What happens when you find your One True Pair + 1?
Recent college grad Lexie Cambridge is *notoriously* indecisive. Gifted with a luxurious two-week cruise with her crush, she enlists her down-to-earth best friend for help determining when and how t...
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The song, I had requested on nostalgic impulse. I was on the dancefloor with the girl who had given me her phone number. One minute, Gabrielle was talking my ears off about consensual nonmonogamy, and I was pretending to know what a polycule was.
The next I was locking eyes with Lexie Cambridge. No, fuck! Of all the clubs on the cruise ship, why had I chosen this one? The familiar tune shot electric flares of memory through me like lightning. Gabrielle's laughter faded.
Acrylic nails raked my hair. Lexie's moan ignited a craving. She writhed divinely in the backseat of my car as the liquid sex voice of my favorite singer rained eroticisms. And at the bridge of the song—the most intense measure—Lexie thrashed against my lips, seeking paradise and running from the rapture. I needed her. My sex throbbed, I needed her. Across time and space, I smelled her perfume; I still tasted her.
"So, yeah, like we've been dating for three weeks, but the fact that my partners are open to me having outside paramours is bliss," Gabrielle drew me back to reality. "Oh, look! Are those your partners, too?"
Devon stormed across the club toward me with Lexie in tow. No, no, not in the mood for this. I pasted on a smile for my travel companions. "Gabrielle and I were on the way out."
"Actually, we need to talk." Devon glowered.
Lexie sized up my date.The two women couldn't have been more different. The glamorous college grad had pearlescent brown skin and mesmerizing spiral curls. My intriguing date had bone-straight purple hair curtaining a dove white manic pixie dream girl face. Lexie was curves. Gabrielle was bone structure and angles.
"Actually," my date cut in, "I wasn't going anywhere. My polycule is here." She nodded in the direction of two men I hadn't noticed. Leaning against the mirrored wall, watching us, the guy with the twists and the blonde with the Timothy Chalamet hair sipped cocktails and talked. The fresh tension in our group enticed them over, though.
Devon pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. Come." He headed out of the nightclub.
True, it wasn't the place for an intimate travel party reunion. I wasn't keen on dragging strangers into personal business, either. "You know what, Gabs, I'll catch up with you later." I disengaged from her at the door.
"Everything good, cupcake? I'm Shane, by the way. This is West." One of the boyfriends shook my hand. He ignored Gabrielle's monologue about what a great time she'd had. Shane was too busy trying to cut off the circulation to my fingers. A passing thought, but I wondered if Gabs realized her "open to paramours" mate wasn't quite open to it.
Chalamet Blondie sipped a mixed drink loaded with fruit and tiny umbrellas. "Hi, how're you?" he asked, disinterested. He danced to the club mix that we could hear outside the venue. Gabrielle segued into dancing with him. Manic pixie energy.
"Vic, pronouns they/them. Nice to meet you guys," I said. There wasn't a chance in hell Shane didn't know he was hurting me.
"Devon, he/him." My friend stepped forward with his hand extended. I knew a save when I saw one. Shane gave him a once over. They were the same height, same build. Devon's grip couldn't be matched. "Minor misunderstanding here. I just need to talk to my friends. You all enjoy the rest of your night."
