licked a drop of pre-come from the tip. “All the way?” “I wish! Mom busted us before we could. Everything else, though.” I made a last-ditch effort to fend her off. “That was years ago. You haven’t done anything since, have you? Mom and I haven’t.” “She wants to, though. She wants to finish what you started. She talks to Susan about it all the time. It’s one of her favorite fantasies.” “How do you know all this?” My thoughts raced until they crashed into the obvious answer. “The phone!” “What about it?” Erin said with a complete lack of surprise. “You got your own phone. Last Christmas. Cordless. The handset just picks up, no noise. It even has a mute button.” I looked at her in surprise. “You’ve been eavesdropping!” “I’d never do that…” “Bullshit! No wonder you and Mom are getting along. You’re playing her!” “So? Mom’s happy. I’m happy. What’s the big deal?” “But… it’s wrong!” “It isn’t hurting anyone. Besides, you can’t be too upset.” She brandished my hard-on as proof. “Fine. All right. I’m not too upset.” I cast about for another way to distract her. “Tell me what Mom and Susan talk about.” She tapped my erection against her chin and pretended to think about it. “I will if you fuck me.” “Sorry. No deal.” I tried to push myself to my feet. “Oh, for God’s sake! Sit down. I’ll tell you. Sheesh!” I felt the momentum shifting, so I put my hand on her head. “Suck first.” She swallowed half my cock. I imagined Mom on her knees as a teenager, sucking her own brother’s dick. In my mind’s eye, I saw a teenage Ginny (nude, of course), guiding her head as she bobbed on his cock. Then my thoughts flashed to memories of Mom as a grown-up, on her knees and sucking me. I was in danger of coming too soon if I kept that up, so I cleared my head and stopped Erin before I lost control. “Now tell,” I said, as sternly as I could. “What do Mom and Susan talk about?” “Boring stuff.” “Liar.” She grinned. “They have phone sex. A lot. Especially when Dad’s out of town. Mom totally wants to fuck you. Susan eggs her on, tells her what it’s like. And…” “And what?” “They tell each other fantasies.” “Like what?” “Well, Mom has this one…” I was hooked, and Erin knew it. “We’re on a desert island,” she said at last. “Just the four of us. We take a boat there with a week’s worth of food and water. There’s a house on the beach.” “Incest Family Robinson?” I chuckled at my own wit. “Something like that. We don’t have any rules, so we do whatever we like. Anything goes. Mom has a pretty wild imagination.” And the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I admitted. Erin smiled as my dick twitched in her hands. “See? You totally wanna have sex.” “Of course. But we’re not going to.” “But… you promised!” “No I didn’t.” She thought back and then scowled when she realized I was right. “Fine!” she snapped. “That’s just like you. Mom too! She breaks her promises all the time. God, it’s so unfair!” I laughed, a bit heartlessly, although I understood Erin’s resentment. Mom had always been harder on her than me. Dad was the same, but in reverse. I couldn’t blame him, though. Erin was good at getting what she wanted. Most of the time. “So you aren’t going to fuck me?” she said flatly. “Sorry. No.” “Why? I told you about Mom!” “It’s against the rules,” I said, with a lot more kindness than before. “You said it yourself, I’m a lot like Mom.” “Tell me about it,” she huffed. I continued, as though I hadn’t heard her, “I need to get used to the idea. But… just because we can’t have sex doesn’t mean we can’t do other things.” Her eyes brightened. “For real?” “For real. Besides, you and Leah worked so hard to set this up. Be a shame to let all that effort go to waste.” “It was kinda fun, talking about it and planning.” She grinned a bit sheepishly. “Now I know why Mom and Susan get so excited.” “Mmm hmm.” I cupped her breasts. They barely sagged, but I hefted them to test their weight. She closed her eyes and sighed. I played with her nipples. Then I had an idea. An evil one. “Tell you what…,” I said, “We can do what Mom and I did, but you have to prom—” “You mean it? You’ll do it?” “Uh-huh. As long as you promise not to be disappointed when it’s over.” “I promise!” I smothered a grin. “Okay. Get on the bed and spread your legs.” She practically leapt past me. Her eyes shone with anticipation as she rolled to her back. I felt the barest twinge of guilt for what I was about to do, but not for the taboo reason. Erin didn’t remember what had really happened with Mom and me. Although even if she did, she’d built it up in her mind to a point where the fantasy had lost touch with reality. I climbed onto the bed. Erin hooked her legs behind the knee and pulled them wider. Her pubic hair spread as her labia parted. I felt a moment of uncontrolled lust as I remembered Mom in the same position. But then I reminded myself how that had ended. I wasn’t a fifteen-year-old boy anymore, I told myself. I was a man, and my hard-on wasn’t making decisions for me. I chuckled softly. “What a difference a few years make.” “Huh?” “Never mind.” I scooted forward and teased Erin’s pussy with my cock. The shaft practically jumped in my hand. Her pink inner lips were slick with