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“She’s still into you.”
“You jealous?”
Bridget scrunches up her face. “Why? Just because you slept with her?”
I stare at Bridget. How is she not jealous? The women I’ve been with have always hated any ex-girlfriends or sex partners of mine. “What if I invited her into a threesome with us?”
“If I wanted a threesome, she would not be my choice.”
“Yeah? Who would?”
Bridget cranes her head to look back where we were sitting. She picks out one of the bridesmaids. “Lisa.”
“Why Lisa?”
“She seems fun and doesn’t seem to take herself too seriously. Who would you pick?”
This could be dangerous territory to discuss, like answering when a woman asks, “Does this make me look fat?”
“Lisa,” I second.
“Why?”
“Her boyfriend’s annoying. It would be fun to watch him turn green with envy.”
“Is he the world-revolves-around-me-because-I-went-to-Harvard guy?”
“That’s the one.”
Bridget laughs. I’m surprised we’re having a conversation about menage, even if it is hypothetical, without Bridget getting wierded out by it.
“You ever been in a threesome?” I ask, wondering if maybe she’s not as wholesome as she appears.
“No. Have you?”
I regret my question now.
She interprets my silence. “You have. Is it something you do a lot of?”
“No.”
“You ever do a threesome with Kimberly?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. Don’t worry. I’m not going to judge you.”
“Does it matter what I did with Kimberly?”
“No.”
She leaves it at that. We sit in comfortable silence until a server comes by and asks if we want anything. We both shake our heads.
“How much do I owe you for dinner and room service?” Bridget asks.
“JD took care of dinner. But why are we back on this topic?”
“You said I could help pay for the meals.”
