“Speaking of getting away with stuff at a bar,” Bern said, “I imagine you’d need to meet me someplace pretty far from where you live, where you won’t know anybody.”

“I would. Shouldn’t be too tough, though. I’m not a native and I didn’t go to college here or anything. I’m willing to chance a meeting or two.”

“Gotcha. I’m not eager to run into a friend, either, so we’ll just have to settle on a neighborhood neither of us usually goes to. Can I ask where you guys live?”

“Shadyside.”

“Ah, nice.”

“And I work right downtown, so that’s out, too.”

“Well, I’m way down in Carrick,” Bern said, “so maybe meet in the middle? Someplace around the South Side?”

“That could work.” She swirled the wine in her glass, feeling relieved and more than a bit wicked. “So. You think you might want to?”

“Meet up? At the risk of sounding too eager, I’m intrigued. Very intrigued.”

“Me, too. And my husband is as well.”

“If you’ll forgive me saying so, I can’t wait to meet this piece of work you married.”

She grinned, trying to guess what sort of wimpy beta male Bern was picturing. “You might be surprised. Can I ask what you do, or is that too personal?”

“Let’s save all that for the bar. Don’t worry – no shocking surprises or anything, but let’s maybe conserve the small-talk topics. We might need them.”

“I guess we’re going with the picked-up-by-a-stranger routine, then,” Sam said, pleased to catch herself flirting for real without even thinking about it.

“I’m game if you guys are. What’s the next step?” he asked. “Do you need my full name or my social or something, for that background check?”

“That’d be good. Hang on.” She rose and went to the counter, to scribble on the grocery list pad.

“Bernard Davies,” he said, and Sam copied down his address and social security digits.

“Thanks. Do you want mine?”

“No, that’s okay. You’re in my call log now. That’s probably enough for the police to track you down with, after you and your husband bury me in a shallow grave.”

“Not before we’ve had our way with you,” she countered.

There was a pause, and then Bern spoke, his tone different from before, firmer. “Speaking of that – of you guys having your way with me.”

“Uh-huh.” She headed back to the couch, suspecting a serious conversation was to follow.

“I looked this whole cuckolding thing up, after I read your ad,” Bern said. “I saw a bunch of references to something called ‘forced bi.’ Did you guys have anything like that in mind? Your husband… you know, doing anything with me? To the guy you wind up with, that is.”

“We haven’t discussed it, no. That aspect hasn’t come up in the couple of years we’ve been playing around with the idea, in the dirty talk. He’s never said anything that made me think he wanted to go down on a guy or anything. Nothing direct. He… Hmm.” She sighed. “Can I be frank, and kind of gross?”

“Sure.”

“He’s sort of into the whole sloppy-seconds thing. We’ve pretended that a guy’s…” Her face flushed and she was glad Bern wasn’t there to see how red her cheeks had surely gone. “We’ve pretended another guy was with me, and you know… came. Inside me. He likes to feel like there’s proof. So there may be a bit of that.”

“But you don’t think he wants to touch me?”

“I don’t think so. He’s never made any noises about anything like that.”

“And the whole coming-inside-you thing,” Bern said, sounding not at all red in the face, unlike Sam. “That begs the question about condoms.”

“Definitely condoms. Only if it seemed like everyone wanted it to be a long-term arrangement, then we could all get tested, I guess. I was thinking of maybe using female condoms, if my husband wanted to be able to… you know.” She couldn’t bring herself to utter “sloppy seconds” again so she let Bern infer it.

“Gotcha.”

“Well, I have to talk to my husband about everything, but do you think you’re interested in giving the first meet-up a try?”

“I am. I’m free this weekend, if you guys are. I imagine a Saturday night’s best?”

Oh my. This Saturday night? It felt awfully soon. Then again, she and Mike were on vacation after Friday, and what better way to kick off the week?

“Yeah, that could work. Let me talk to my husband, and I’ll send you an e-mail and we can nail down the where and when.” Where and when to meet the man she might one day cheat on her husband with. So fucking weird.

“Sounds good,” he said.

“Cool. Well, thanks for calling.”

“Thanks for picking up. Maybe you’ll pick me up in some other context in a few days.”

She smiled at that. “Maybe.”

“Have a good night, Sam.”

“You, too.”

As she set the phone aside, she felt deeply exposed. She got up and closed the curtains to quell the sensation, and put on a sweater. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, this psychic nakedness. She felt stripped down past her skin, way down deep to her ethics. Right into the core of her bones, like the whole world could see her marrow, what her marriage was made of.

Fine. Let them.

What good was an intentionally selfish lifestyle if they didn’t take every opportunity to explore their relationship? They’d chosen to nurture their own bond and needs in place of a child, and she wasn’t going to neglect something as fundamental as Mike’s sexuality.

She unbuttoned her sweater and tossed it aside, flung the curtains open, and shoved the windows up to let in the sounds of the city. She poured a third glass and lit a couple of pillar candles, stretched out on the couch, and got to daydreaming about where all this fascinating nonsense might take them.

CHAPTER FOUR

The background check took a matter of moments – Mike ran it between eating his bagel and doing his push-ups the next morning.

It came back perfectly clean, and Sam toyed with drafting a confidentiality agreement for the three of them to sign, then decided not to bother. It could only ever be a formality; if Bern Davies turned out to be a sociopath and wanted to hurt them, it wasn’t as though a piece of paper was going to stop him. And, most important, her gut said it was unnecessary, and she trusted that even more than she did tables and projections.

Now the only thing that stood between them and Bern was Sam writing an e-mail and inviting him, officially. Inviting him along for step one in the amendment of their wedding vows.

Or rather, step one in Operation: Let’s See How Hot Our Sex Life Can Get. Yes, that was the attitude. This proposition had her equally excited and anxious, but whenever the latter felt as if it was winning out, she pulled up that photo of Bern from her e-mail, and his smile eased her mind. And thrilled certain other parts.

Saturday at eight, Bern agreed via e-mail, and they chose a decent-looking neighborhood bar neither had ever been to, just south of the river, halfway between Bern’s place and theirs.

Saturday. One day, a wait that sounded at once like ages and seconds. Hell of a way to kick off her and Mike’s first joint vacation in more than a year.

See you tonight, she wrote to Bern the next afternoon. When I get there I’ll head for the bar, whichever side is most visible to the rest of the room. I’ll be wearing jeans and a dark green, low-cut shirt, and a necklace with a silver disc on it.And a wedding band.:-)

A charge crackled Sam’s nerves as she fastened the necklace in question. She was scared, but the good kind of scared.

She remembered all the auditions she’d had, all the teams she’d tried out for, all the résumés she’d polished and interviews she’d dressed up for, all the first dates. It was a healthy fear, the fear of losing out on something potentially life-changing. A delicious anxiety built of yearning. She checked herself in the mirror on the closet door, liking what she saw. She hoped Bern would like it, too. She hoped Mike would like watching Bern liking it.