Bern woke late on Sunday, finally dragged from his sheets by the plaintive whining of his dog.

“You’re spreading it a bit thick with those pathetic eyes,” he told her, pulling jeans up his legs and finding a clean shirt. After a pit stop he laced his sneakers, grabbed Molly’s leash, locked the door behind them, and headed for the park.

The day was cheerful¸ the air springy, the sun warm and watery behind a thin wash of clouds. The city felt worlds away from the place he’d shut his door on the night before, everything feeling fresh and… innocent. Kids playing, moms chatting, fellow dog owners standing around patiently with their plastic baggies.

Innocent, unlike Sam and her indecent proposal.

It was too soon after waking for him to get all horny about the idea, but there was a noticeable lack of misgiving in Bern’s brain and gut.

He wanted the arrangement to go ahead. He didn’t want to get wound up fantasizing about it, in case Sam or her husband decided to pull the plug. But his decision was made. He’d ended a relationship because he hadn’t felt satisfied sexually. It had been a hard decision, breaking up with someone over sex. Sex wasn’t everything. Sex mellowed in any relationship… though with them, it had never truly blazed, no matter how much he’d tried to stoke it. His ex probably thought he was a world-class shit, and maybe justifiably so, but something inside Bern had always been nagging, simmering, begging him to unleash it. After three years together, he’d had two choices with his ex – break up or propose. And he’d known he couldn’t sign up to spend the rest of his life feeling like his needs were being only half met. That he was only really getting to be a watered-down version of who he wanted to be in bed.

He pulled out his phone and found Sam’s number, then paused. Would it be weird to send his verdict as a text? Was an e-mail better, maybe, or was brevity key? Probably didn’t matter. They were all just digital words, and that was what the doctor ordered – a phone call, he felt, would be too intrusive. But was this too soon? Was it like a date, where he was supposed to wait a couple of days lest he look too eager?

Then, all at once, he decided he didn’t care.

Morning, he wrote. Just wanted to let you guys know I’m down for whatever might come next. Hope to hear from you sometime. Enjoy your Sunday. Bern.

He tossed the sometime in there, hoping it sounded casual, no pressure, whatever. Hoping he sounded casual, when really it felt like something substantial was riding on all this.

There was a chance that fulfilling his desire to be watched could blow the sex center of his brain clean open and change his life. That’s what kinks did to people, right? If falling into step with the thing that most turned your crank wasn’t crazy hot, crazy satisfying, why else would people take such crazy risks to scratch their itches? Trolling the adult personals had shown him his so-called kink was about as vanilla as they came. If people risked permanent scarring or arrest or death by asphyxiation to realize their fantasies, the payoff had to be worth it. He hoped he’d find out for himself. And he hoped Sam and her mysterious husband would find out, too.

He loitered for a few hopeful but ultimately fruitless minutes, in case an eager text came back from the ether to get his hopes up. But nothing. They might still be asleep.

They might have changed their minds. Jesus, he hoped not. Sam was gorgeous, and their kiss had driven him crazy. He wanted her, no doubt, and he wanted her husband watching. In Bern’s mind, someone was always watching. He needed that fantasy – those eyes on him – as truly as he needed friction.

So he jogged his dog around the park a few times, until both of them were panting. There was laundry to be done and groceries to buy, errands to run and his mom to call before the workweek intruded. He had to put Sam and her plans for him out of his mind, lest he catch himself checking his phone every two minutes like some kid with a terminal grade school crush. Even as he thought it, he pulled the device out, feeling a phantom call buzzing in his pocket.

Nope, nothing. Cool your jets, Davies.

Easier said than done.

“And you’re sure?” Sam asked, glancing from her phone’s screen to where Mike stood in the kitchen, stirring pasta sauce. It was just after six, and she’d read that text so many times that day, she’d memorized every pixel.

He smiled dryly. “How many different ways can I say it? I’m sure. Go for it. See if he’s free some weeknight.”

“You don’t want more time to deliberate?” It had been less than twenty-four hours since their first meet-up, after all.

“No, I don’t. Do you?”

“No,” she admitted. She wanted this, Mike wanted it. Bern wanted it, so said the text that had woken her with a chime that very morning. “Okay.” Her heart was bouncing around between her ribs, hands shaking as she crossed the room and plopped onto the couch. She opened Bern’s message and hit REPLY.

“ ‘Hey,’ ” she dictated as she typed. “ ‘We’re up for taking things to the next level. Are you free some night this week? We’re on vacation, so anytime works for us.’ Sound okay? Not too desperate or creepy?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Right. And… sent.” She set the phone on the coffee table, chest clenching with who knew what emotion – fear, excitement, a touch of guilt.

Mike brought bowls of spaghetti to the breakfast bar and she got up to join him. He always ate standing up, on the other side of the counter, to make up for how much of his workdays were spent sitting in cars or in front of a computer.

“Thanks.” Sam twirled noodles on her fork, then promptly dropped the thing with a clank as her phone jingled. She looked to Mike with wide eyes.

“Go ahead.”

She pushed her stool back and jogged to her phone, a red numeral one staring at her from the corner of her message app. She opened the text as she sat down again.

“ ‘If you could meet up early, around six, I could do Wednesday or Thursday,’ ” she read. There was more – I’m not expected to sleep over, right? I work early, plus my dog has needs.

No, he wouldn’t be expected to stay the night. He was expected to love her and leave her. But Sam didn’t read that bit out loud, thinking she’d start keeping those boring logistical bits between herself and Bern.

“Either of those days work for me,” Mike said, spearing a slice of sausage.

“Let’s do Wednesday. Meet him at the same bar at six, then you beat us home so you can hide and watch?”

“Sounds good to me. How will you get back?”

“I could just let him drive me. If you’re comfortable with that.”

He gave it a moment’s consideration then nodded. “Sure.”

She tapped out a new text with the instructions, plus a note that no, Bern wasn’t expected to sleep over. They ate in near silent anticipation, interrupted by another cheerful chime.

Sounds like a plan. See you Wednesday at six, missus.

Mike cast her a curious glance.

She set the phone aside, faking nonchalance. “Nothing. No one.”

She caught a smirk flash across his face before he covered it with an imitation of skepticism.

“Just Michelle, asking if I wanted to meet her for dinner on Wednesday after work. No husbands allowed,” she added quickly – too quickly – and turned her attention wholeheartedly to her dinner, trying to look as evasive as possible.

“Oh. Okay.”

“You can live without me for a night, right?”

“I can… It’s not just one night, though, lately. You’ve been going out a lot —”

“It’s my vacation, too, you know,” she cut in. “And I can’t remember the last time I saw Michelle.” Actually it had been two years ago, right before Michelle had moved to Seattle. And what a good friend Michelle was! What a perfect, unsuspecting wingwoman for Sam and Mike’s deviant sexual escapades.