“He’s not worth it.”

I’m saying it about Benton Frusk, but I’m thinking it about Werner.

“He would be lucky to have either of you.”

I’m not just saying this to make them feel better. I like them both. I just met them tonight, but you’d be surprised how much of a feel you can get for someone by talking about sex with her for an hour-plus. Sex isn’t just sex, as I’m discovering. It’s wrapped up with everything. Childhood issues, current illness. Your self esteem, your friendships. Frustration. Loss. Hope.

It’s wrapped up with being human and being fragile and being strong.

So I feel like I know a little bit about Amy and Cara, just from watching them drink wine and support their friends and lose their stuff.

I cross my arms. “And if he doesn’t know that he’d be lucky to have either of you, then he definitely doesn’t deserve both of you.”

They both stare at me. Then, warily, they look at each other.

“Amy?” Cara asks.

“Mmm-hmm?” Amy says.

“Want to make Benton Frusk regret some life decisions?”

A smile creeps over Amy’s face, and the two women shake on it.

In the relative quiet, I bring out the order forms—clearly I’m not going to sell any more product after that—and Brody pilots the boat back to the marina.

12

Rachel

“Whew,” he says, when they’re all gone.

We’re standing on the dock, catching our breath, coming down from the intensity of the party. It’s dusk now, the sun’s dipped below the horizon, the sky is starting to darken. He’s close to me, the warmth streaming off his body, his leather and musk scent. I’m hyper aware of him. I’ve spent the last hour talking about sex, handling model penises, and watching Brody look at me like he wants to devour me. It’s enough to make a girl buy stock in panties.

“Is that going to happen a lot?”

I shake my head. “Pretty sure Benton Frusk is going to be more careful about his multi-tasking after the two of them are done with him.”

“That was cool.” He ducks his head, not quite looking at me. “What you said to them. You can think on your feet. I wish I could.”

“You did,” I say.

“Yeah, but I was all brawn. You were finesse.”

I laugh at that. “I’m flattered, but—I think it was more desperation than finesse.”

“Well, you’re good at that. Keeping things from blowing up. Keeping the party on track.”

“Thanks.” I duck my head.

“And the other thing, too. Explaining the products. Selling them.”