Till Summer Do Us Part(47)

He chuckles some more. “I mean, that looks worse for me than you.”

“This is not funny, Wilder. This is exactly what I’m talking about. We need to keep it tight. We can’t just be flailing about, thinking there are no consequences to what we say and do.”

“In my defense, when I filled out the application, I wasn’t aware that there were themed cabins. This just happens to be a unique coincidence. And I did mention in that first meeting with Sanders that we were pretty kinky.”

“Yeah, a unique one I want nothing to do with.” I catch Sanders turning toward the door and offering me a thumbs-up, looking to see if we’re ready. I hold out a finger, asking for one more minute. “Remember what we talked about, okay? Be cool. This is no time to go off the rails with your improv. I saw that look in your eye.”

“What look?” he asks.

“The one that said ‘we’re about to have fun with this.’”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s a look I have,” he counters.

“Oh, you do. I saw it. Clear as day.”

“I think you’re making things up in your head.”

“I am not,” I shoot back.

“You are.”

“Wilder.” I sit taller, growing frustrated with him. “I am—”

“I see that you’re arguing,” Sanders says, coming into the room. “And I know you asked for privacy, but I think that it’s important I’m a part of these conversations. So”—he takes a seat in his chair—“please, tell me what you’re arguing about.”

I glance over at Wilder, panic filling me, but of course, he apparently has no sense of anxiety, because he crosses one leg over the other and casually says, “She hates our cabin, and she’s mad at me for filling out the application incorrectly.”

Okay, well, that’s a truthful answer.

“I see,” Sanders says and then reaches into his seat cushion and pulls out a baseball.

Ahh, there we are.

He tosses it in his hand and says, “Why did you lie on the application?”

“Simple,” Wilder says flippantly. “I filled it out to inspire us, to remind us of the couple we used to be.”

How this man can just lie so casually is fascinating and scary at the same time. It makes me wonder why I’m trusting him to go through this journey with me.

Yet here I am, going along with it.

Sanders turns to me and says, “What does he mean by that?”

Christ.

Swallowing the saliva that has built up in my mouth, I say, “Uh, we used to be, uh, hot and heavy, in the bedroom.”

“I see,” Sanders says and then tilts his head to the side. “Does that make you uncomfortable, saying that?”

This entire situation makes me uncomfortable.

Everything about it.

From the camp.

To the lies.

To the fleshy sword in the shower.

“Yes,” I answer. “I’m not proud of the fact that our love life isn’t what it used to be.”

“And what did it used to be?” Sanders asks.

I’m about to answer when Wilder steps in. “Wild. Out of control. Couldn’t get her off me even if I wanted to. Addicted to my penis.”

My cheeks flush, and I grind my teeth together, attempting to remain calm.

A simple “active” would have sufficed.

“Addicted to your penis seems a little much,” I say, clearing my throat to avoid showing how much I want to shove my foot in Wilder’s mouth.

“Says the girl who made a mold of my penis so she could have it when I was gone on work trips.”

My lips purse, and my jaw tenses.

He turns to Sanders and says, “She uses it when I’m gone. Used to send me pics of her using it.”

This motherfucker!

“Yeah, well, I got the idea from him, as he needed a mold of my breasts because he wanted to make a pillow to sleep on when he was away.”

Sanders looks over at Wilder, who raises his hand and says, “Guilty. She has great tits.”

God, does nothing faze him?

“Were you offended by the breast pillow?” Sanders asks me as he tosses the ball in his hand back and forth.

“I was offended when he pierced it,” I say, folding my arms across my chest. “He’s been begging me to get my nipples pierced, and it’s just not for me, so when he pierced the breast pillow, it was like a slap to the face.”

Ha, take that, you fuck.

Wilder turns toward me and says in a reserved tone, “You said on our honeymoon that you’d get them pierced after I got my dick pierced for you.” He wets his lips. “So you can just use my dick piercing for your personal pleasure, but I can’t even get one goddamn nipple?”

The challenge in his eyes spurs something inside me, and before I can stop myself, I yell, “I told you my nipples are too small for it, yet you consistently make me feel bad over and over again about not piercing them.”

“The guy at the shop said he could do smaller barbells.” Wilder’s voice raises.

“At a higher expense,” I shout back.

Wilder’s face contorts into pure anger. “And I told you, I don’t care about the expense. There’s no price I wouldn’t pay for you to have that experience.”