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“Yes, of course.”
Dean stands nearby, watching our awkward exchange. “Good start,” he mutters. “Now…”
Now…what?I think.
“You guys really suck at conversations,” he says, crossing his arms.
Tilting my head, I give him an exasperated glare. “Not helpful.”
Briar goes to the sink to rinse her face, and I swallow down my humiliation. This isn’t us. We don’t do crazy shit like this. We’re a respectable, married couple. Not some kinky couple still in their twenties and down to experiment.
“I think what Dean is trying to tell us, Caleb, is that we need to talk about what we just did,” she says, patting her face with a paper towel.
“Why?” I ask.
She lets out a sigh.
“You should talk about it,” Dean replies, “so your wife doesn’t start to feel ashamed of blowing you in the kitchen with another man involved.”
My eyes widen as I turn back toward her. “Do you…feel ashamed?”
She shrugs. “No.”
“There you go,” Dean replies. “And what about you?”
“What about me?” I quip back.
“Did you like it?” Briar asks.
My gaze scans over to Dean. I know the question is not whether I liked the blow job—that’s a given. The question is whether I liked seeing another man touch my wife, feeling jealous and compelled to reclaim her. Telling her what to do just to watch her please me so I can shower her with praise.
Did I like that?
To be honest, I liked it a lot fucking more than I expected.
Just as I open my mouth to reply, the doorbell rings, and we all stare at each other in shock.
“Shit. Your mom is bringing Abby back.”
“I should go,” Dean says, moving toward the back door.
Briar and I rush to clean up and compose ourselves, and I make it to the foyer first.
Abby barrels through the front door excitedly, and my mother trails far behind. “I’m going swimming!” my daughter shouts.
“Not without me or Mom,” I yell in her direction.
“I don’t think she ever runs out of energy,” my mother says with an exasperated smile as she reaches the front door.
“I think you’re right,” I reply. “Thanks for keeping her for a couple of nights.”
“Oh, anytime,” my mom says. “She keeps me young.”
I laugh to myself as my mother hovers near the door. I feel her looking at me with that comforting, motherly expression on her face.
When she reaches out and squeezes my arm, I tense. “And how're you doing, darlin’?”
How am I doing?Well, aside from the fact that my father is going to prison, my marriage is falling apart, my estranged brother’s ex-boyfriend foundhisunderwear inmypocket, and my wife gave me a blow job while another man watched in our kitchen this morning, I’d say I’m doing fine. Nothing out of the ordinary, right?
