Page 16 of Lost in Love

I can’t tell if he’s serious. Can you?

After taking a long pull from his beer, he chuckles. “Nah, I’m just playin’. It’s easier this way. I can still be a part of my boys’ lives without having to do the whole shared-custody shit. I don’t want to be a weekend dad, and if we can at least make this work, it’s better for the boys.”

I never looked at it that way. It’s nice that they can do that and make it work.

“So what happens when you wanna get laid?” Bonner asks, watching his wife walk toward us with her cat in her arms. In the distance, I can see Hazel standing in the driveway, frowning that the cat left her.

“I wouldn’t know,” Steve mumbles dejectedly.

Clearly, I’m not the only one struggling these days.

“Me either,” I add, and immediately regret it. There are just some things you shouldn’t talk about with complete strangers, and sex is usually one of them. Married sex, even worse. It’s… I don’t know, it’s fucking sacred. Past dating, you don’t talk about it. But for some fucked-up reason, I opened my mouth and immediately regret it.

“What?” they all ask, staring at me like I just told them what Bonner’s wife does for a living. Or more importantly, who.

And then Bonner adds, “Married sex is the best!”

“Maybe in the beginning, but that shit wears off after a few years,” Jason points out, looking to me for confirmation. “Doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” I say, trying to avoid being pulled in the conversation. Do you notice he doesn’t say anything to Steve? We’re all a little nervous about him, trying to decide if maybe this midlife crisis thing is him deciding he prefers eggplant to clams. You never know. No judgment here, I swear.

Jason sighs. “I spent more time taking care of it myself than I did getting it from my wife.”

“I didn’t get married to masturbate,” I point out, wishing my drunk mouth would shut the fuck up.

This is why I don’t like having sex talk around friends. I can’t even call these dudes friends because I don’t really know them. Eventually, after three more beers, the conversation lands on Bonner and his facts about sex. He’s surprisingly full of them. “I’m serious. Only 2 percent of women can come during sex.”

Jason snorts. “That’s not true.”

Bonner nods like he’s trying to convince us of his knowledge. His cheeks are flushed like maybe he’s had too many, but, I guarantee you, he’s a seasoned drinker for sure. “It’s true.”

“Well, those broken bitches need to get it together,” I say, because I need to add my two cents, right? Nope. I don’t. But I do. “Kel comes every time.”

You’re probably thinking, shut the fuck up, dumbass. Drunk me is thinking to himself:She does, doesn’t she?

Just so you know, I shouldn’t be talking about this. Look at Steve. He hasn’t said a fucking word because he knows. You shouldn’t dish details about married sex. It’ll backfire on you later.

“She’s probably faking it,” Jason snickers, tossing his empty beer can in the trash can next to me.

I’m currently using the can to support myself, but then I think about what Jason said. Is she? Nah. She couldn’t be. I’d know if she was faking, right?

Bonner leans forward, dipping his head to catch my attention. He waits until we’re making eye contact before suggesting, “I think you just need to spice it up a bit.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Like how?”

“Make a sex tape.”

“What?” I gasp. “No. I’m not making a sex tape. Nobody is seeing my wife naked.”

“Not for public consumption.” Bonner laughs and takes a seat on a stack of spare tires he has laying around. “For you two only. Spice it up a bit. She’s probably tired of your old ass and bored.”

“Or she’s depressed,” Steve points out, like he knows why but won’t say. I haven’t been open about why Kelly and I are having problems, or even what happened with Mara. For all these guys know, we have four kids and never had five.

“Okay. Let’s say she’s depressed.” Bonner shifts on the tires, waving his arms around like he’s preparing for a great debate. “She’s sad and vulnerable. She’s screaming for you to cure her with your cock.”

Just then, Bonner’s wife enters the garage with a bag on her shoulder and dressed in a tiny black dress that barely covers her ass cheeks. Actually, scratch that, it doesn’t. I see the white tan lines on the tops of her thighs from where she tans.

Why am I looking?

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