Cover

Acknowledgments

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Prologue

Online shopping

“We should have used a different picture.”

“No, I like this one.”

“I look like a square.”

“You are a square, honey,” Nadia says with a small grin on her face.

It’s barely seven o’clock, but the sun is long gone. It’s so dark outside that it feels like the middle of the night. The boys are at a sleepover down the street. The lights are low, and there’s a fire crackling in the room. We have drinks; Nadia stopped by a shop that apparently makes nothing but charcuterie boards for the occasion. We’re sitting on the couch next to one another, our sides pressed together and my laptop balanced on our knees.

Nadia’s scrubbed off the day, which for her means that she dropped the expensive meat and cheese tray on the kitchen counter and jumped into the shower to wash off her makeup. But instead of pulling on her thickest flannel pajamas like normal, she put on a silky robe and perfume.

I’ve been trying to figure out if she’s wearing anything underneath that robe for the past half-hour.

Nadia’s fingers grasp my chin. “But look how adorable your dimples are?” She turns my head a bit to the left to make sure that I look at the computer and not at her because if given the choice, I would only look at Nadia for the rest of my life.

The picture of us is the most recent one that doesn’t look like we took it at a Sears photo studio and doesn’t have our kids crawling all over us. We took it at the wedding of Nadia’s sorority sister, Celeste, on a rare weekend away from the boys and our regular life. We had a little too much champagne. We danced. We pretended for a few hours that we didn’t have any responsibilities. We look happy, carefree, and I’m smiling so hard that both of my cheeks prominently feature deep indentations.

Not too long before that picture, while a bunch of our friends from college were doing the electric slide on the dancefloor, I pushed my hand between Nadia’s legs. She was wet and happy and drunk and came on my fingers so fast because there was nowhere to hide. The chances of us getting caught seemed high, and that made Nadia’s thighs shake. What I remember most about that picture is that I was grinding my dick into Nadia’s ass while the photographer took dozens of photos.

My wife is right — this is a good picture for us to use. And as usual, she lets me come to that conclusion on my own while she lovingly caresses my chin with her thumb.

“You look great in this picture,” I say.