Page 53 of Sex, Lies, and Margarita Mixes

Mari Lynn and Roxy have been chugging margaritas and shooting tequila for about two hours now.

They’re so wasted.

Mari Lynn reaches over and tries to adjust Roxy’s very skimpy string bikini top, muttering something about nipple sunburns.

Roxy replies with, “My left boob's immune to shame!”

Knox turns to me and says, without flinching, “So, this is our life, huh?”

I sip my own drink, just margarita, and nod. “Every blessed day. We’re some lucky sons of bitches.”

He grins, shakes his head and says, “They’re insane. Both of them. Like sexy as hell hurricanes.”

“And we live in the eye of it.” I laugh.

“You like it there?” He asks.

I snort. “I married her after three weeks and built a fucking condo in it, man. You don’t?”

He gruffly laughs and looks over at his woman, shakes his head, and says, “Wouldn’t want anyone else.”

Same, bro. Same.

We’re standing near the edge of the patio, half-watching our wives spiral into full-blown tequila giddiness. Mari’s pulling out sunscreen. Roxy’s trying to convince her to drink it.

I glance at him.

“You good? The show, the wife, the… everything?”

He nods. And his voice is content as he says, “Yeah. Took a minute. A lot of changes, but… yeah. I’m fucking great.”

I get it.

Marriage is war.

And love?

Love’s the battlefield you go back to again and again.

Because some scars are worth it.

He tips his drink at me. “Heard you almost knocked out the toxic ex.”

I shrug. “I would have. But I didn’t need to. Technically, Roxy almost threw hands… and a chair. I threatened with legal action and emotional violence.”

“You’re calm.” He laughs.

“I’m strategic.” I reply.

He laughs. “What’s your strategy now?”

I look toward the pool. Roxy’s perched on a float shaped like a pink sparkly flamingo, hair wet, drink in one hand, sunglasses on crooked. She’s yelling something about oral fixations and me winning a papaya eating contest with no hands to Mari Lynn, who is on a giant float shaped like a blue llama with a frog on its head. Their feet are hooked together, and Mari Lynn is laughing so hard she’s crying.

I smile. “Love her like she’s a lightning storm I want to get struck by. Every day.”

He’s quiet. Then, he says, “You’re good at this.”

“What? Being whipped?”

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