Suppressing the overwhelming need to throw some serious side-eye at Dean, I add, “Um, what he means is that we’re not sure marriage will ever be a goal for us. We’re comfortable with the way things are.”

“Ah,” Brynn says, nodding. “It’s certainly not for everyone. Are you from the area?”

“I’m a transplant,” Dean says. “But I’ve been here long enough that I consider it home.” He looks over at me. “And Solange grew up in Maryland.”

He’s saying the right words, but the delivery is sterile. As if he’s running a finger down a page of my dossier, refreshing his memory, then answering. We’re going to have to work on that.

“Jaxson and I are from Austin,” Brynn says. “Figured we’d take a trip to DC for some sightseeing. Our hotel concierge recommended this place when we asked for an unpretentious spot to hang out for our last evening here.”

“Good choice,” I say as I sneak a glance at Brynn’s husband. “It’s a favorite among the locals, which says a lot.”

Jaxson’s gaze bounces between Dean and me. I get the distinct impression that he’s assessing us. Or maybe I’m just misinterpreting his broody vibe. Either way, it’s unsettling. I’m considering how to draw him into the conversation when he rises from his chair and throws a few bills down. For the tip, presumably.

“I’ll be right back, friends,” he says. Before he leaves, he drops a kiss on Brynn’s forehead.

As soon as he’s gone, Brynn leans forward and clasps her hands on the table, her eyes glinting with excitement. “So, Solange and Dean, would you like to spend the evening with us?”

Um, what?

Oh.

Oh shit. Are they . . . ?

Dean furrows his forehead and chuckles. “Isn’t that what we’re already doing?”

She traces her finger across the rim of her (empty) glass and pops her lips.

Cringe.

“Back at our hotel room, I mean,” she clarifies. “All four of us.”

Yep, they’re swingers. Which is totally fine. But Method acting is one thing; Method fucking is quite another. Nice, Solange. You really know how to pick ’em. I bet they’re pros at this, too, because I’m beginning to think Jaxson’s abrupt exit was meant to ensure that their proposition and my and Dean’s response to it would be as nonconfrontational as possible.

Recognition dawns on Dean’s face, and his eyes nearly fall out of his head. “You mean . . .”

“Thanks for the offer, but we’ll pass,” I squeak out as I jump to my feet and pull Dean up by his sleeve. “We’re not part of the lifestyle, and I think our relationship’s still too new for us to explore something like that. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”