moisture, and they hugged my glans as I pushed into her. Her insides were hot, smooth, and wet. I was tempted to throw the rules out the window and fuck her anyway. The little head thought I should, but the big head was still in control. For the moment, at least. I eased forward and watched my shaft disappear inside her. Her stomach fluttered as her breathing grew shallow. I finally stopped when my thighs touched hers. “Count to ten,” I said, my voice tight with the effort to hold still. “What? Why?” “Just do it.” “One, two—” “Slower.” She paused between each number but eventually reached ten. I clenched my jaw and withdrew my cock. It sprang up when the head popped free. “Unh! Put it back.” I shook my head. I didn’t trust myself to speak. “Paul, please!” “Uh-uh. That’s it. That’s exactly what Mom and I did.” Her nostrils flared. “I told you. And you promised.” “But I thought—?” “I know what you thought. But you were wrong. Mom and I didn’t have sex. Not in any real sense.” “But…” “Sorry. We didn’t. I had my dick inside her for about ten seconds. Tops.” I’d told Erin that before, but she didn’t remember. “I didn’t even thrust, and I definitely didn’t come.” “You cheated,” she said at last. “No. I just let you think what you wanted.” “God! You’re just like Mom.” “I’ll take that as a compliment.” “It wasn’t.” “I know. But I don’t care. Now,” I continued, “I don’t know about you, but I’m still horny as hell.” I looked down at my dick. It was so hard that it pulsed in time with my heart. “If you’re still in the mood…?” “I oughta say no.” “But you won’t.” She heard the self-confidence in my voice. She frowned. “You owe me…” “Yeah, Er, I do.” “I can’t believe you fooled me like that.” “Hey, I had to do something! You were starting to get to me.” I let my expression soften. “Don’t worry. Like you said, it’ll happen.” “Ha! I’ll believe it when I see it.” “I’ll take a picture.” “Not on your life,” she said seriously. “Stuff like that has a way of getting out. I don’t want some twenty-year-old pictures to come back to haunt me someday.” My eyebrows shot up. “Are you serious?” “Totally. Now, get on your back. If you won’t fuck me, at least you can eat me while I blow you.” I grinned and did as ordered. Erin could be a little dictator when she wanted. She had Dad’s tone of command, coupled with Mom’s wantonness and sex drive. It was a dangerous combination. For everyone else, that is. She climbed into a sixty-nine and immediately grabbed my dick. Then she laughed. “Uh… what?” “It’d better be worth it.” “What?” “When you finally fuck me.” I relaxed. “I’d better come like gangbusters with every thrust.” I laughed. “Sure, Er.” “I mean it,” she said, and stroked my cock. “You owe me. Big time.” I ignored her and focused on her pussy instead. I parted her bush to reveal the pink pearl of her clit. I flicked it with my tongue. She gasped and forgot about my dick for a moment. “Better?” I didn’t wait for an answer before I started licking in earnest. She groaned, and I felt her hot breath on the base of my shaft. I wanted her to start sucking, but she ignored me and focused instead on the pleasure building in her pussy. It finally reached a crescendo, and she gripped my cock like it was a lifeline in a hurricane. She panted from the force of it when the storm finally passed. I congratulated myself and slowly withdrew my fingers. Her vagina contracted from aftershocks, and I watched in fascination as her opening clenched and released. I felt a surge of lust as I thought about fucking her for real, not just ten seconds of motionless torture. She snapped me out of it with a breathy chuckle. “That was gangbusters all right. Almost as good as Dad. But now it’s my turn.” “Whaddya mean, almo— Ohhhh!” I blinked and slowly returned to my senses. Erin had swallowed my cock almost to the root. The head had entered her throat. “Didn’t know I could do that, did you?” she said playfully. “God… no.” “Maybe I’m a bit like Mom after all.” “That’s a good thing,” I panted. “I’ve been practicing. I have a dildo about the same size. It isn’t as stiff as the real thing, though.” “Sorry ’bout that.” “That’s okay. It doesn’t react when I do this…” I rewarded her with another gasp of pleasure. “It doesn’t play with my pussy, either.” “Right. Got it.” I spread her open with two fingers and gave her clit an experimental lick. She began sucking my cock. She took it deep a couple of times, although she couldn’t keep it there for long. I didn’t really care. My sister was sucking my cock. That thought alone was enough to push me toward the edge. Erin sensed when I was close. She sped up and used her hand as an extension of her mouth. The muscles in my back and legs tensed as the pressure mounted. I thrust my hips into the air and held them there. Erin moaned in surprise when semen shot straight down her throat. She recovered quickly and stroked the base of my shaft with each spurt. When I could think again, I lowered my hips to the bed. Erin released my cock and panted to catch her breath. I tried to speak but only croaked. I swallowed hard and waited for the moisture to return to my throat. “Yes?” Erin prompted. I could hear the grin in her voice. “Gangbusters.”

