Till Summer Do Us Part(65)

Everyone raises their hands, including Wilder, who also raises my hand. “The condoms are trash,” Wilder says. “Can’t even get ‘ribbed for her pleasure’? What the hell is that?”

“Right,” Brad commiserates. “And fifteen dollars for three? My woman likes how I meet her needs, but five dollars per orgasm—outrageous.”

Not, uh, not something I want to know about Brad. Meeting his “woman’s needs” just made me gag.

“Wait, so do you all have lovemaking minibars too?” Wilder asks. “Because I thought we were the only ones with the kinky cabin?”

“You are the only one,” Chad says, almost irritated. “It’s the coveted cabin.”

Ew.

Coveted?

That’s not something you want to hear.

“It’s rare when they let a couple stay in it,” Duncan adds from the side.

Well, at least that’s reassuring. Can’t imagine what it would look like if you took a black light to the place. Probably startling.

“We’ve only had it once,” Brad says, making bile rise in my throat. Brad has been in there? That’s very unappealing to me. Good luck sleeping tonight. “And it was the best eight days of my life.”

His wife elbows him, but he doesn’t seem to care.

Guess what? I do. I care. I don’t need the image of Brad in our cabin while I try to go to sleep tonight.

“I can see that,” Wilder says.

And, Wilder, for the love of God, stop engaging.

“Are the handcuffs still there?” Brad asks.

“They are,” Wilder lazily answers as he stares off to the sky, almost like he’s reminiscing about using them.

“The lining on them is nice, right?”

“Really nice,” Wilder says with a nod. “Top tier if you ask me, and we’ve seen our fair share of handcuffs.”

Jesus, Wilder, please stop talking. I don’t need everyone knowing about my sex life, well…my nonexistent sex life. I mean, well, I don’t need them assuming what my sex life is like. There.

And then, to my chagrin, Wilder keeps talking. “Never have I ever been handcuffed to a bed.” He looks around the firepit, and then without breaking to pause, he raises his hand high toward the sky.

Why is everyone allowing him to control this game? Wasn’t this someone else’s idea? Why aren’t they the ones asking the questions?

But then, of course, the handcuff brigade starts chiming in. Brad’s wife raises her hand, Duncan raises his hand, and, boy oh boy, am I seeing him in a new light.

“What about you?” Chad asks me while Wilder pulls the marshmallow from the fire.

“Nah, she handcuffs me,” Wilder answers and then plops the marshmallow on the plate while my cheeks heat with embarrassment. “If you’re not letting your partner do the tying up, then you aren’t doing it right.” He sticks another marshmallow on a stick and then casually places it over the flames.

Chad doesn’t seem to care for that answer, and I have no reason why, but I can feel him look us up and down, ready to pounce. “You know, you two seem to be very comfortable with each other,” Chad says, a squint to his eye.

“I would hope so,” Wilder says, “We’re married.”

“But only this morning, you were arguing. Now you’re snuggling next to a fire? Make that make sense.”

“Chad, don’t,” Brad says.

Wait, hold on. Don’t what?

“It’s a simple question,” Chad says, pressing.

“No, a simple question would be asking what kind of handcuffs we use in the bedroom,” Wilder says. “Your question is loaded with doubt and unnecessary curiosity.”

“It just seems convenient is all.”

“What is so convenient?” Wilder asks, now sitting taller. I can feel him tense beneath me, no longer focused on the marshmallow but on the man next to us.

And this is a different side to him, a protective side. This is what Mika must see when Wilder is making sure he’s okay.

“Hey, how about we continue the game?” Duncan says. “Uh, never have I ever—”

“Stop acting like we’re not all thinking or talking about it,” Chad says as he sets his s’mores plate to the side. “You’re faking it.”

Oh my God, what?

“Excuse me?” Wilder asks as my body goes numb from the thought of them finding out about us.

Call me a fool, but I thought we were doing a good job, that we were successfully presenting ourselves as a married couple. Sure, we’re not wearing wedding rings, nor do we seem like a happily married couple like the rest of them, but they knew that ahead of time, since we’re a marriage in crisis.

“Seriously, Chad,” Brad says. “Don’t.”

“No, something has to be said, because they’re playing the system.” He turns to us and says, “We take this camp seriously. This is a time for us to recharge our marriage, and you’re making a mockery of it, faking your issues so you can get more attention.”

My skin prickles.

My nerves jump in fear.

And I think it’s time we leave.

The tension from the group.

Wilder’s budding anger.

This can explode and not in a good way, especially since we have no leg to stand on when it comes to being here.