“Whatever.”
She grinned. “Less talking, more fucking?”
“Yes, please.”
* * *
Wren made a double batch of white peach sangria and brought out a tray of hors d’oeuvre sandwiches. She made a second trip to the clubhouse and returned with a tray of carrots, celery, and radishes, along with a small bowl of ranch dip for us non-bunny types.
“Well, what do you think?” I asked Brooke. “About swinging?”
She blushed and looked shy all of a sudden.
“She loves it,” Christy said for her.
“I do,” Brooke agreed, somewhat surprised. “I thought it’d be more of an orgy, though.”
“That comes later,” Trip said.
“You have to give us time to recover,” I added.
“But there are still only five of us,” Wren said, the voice of reason. “That’s not enough for an orgy.”
“Oh, okay,” Brooke said. “That makes sense.”
“Even when there are,” Wren continued, “we usually break into couples and threesomes.”
“I’ve seen them in the movies, where there are, like, a dozen people doing it in the same room.”
“Yeah, but orgies like that only happen in porn,” I said. “Real life is different.”
“I know, but—”
“He’s right,” Wren said. “We don’t have a lot of porn-sex.”
“Speak for yourself,” I laughed. “I have porn-sex all the time. Just… not many orgies.”
“We might have one before everyone leaves for the summer,” Wren said. Then she shrugged. “It depends on the timing.”
No one actually looked at me, but I still felt the weight of their attention.
“I could do it now,” I suggested flippantly.
“Oh, no,” Christy warned. “Don’t you dare. I told you, I want a real—” She glanced at Brooke and finished meekly, “A real… um… you know.”
I suppressed a grin and pretended to be suitably chastened. “Yes, dear.”
“Well,” Trip joked, “now we know who wears the pants in the family.”
Christy stiffened with annoyance. “Paul does.”
“Oh, of course,” he said dismissively, “but we know who really calls the shots.”
“Paul does,” she repeated with a smile that didn’t reach her icy blue eyes.
“I know. I’m just kidding.”
Christy wasn’t ready to let it go, so I gave her a warning look. She backed down, albeit reluctantly.
“Well, I know how to kill a buzz,” Trip said into the silence. “I know how to fix it, though. We bought another bottle of that bourbon you like. It costs a fortune, but you’re worth it.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Christy said, still frosty.
Be nice, I warned her.
Her smile turned genuine, at least as far as the others were concerned. I could still see the lingering annoyance, but only because I knew her better.
“I’m just kidding,” she said in a near perfect imitation of Trip.
Brooke arched a coppery eyebrow but didn’t say anything.
Trip decided to laugh it off. “It’s so cool how you do that. I’ll get the bourbon. And… maybe my guitar?”
It was a peace offering, and Christy considered it. She looked so much like her brother Rich that I nearly hurt myself trying not to laugh. He didn’t back down either. But Christy was her mother’s daughter, and Anne had a rule about being polite. The fight slowly went out of her. Brooke saw it too, and she hid a smile behind her hand.
“That’d be nice,” Christy said. She smiled for real, and the sun chose that moment to appear from behind the clouds.
Brooke’s amusement turned to disbelief. “Seriously? You really are the center of the universe, aren’t you?”
“Of course!”
Trip rolled his eyes before he could stop himself. My annoyance flared at that point, and he decided to make himself scarce.
“Be right back,” he said.
Brooke stood. “I’ll come with you.”
Wren watched the whole exchange with muted amusement. “That… was interesting,” she said when they’d gone. Then she touched a knuckle to her lips and lowered her head in thought. “My love…?”
“I know,” Christy said. “I’m sorry. I promised to be nice.”
“Oh, he deserved it,” Wren said. “But… maybe next time…?”
“I know. He’s the man. He has a fragile ego.”
“Not exactly fragile…” Wren glanced at me before she continued, “But he isn’t like you and me.”
“I know,” Christy repeated. “I’ll be nice, I promise.”
Wren nodded and then said to me, “It’s exhausting, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Trying to keep two people happy. I don’t know how you did it.”
“When? Before?” I opted for tact and didn’t mention Gina and Kendall by name. I didn’t admit the truth, either, that I’d made a huge mess of things. I shrugged instead. “Yeah, it’s a lot of work. But it’s worth it.”
“It is.” She smiled at Christy.
The clubhouse door swung open. Brooke emerged with the Van Winkle and a stack of fresh Solo cups. Trip carried his guitar case. He set it on the nearest table and opened it.
“Okay, let’s get this party started for real. Brooke, will you do the honors?”
“Sure.”
“Christy, do you mind…?” He sat with one leg on the table, rested the guitar on his knee, and strummed a chord. “Start with low E?”
“Of course.” She sang a clear, pure note.
“That’s still impressive,” Trip said.
“Thank you.”
Brooke poured the bourbon and passed the cups around. Wren accepted hers with a genuine smile before she returned her attention to Christy and Trip. Brooke slid into her chair, and I scooted mine closer.
“Are you really okay?” I asked in a low voice.
“I guess.” She glanced at Christy and sighed. “Sorry. I get frustrated sometimes. She’s so lucky, but she doesn’t even realize it.”
“Yeah, I know, but we love her anyway.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“Are you okay with everything else?” I asked. “Swinging? For real?”
She nodded.
“It’s a lot more complicated than the movies, isn’t it?”
“You can say that again.” She glanced at Trip and added, “I dunno why Chris’s being such a pill.”
“Long story.”
“Yeah, I know. She told me.” Her eyes returned to Trip. “I think he’s nice.”
“He is. He’s just a bit of a chauvinist sometimes.”
“Aren’t all guys?”
I shrugged and didn’t have a good answer.
“I guess that’s why we like ’em.” She sat back, sipped her bourbon, and listened as Trip finished tuning his guitar.
He began playing a Joni Mitchell song, “Big Yellow Taxi,” a sure sign that he wanted to make Christy happy. Brooke liked the song too, and she closed her eyes to listen. He played the Mamas and the Papas next, “California Dreamin’.” He sang the melody and Christy harmonized, and the tension from earlier faded entirely.
I patted Brooke’s thigh, and she smiled at the friendly gesture. Then she leaned toward me and rested her head on my shoulder. She sighed happily.
The breeze picked up and the sun disappeared behind the clouds, but none of us really cared. The weather was mild, the bourbon was smooth, and the music was relaxing. Life was very, very good.
* * *
Trip and Christy wrapped up their concert and decided to talk about music instead. Wren listened contentedly, while Brooke and I talked about camp and the weather. The clouds had moved in for good, and the sky to the west had grown noticeably darker. We weren’t in danger from an immediate downpour, but it was headed our way.
I couldn’t do anything about it, so I finished my sangria and refilled it. I hovered the pitcher over Brooke’s, waited for an objection that wasn’t coming, and refilled it too. The drink was fruity and too sweet for my taste, but I drank it all the same. It was also a lot stronger than I realized, and I already felt a warm glow.
Brooke sipped hers and sighed aloud. The alcohol made her flirty and more confident. She was ready for round two, although she hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask. The little head agreed, and he was bold enough. The big head was happy to go along with the majority.