✧ ✧ ✧

We eventually returned to the party side of the suite, and Leah raised her dark eyebrows with a question. Erin answered with a terse headshake. Leah’s shoulders fell. “You’re kidding.” “No.” Mark followed the conversation without asking what it was about. Leah skewered me with a look. “You’re impossible. You know that?” “So they tell me,” I said laconically. She frowned and then had to stifle a sudden yawn. I grinned. “Long night?” “A perfect night,” she corrected. Then she glanced at Erin. “Well, almost.” Erin shrugged. “It’s all right. I’d like to borrow Mark for a bit, though.” He jumped up. “Your wish is my command!” Leah and I both laughed. “What is it about that phrase?” he said, a bit deflated. “Ignore us,” I told him. “Whatever.” He extended a hand to Erin. His dick was completely hard. Again. And judging by Leah’s disheveled look, it wasn’t because he’d left her alone for the past hour. Erin joined him on the other bed. She didn’t bother with foreplay. She simply climbed on top and set his cock at her pussy. She sat back and began moving her hips. “You in the mood for another round?” I asked Leah. “Eventually. But first… can we shower?” “I’d like that.” All of her things were in the other bathroom, so I followed her into the adjoining room. “Why didn’t you do it with Erin?” she asked. “That was half the reason we set things up the way we did.” “Timing wasn’t right.” I left it at that. She gazed at me thoughtfully. “Sometimes I just don’t get you.” “I’m a pain in the butt, I know. Lots of people would agree.” “You’re such a goof.” “But I’m your goof.” Her smile wavered and turned melancholy. “Do you ever wonder…?” “Yeah,” I said after a moment. “All the time.” The silence grew uncomfortable. “Ready for that shower?” “I need to pee first.” “Go ahead.” “Don’t be silly.” She took my hand and led me into the bathroom. She used the toilet while we waited for the shower to heat up. Then I pulled aside the curtain and followed her into the tub. All of a sudden she turned and put her arms around me. I held her lithe, water-slick body against mine. “I love you.” “I love you too.” “And if things were different…” “They aren’t,” I said, a little too curtly. “I know. I’m sorry.” “Don’t be. I want you to be happy.”

✧ ✧ ✧

We made love again after Mark and Erin went to sleep. A part of me felt like I was betraying his friendship, but Leah and I would always have something between us, something that had existed long before he met her. If only I’d realized it sooner. “Ah, well,” I said aloud, softly. “If wishes were horses…” Leah rolled toward me in the dark. She held my face and kissed me. Then she reached between us and found my penis. It was limp after five orgasms, but she coaxed it to life. “Are you sure?” I whispered. “Mmm hmm.” “Get on your stomach.” I straddled her hips and slid into her without looking. She sighed and clutched the pillow. I kissed her neck. She turned her head and found my lips. I began thrusting gently. Mark and Erin slept on.

✧ ✧ ✧