Page 63 of Summer with My Sexy Ex
Blanche:Let’s change the subject.
“This is great, by the way,” I say, pointing to my parfait and taking a big bite.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod. “I’m great. Why?”
His brow furrows. I should have used a different adjective. My mood can’t be great if my yogurt is great.
Dammit.
“I’m good,” I say with a close-lipped smile. Because: berries. “So, do we still win the scavenger hunt or did Pete and Amy convince everyone to become delusional with them?”
“I made reservations at the spa for a couples massage and a soak. You know, the scavenger hunt prize? Once we use it, they can’t take it back.”
“Oh, yeah. Uh, what time?”
“You got somewhere else to be, wife?”
“I’m catching the two-thirty flight back to Santa Luna.”
“Why do you keep trying to leave?”
“Why do you want me to stay?”
“What’s going on?” he asks.
I don’t have an answer to that. At least not one I’m ready to share.
“I thought we agreed on this.” He scoots his chair closer to mine, takes my yogurt, puts it on the table, and then turns my chair to face him. “You said this would happen and told me how to stop it. We signed on it and everything.” He takes my hands in his.
“Did we, though?”
“Yes, we did. It was your fucking idea, Bristol. Remember?”
“Of course, I remember,” I assure him lamely. “I just didn’t think you remembered.”
“Oh, I remember.” He stands, walks to his discarded jeans, gets something from his pocket, and returns. He tosses it to the table before me and heads into the bedroom, shutting the door.
I remember, I just wish I didn’t. Because last night I got a glimpse of life with Wyatt and the feeling of unbridled joy that brought with it. If studying true crime has taught me anything—if something is that good, it never lasts. Happiness is an illusion.
I unfold the pages carefully.
It’s our proof of marriage license and ceremony receipt. On the back, in my handwriting, is:
An addendum to the vows: Bristol promises Wyatt she will take our marriage seriously for at least three days. And do whatever Wyatt wants to do because he’s a god on a pole and a god with his pole (Bristol came so quick!), and he’s sexy as fuck. If Bristol complains, tell her we pre-paid for the room. And that it was her idea to have a honeymoon. Then give her another orgasm and order room service. After that, if we—we meaning Bristol because Wyatt is all-in 1000% after the bathroom sex—feel it’s not working, we go our separate ways. After lots and lots of goodbye sex. Signed, Bristol Anne Moore. Wyatt Allan Reed.
As witnessed by: Fauxley Quinn, number one anti-hero villain extraordinaire.
As witnessed by: Chewmocka
PS: Fauxley says you don’t have to be crazy to be in love, but it helps.
PPS: Bristol says you ruined your plan, so leaving won’t make a difference. It’s already too late.
The part about doing whatever Wyatt wants was added by him, but I initialed it. We both signed at the bottom, Chewmocka and Fauxley Quinn witnessed it.
And the rest of the night comes rushing back like a tidal wave of memories. Images, feelings, touches, and words.
