Where was the sudden rage, the resentment, coming from? She couldn’t figure it out. Was it because she thought Alex was casting her aside earlier? Had she subconsciously developed feelings for him that her conscious mind had refused to acknowledge? She thought back to earlier, when they were in the water, and how he’d swelled underneath her hand when she’d let her touch linger.
She’d enjoyed the feeling of how hard he’d gotten—with it came a sense of power and control over him, more in a physical sense than the less-than-admirable mind games she’d forced upon him over the past year. If all it took were a prolonged touch, then what would happen to the poor boy in bed?
Was it finally time to change her mind about him? Had those feelings been developing all these months? He wasn’t so bad, was he? Disgustingly rich, cute with a great body, and he adored her. Maybe she’d been writing romance novels for too long. Maybe she’d warped her own sense of reality by living inside characters that always got a Happily Ever After.
If it wasn’t true love—storybook love—that came from within that uncontrollable place, way down inside one’s psyche, maybe she could learn to love him, or at least enjoy him for something other than a free ticket to exotic places and pampered spoiling.
Only one way to find out, she thought.
“Move over,” Jenn said.
Erica was too drunk to notice the frustrated tone. She crawled to the side and stood up, cheering, holding her bottle of Corona above her head, swaying her hips.
It had gotten chilly out on the water. Jenn ripped off her University of Virginia sweatshirt, revealing her pink bikini top. She slung it to the floor, and then wiggled out of her shorts, kicking them to the side. There was no seduction to it. It was a task, a chore, undressing with purpose instead of enticement.
Erica danced, grinding her hips, smiling, urging her on. “Take it off, baby!”
Jenn paused as she reached for the straps of her top. She watched every person around the table, each one of them—save Mark and Terri—clapping, laughing, and waiting to see if she’d actually have the nerve to strip. She’d never done anything like it before—not even at drunken, hedonistic sorority mixers. Hesitation, inhibition, and reserve gripped her.
She was reminded of the trick she’d learned in a public speaking class: the one where you’re supposed to imagine the audience in their underwear to calm your nerves.
It couldn’t have been more than a couple of seconds, but to Jenn it felt like hours as she pictured each one of their naked bodies. She’d already seen them in their swimming trunks, bikinis, and single-piece swimsuits, so it wasn’t a far leap to go the rest of the way. Wade and Chet with their rolling guts, pasty white skin, and thick, dark patches of hair—she tried to picture them without the raging erections that they were hiding under their pillows. Mark and Terri, both thin and scrawny. Mark with the three hairs on his chest and Terri with her flat, sagging breasts. Karen had let herself go, too. Hours at the bakery left little room for exercise, and Jenn pictured a flabby tummy and cellulite around Karen’s thighs.
Sharon and Laura, maybe they were a little better, both in their early forties, stay-at-home moms who found time to work out and keep their bellies flat and their skin brown. Was it for their husbands, or each other?
And then Alex, whom she’d seen without his shirt. She saved him for last. Young, he’d always been too young for her, even at only four years, but he was sexy, well-defined and muscular.
She pictured him sitting there alone. In her mind, it was just the two of them. She was on the table, dancing for him and no one else. He was already naked, holding himself, waiting on her to show him what he’d patiently waited to see.
Wade’s chant broke apart her momentary daydream. “Do it, do it, do it,” as he pounded his beer bottle on the table. The others, the willing ones, joined him.
Alex smiled at her, looking directly into her eyes with not a single glance toward the already naked flawlessness of Erica.
Jenn stripped off her bikini top, threw it at him, and then did the same with her bottoms.
She hesitated for a moment, not knowing what to do next, realizing that she was now standing on the table, exposed and on full display in front of all of her friends. She worried about her body next to Erica’s. She ran, often, and had no qualms about admiring herself in the mirror—she knew she wasn’t perfect by any means, but her trim figure was better than most. Briefly embarrassed, she covered her breasts. Compared to Erica’s, which were full and round and enviable, Jenn had always thought hers could use some lift.
Glancing down between Erica’s legs, as her friend swished her hips back and forth, Jenn saw the hairless aftereffects of a recent Brazilian wax, and it made her thankful that she’d at least trimmed her bikini line that morning. It was such a strange thing for her to intentionally look for, but she remembered Alex mentioning how much he enjoyed that particular look on a woman.
Too late now, she thought. Just go with it.
She focused her attention on Alex, pretending like it was just the two of them, dancing, moving in rhythm, running her hands across her body, licking her lips.
The others catcalled, clapped vigorously, and howled their approval.
But it was for him, only for him.
The music, the dancing, the alcohol, they all combined to create a surreal moment where Jenn sensed that she was outside of herself, watching this uninhibited woman, whom she didn’t know, while she moved, teased, and enjoyed herself while she performed.
Erica moved in closer, dancing along with her, nearly pressing her body against Jenn’s.
Should I… Jenn thought. Oh, hell, why not?
She leaned into Erica, grinding with her, pressing their bodies together, melding into one heated blend of naked skin, breasts, and caressing fingers. Jenn tried to let go of the awkward feeling—she’d never been into women, had never experimented in college, and had no desire to do so now—but from the corner of her eye, she noticed how much Alex was enjoying himself.
Then, in the quickest of eye movements, he briefly diverted his attention from her to Erica. Her jealousy again exploded deep inside her and before she could control herself, she grabbed Erica’s hair at the back of her head, yanking her forcefully down and away, pulling so hard that her friend tumbled from the table and fell to the floor.
Erica landed on her back, and popped her head against the deck. Drunk and dazed, she sat up and yelled through a slur, “Jenn! What the hell!” then slung her half full beer bottle across the flooring. Erica felt the back of her head, and when she brought her hand away, it was slick with blood. “Jesus, seriously?”
Jenn dropped to her knees, climbed down off the table, and rushed over to Erica. She wrapped her arms around her, hugging apologetically, repeating, “I’m sorry,” again and again. “I didn’t mean to.”
Erica pulled free and stood up, gritting her teeth. “You yanked me.”
“No, no, I didn’t, I promise.” Jenn stood up with her, hands out, pleading. She felt a cool breeze across her breasts, remembered she was naked and frantically searched for her clothes. Her bikini was across the table, too far, where Alex had been sitting. The others were standing with stunned looks, remaining silent, trying to figure out what had happened. All but Mark, who grabbed a handful of napkins and gave them to Erica.
Jenn searched the deck, found her sweatshirt and jean shorts, and then pulled them on while Erica struggled to stand upright, holding the napkins to her head, trying to contain the bleeding.