“Hmm, maybe that we found it interesting.”
“Interesting…that could work. Doesn’t give commitment either way whether we like it.”
“Yeah, a solid answer that keeps our private life private.”
“Very diplomatic of you.”
“See.” He bumps his shoulder with mine. “I’m not that bad.”
“I never said you were bad, just…a loose cannon. I don’t know what you’re going to say or do.”
“That’s the fun of improv,” he says. “It’s all fly by the seat of your pants.”
“Yeah, well, less pantsing please and more plotting.”
When we reach the dining hall, Wilder opens the door for me and leads me in with his hand on my lower back. The spacious hall is set up with individual tables, each decorated with a fake, flickering candle in the middle and a rosebud in a milk glass vase. The tables are draped in red-and-white checkered tablecloths, and the lights are dimmed to create an intimate experience.
“Why did I think we’d be sitting at picnic tables with the rest of the couples?” he whispers.
“Because that’s what summer camp is.”
“Right,” he says.
“Scottie, how is your eye?” Sanders says, coming out of nowhere. He’s now changed into a pair of black basketball shorts, a white button-up shirt with a bow tie, and a suit jacket but with the sleeves cut off.
Nothing but class, class, class.
“Um, a little sore, but it’s doing okay.”
“Ooo,” he says, examining me. “That black eye is coming in good.”
I lightly dab my fingers around the affected area, trying not to show how pleased I am about the black eye. “Yeah, so I’ve been told.”
“Well, we’ll be sure to keep you safe moving forward, no more tying up…at least on our end.” He wiggles his brows, and I feel my insides turn.
When we signed up for this, I wasn’t aware there was going to be such a large emphasis on sex. Nor did I think there was going to be a minibar of lovemaking. The entire situation is granting me a new perspective on all my coworkers.
Sanders leads us through the dining hall, and as I pass each and every one of them, my mind drifts to different scenarios.
Does Chad tie up his wife? Or use toys on her? He seemed really adamant about winning the basket.
What about Duncan? He’s such a klutz, I couldn’t imagine him being able to locate any of his husband’s erogenous zones.
And Finky, he’s so involved with his fantasy sports teams that I’m not sure he’s even aware what sex is.
Not to mention Brad. He’s such a weasel, there’s no way he’s hitting up the minibar, thinking,What can we do tonight?Or heaven forbid…gulp…drop the soap.
I can’t imagine any of them engaging in this kind of camp. Then again, here they are, willing and ready to keep the spark alive in their relationships.
Wonder what that’s like—to have two equal parties invested in a relationship.
God, I sound like such a bitter divorcée.
“Here we are,” Sanders says, gesturing to a table. “We have you sitting right up front.”
I pull out of my reverie and find our table smack-dab in the front of the stage. A table so centered, so singled out, that it almost seems like it’s going to be dinner and a show.
“This will be your permanent table for the remainder of the camp. We like to create a sense of comfort by offering our attendees routine. The menu is on the table, my staff will be by shortly to collect your order, and then we’ll get started with the welcome.”
