Page 41 of Sex, Lies, and Margarita Mixes

TEQUILA, TRUTH, AND ONE HIGHLY PUNCHABLE EX

ROXY

* * *

The margaritas are heavy on the tequila and flowing like a river. It tastes like poor decisions and perfect timing. Exactly how I like it.

We’re on night six of the seven-day retreat. It all ends tomorrow.

Thank heavens!

The intimacy exercises are devolving. The couples are feral. Miguel and Sasha are still not really speaking, which is super awkward since it’s a couples retreat, and Sasha is literally the instructor. Miguel is drunker than shit and shirtless. Trent’s moaning about handcuffs. And Sasha just suggested a drinking game called “Truth or Tequila: The Relationship Destruction Edition,” all while trying not to look at Miguel and absolutely failing miserably.

Naturally, I’m all in.

I’m three margaritas and three shots deep when a question hits me like a glitter bomb.

“Roxy,” Bree grins, already buzzed, “what’s the wildest place you’ve ever had sex?”

Chase’s smirk is immediate.

I sip.

Everyone leans in.

Raising an eyebrow, I say, “On the back of a Vespa in Florence.”

Trent drops his drink.

Miguel bows while still sitting and takes a long sip of his drink.

Whitney gapes. “Like…while it was moving?”

Chase lifts his glass. “It was but we didn’t crash. At least not in front of people.”

I wink.

Sasha spins the bottle again and it lands on Chase.

“Same question,” Bree demands.

He doesn’t even blink.

“Well, I was there for the Vespa incident, but I think the rented bounce house during a child’s birthday party, tops that.”

Gasps follow, along with wide eyes, and then, laughter.

Whitney screeches incredulously, “Seriously… you did what?! Y’all did not. That’s… um… No y’all didn’t.”

Chase shrugs. “We did. But in our defense, the kids were at the cake table, along the house and we were way further back. Plus, the bounce house had dark mesh siding.”

Miguel mutters, “And you’re the reason I don’t trust balloon animals or giant rubber death traps.” He refills his glass with margarita and adds about three extra shots to it. His eyes slide over to Sasha. Chase and I catch it and look at each other, smirking.

We keep going. The questions get worse. Saucier. Messier.

Who’s faked it? Who’s cheated? Who’s fantasized about someone else at the table?

The bottle spins. It points at me. And Bree leans forward.

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