Jenn took a quick peek at Sharon and caught a flicker of envy in her squint. No one else noticed. When she looked around at the men, Wade, Chet, and Mark casually pretended to be uninterested—especially Mark, who examined his fingernails like a jeweler studying a diamond. If Terri even remotely suspected that he might be drooling over the possibility of seeing Erica naked again, weeks of sleeping amongst the clutter in their living room would follow.

The conversation turned to Jenn’s latest novel and how well it had done. Sharon wanted to know when the sequel was coming out, and Karen complained about how the last one had ended. “All your books end on a cliffhanger,” she said. “What’s wrong with telling the whole story at once?”

“To keep you coming back for more. It’s better for sales that way.”

“Yeah, but don’t your readers complain about having to spend more money to find out what happens?”

“So far, you’re the only one.” Which wasn’t true, but it was more fun to watch Karen squirm in her seat.

They chatted, and drank, and dipped tortilla chips into some of Chet’s homemade hummus. It wasn’t long before the expensive homes on the shoreline shrank to the size of Monopoly houses and then shrank further to colorful specks among rolling sand dunes. The engine switched off and Alex came down from the cockpit.

“We’re about twenty miles out. Twenty-one, maybe. I say we just drift and see where the current takes us. Sound good?”

“Perfect,” Erica said, “I don’t have anywhere to be for a couple of days,” and everyone agreed.

It’s always about you, Jenn thought, Erica first.

But, she had no argument and the twinge of jealousy was gone a beat later. Erica was right. Saturday and Sunday. Two days of freedom before they were back to work, back to raising children, back to hiding secrets from husbands and wives. Back to baking bread and sitting in front of a computer.

Surely, out here, the burdens of life would be kept at bay.

***

Once Terri finished analyzing Erica’s dreams about cookies and deals at Nordstrom’s—fifteen minutes later they were slouching with boredom—Alex suggested they go for a swim.

“Is it safe?” Chet asked. “I mean, out here, you know?” He put his arm around Karen’s shoulders. “I hate to be the greenhorn landlubbers, but neither one of us has ever been on a yacht before, much less this far out in the water. Aren’t there sharks or something?”

“I haven’t either,” Laura added, looking at Sharon. “Have you?”

Sharon shook her head.

Erica said, “Jesus, guys, every single one of you lives five miles from the ocean. How have you never been on a yacht before?”

It was said in jest, but Jenn could sense raised hackles among the inexperienced guests.

Alex said, “There’s nothing to worry about, but if you feel something nibbling on your toes, be sure to let the rest of us know.” He took off his shirt, revealing taut pecs and abs that Jenn had only seen once before. In all their trips together, she’d only allowed him to get as far as removing his shirt that time in Paris when they were slightly tipsy on French wine, and she’d dared him to strip at the top of the Eiffel Tower.

He ran toward the side of the boat, jumped, and executed a perfect flip into the water. At twenty-five, he was the youngest in the group, and sometimes it showed. The rest of them, ranging from their early thirties to mid-forties, except for Jenn and Erica at twenty-nine, walked to the edge, removed the clothes they wanted to keep dry, and hopped into the water like respectable adults who’d forgotten how to let go and have some childish fun long ago.

They floated lazily, bobbing along with the gentle undulation of the sea, until a piece of seaweed touched Chet’s foot. The childish squeal was shrill like a lifeguard’s whistle calling for everyone to get out of the water. He screamed something unintelligible, flailing and kicking, almost dragging Karen under the surface with him, and eventually regained enough control to slap-paddle his way over to the yacht and scramble up the ladder.

Seven bodies, some thin and getting sunburned, some plump and already red, thrashed at the surface and hurried back up onto The Harlot after Chet.

Alex laughed and Jenn joined him, floating with him in the sea, and for a moment, it was good. The two of them together, confident and unafraid, watching the spectacle play out on the lower deck as everyone scanned the surface, pointing at something, asking if the large, greenish-black mass of seaweed drifting by had been the culprit.

Treading water, the two of them bobbed side-by-side, waiting to see if anyone would be brave enough to come back in. Jenn felt Alex swim up behind her and put an arm around her waist as he maintained his balance with the other, kicking beneath the surface to stay upright. She let him keep it there.

Quietly, he said, “Bunch of freaking sissies. I’m glad you’re not like that. Look at Erica shaking. She’s almost vibrating.”

“Do you like her?” Jenn asked. The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She didn’t know where they came from or why she’d even asked. Alex was hers, if she wanted him. Jenn had no reason to be jealous and she knew it, but the simple fact that he’d been looking at Erica sparked something inside.

“She’s okay, I guess. A little full of herself.”

“That’s not really what I mean.”

Alex squeezed tighter at her waist and pulled her closer. She could feel the warmth of his body against hers—a welcoming feeling against the chill of the sea. “She’s hot, if that’s what you’re asking, but I wouldn’t fuck her with Wade’s dick. Who knows what’s been in that thing.”

Jenn smiled. For the first time ever, she rewarded him. She reached down and put her hand on his crotch, squeezing softly.

PART THREE

By ten o’clock that evening, as they drifted on the Atlantic, thoroughly exhausted, happy, relaxed, and drunk, inhibitions loosened as they often do among friends with too much alcohol and too little food.

Erica, as promised and on schedule, was on top of the glass, mid-deck table, dancing in the nude. Everyone but Mark and Terri cheered her on, throwing paper napkins at her like they were dollar bills. Jenn had temporarily gotten over her jealousy, with the help of a few drinks, and spent the time watching the others as they encouraged Erica to keep going.

Some had seen it before, some hadn’t. Regardless, everyone seemed to be having fun with it, the men for obvious reasons—Sharon and Laura for the same, but less obvious.

Wade, Alex, and Chet relaxed back onto the cushions of their seats, holding pillows over their laps and trying not to look too eager. Karen whistled and yelled, “You go, girl!” while Sharon and Laura exchanged quick, furtive glances, as if giving each other permission to enjoy the show. Terri had her legs crossed, bouncing an impatient foot, with her mouth pinched in disapproval, staring intently back to the west, perhaps dreaming of home, while Mark polished his glasses over and over, occasionally sneaking a peek when he was certain his wife’s attention was elsewhere.

Good fun. Good, drunk fun.

Jenn got up for another beer, and as she walked past the table where Erica danced, her friend reached down and grabbed her arm. Shouting over the music, Erica said, “Come up here with me.”

“No way.”

“Seriously, come on.”

Jenn laughed and tried to pull free. “No!”

Erica squatted down, almost lost her balance, and bent over, naked rear in full view of the three men that were allowed to look. She put her mouth to Jenn’s ear and drunkenly slurred, “You’ve been screwing with him long enough. Let the poor bastard see what you’ve got under there.”

Jenn shook her head, paused, and glanced past Erica. Alex’s mouth gaped. Unblinking, he stared at everything Erica had on display. The familiar but foreign sense of envy slithered across Jenn’s skin. It made her warm. Angry. She and Erica had been best friends for nearly thirty years, had slept in the same cribs, shared the same teenage angst and ungainly bodies, the same self-doubt and tear-filled hormonal breakdowns. Yet, she wanted nothing more than to ball up her fist and break Erica’s nose.