Page 9 of Sex, Lies, and Margarita Mixes

He leans in, “It’s not like you’ve never kicked me out before. You freak, you leave or tell me to. It never lasts. Because you love me. And I love you, Roxy West.”

And just like that, we’re too close.

His mouth is a breath from mine. His hand settles on my hip. I can feel his next words in my soul before he says them aloud. “You want me to leave? For real. Say it. Right now. Just say the word, baby. I’ll tell them we’re broken. But you and I both know we’re not.”

Oh, Chase.

I step back like I’ve been burned because he’s right.

I hate it.

Marching back inside, I grab a sticky note pad from the kitchen drawer and scrawl a note in all caps.

RULE #1: NO SEX WITH MY HUSBAND.

Then, I slap it on the fridge, right next to the laminated itinerary taped there.

Chase walks in. He reads it. Smirking, he pulls out his phone and takes a photo. “Okay, Roxy. I’ll put it in my notes.”

I narrow my eyes. “I wrote it in bold, Chase.”

“I see that. Whatever you say, baby.” He chuckles and leans forward to quickly press his lips to mine. I gasp and he grins as he walks backwards out of the kitchen, his eyes locked on me the entire time.

Liar. He did not put it in his notes.

CHASE

* * *

Roxy is sitting across from me in a circle of throw pillows and broken boundaries. Soft music is playing. Incense is burning. Sasha, our friend and a licensed couple’s therapist, is instructing us all. “Connect with your partner’s energy through stillness.”

I’m currently trying not to connect with her nipples, visible through her tank top.

It’s not going great.

“We’re going to play a little game,” Sasha says, holding up a blindfold.

Roxy’s eyebrows lift so high they nearly leave her face.

“We’ll pair off, blindfold one partner, and let the other guide them in a basic task—pouring a glass of water, finding a specific object, folding a blanket…”

Miguel claps. “Sensory trust! I love this one.”

Sasha beams. “You’ll use only words. No touching. Let your voices lead. Let yourselves fall into one another.”

Roxy whispers, “This sounds like a cult.”

I whisper back, “You’d be the hot one who sleeps with the leader and poisons the punch.”

She smiles. “You’d drink it anyway.”

Not wrong on that one, baby.

We pair up.

She crosses her arms defensively. It pushes her cleavage together and all I want to do is bury my face between it. “Who’s blindfolded first?” She asks, pulling me back from my mental visual stimulation.

“Trust me?” I ask.

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