in a pod.
Now, as I thought about our connection, I took a drink of my latte then set down the mug and looked at Kate. “He’s the first guy who’s actually . . . in touch with his emotions. It comes from having gone through the same thing.” Kate knew the details of how I’d connected with him. Finn had struggled with loss, too, then spiraled into work, more work, and only work after his younger brother took his own life after returning from Afghanistan. Finn was finally able to grieve, accept, and move on, thanks to the help of his best man. Jake had “dragged his ass to group therapy,” as Finn put it that night at the Cosmopolitan when he’d told me the story. Finally talking through the pain and letting go of it had turned Finn into a new man.
The man for me.
The man I was sure was my present and my future. We were each other’s safe landing on the other side of grief, and I didn’t want to risk my forever with him. I didn’t want to take a chance simply because I harbored particular naughty daydreams.
What would be the point?
Better to focus on wedding plans.
Kate squeezed my shoulder. “I know he’s the most important person to you. But he also values openness and honesty because of it. Don’t you think one of the reasons you have such a hot love life is because the two of you are so open and honest? You were up-front from the start about your wounds and your baggage. You talked about them on the second date. My God, you two were birds of a feather from the start, and he shared with you like you did with him. He was the same about his baggage, his pain. That honesty about your emotions had to have carried over to the bedroom.”
I considered her point. She wasn’t wrong. Finn and I had connected deeply on an emotional level, opening up in a real and vulnerable way about our pasts. Our hurts and our hurdles. Our losses and our new chances.
Perhaps one of the benefits of pain was a path to more pleasure?
“You may be right,” I conceded, but even if she was correct on that count, I couldn’t be sure that brutal honesty was necessary when it came to bedroom experiments. “But I don’t know if a full confession of my fantasies is the same.” I adopted a singsong voice. “Oh hey, sweetie, did you know I watch a ton of MFM vids? Yeah, well, I do. I happen to love when two guys service a woman at the same time. Also, could you and another guy maybe both take me at the same time? Yes, at the same time. ’Kay, thanks, love ya, babe. I’m going to go work on our Target registry now. I hope my boss gets us the napkin rings.”
Laughing, Kate answered, “First, you don’t use napkin rings. No one under the age of seventy does. Second, you don’t even have a gift registry. Third, why don’t we apply logic to the ask for a threesome scenario?”
“Oh, believe you me, I’ve already worked out all the scenarios,” I said, tapping my temple. “I have the whole night mapped out from the moment they both strip naked for me.”
Kate cooed approvingly. “Excellent. Then let’s analyze this rationally.”
“Wait. Are you going to make a spreadsheet of my fantasies?” Kate was obsessed with spreadsheets. She used them to track her workout progress, her audiobook consumption, and her professional goals.
“I have one for mine,” she said coyly. Her hazel eyes darkened with frustration. “Trouble is, nothing is getting checked off these days. So, let’s check off yours.”
“Ah, so you are going to spreadsheet my love life,” I teased.
“Hell, yeah. The sum of column A with your threesome fantasy plus column B with asking for it equals column C: extreme pleasure.”
“Right . . . because there are no variables to account for, like, ahem, emotions such as jealousy and so on.”
She held up a finger to make a point. “Ah, but let me remind you—when you told him a year ago that you had role-playing fantasies, what exactly did your fabulous man do?”
My skin tingled from the memory. “He gave them to me,” I said, a grin tugging at my lips as I remembered the night I’d divulged all those naughty fantasies to him. We’d gone dancing at Edge, our favorite club. We loved going to clubs. Loved the sultry vibe,