“She's so cool.”

“You mentioned that. Once a day for the past seven days.”

“We clicked and soul-bonded.”

“Then this should be a terrific dining experience.”

“I’m nervous. What if I am remembering her inaccurately?” I posited, as Kevin and I walked through the doors of the casual dining establishment. “What if Amber isn’t engaging or amusing at all? Or, what if her husband is a toad?”

My husband held my hand as we stood in line for the host. “Then we’ll eat our meals, save most of the chicken and pasta for the to-go containers, and get home early enough to say goodnight to our kids.”

“I want this to work out. I don’t have a lot of friends, especially not couple friends.”

“I will be on my best behavior, Jax.”

While we waited for the guests ahead of us to be seated, I looked over at the bar to our right and noticed a dark-haired man perusing the dessert menu, filled with cakes and pies and other decadent delights.

It couldn’t be.

Was that Quigley? 

I didn't want to assume it was him, and I didn't want to ask, because how would I explain who he was to Kevin? And If it wasn't Quigley, then I didn't want to be the person who thought all Asian men looked alike. Though, he didn't look like the Asian man I was married to, as my husband was of South Asian descent and this stranger appeared to be of East Asian descent.

As I, a Black woman, questioned my appreciation of other cultures, my navel-gazing was interrupted.

“Jax!”

From a vestibule a few yards away, Amber and her brown curls were waving enthusiastically at me under a Restrooms sign. She trekked through the cavalcade of attentive waitstaff to give me a hug.

“Hey hey.” I hugged back.

“The first time this year that I'm early.” Amber turned to my spouse. “You must be…”

“Kevin.” He shook her hand. “You didn’t tell her my name?” he asked me.

“I forgot. We were discussing other important items,” I replied.

“Like pastries and professional dancing and priggish parents in our PTA.” She took a gander around the seating area. “And where is my…” Amber swiveled toward the bar. “Q! Ven aca. Over here.”

The dark-haired man relinquished the menu and headed our way.

Oh bother.

Like an antelope in headlights, his eyes flashed with recognition, right before Amber placed her hand on his lower back and propelled him closer to me.

“Jax, Kevin, this is my husband, Quigley.”

Kevin gave him a hearty grip. “Nice to meet you, man.”

“You, too.” Quigley let go and contemplated my presence. “Jax.”

“Hi.”

Amber noticed the recognition between her husband and me. “You two know each other?”

The question hovered in the air.

Quigley stared at the floor. “Yeah, I think I have seen you at--” 

“We’re in the same movie club,” I blurted out.

“My wife loves the cinema,” Kevin acclaimed. “Last month was Rear Window, right?”

“Right.” Quigley nodded.

My heart pounded in my ears.

“What a coincidence,” Amber declared jovially. “Can you believe how much we have in common?”

Quigley shifted his gaze to the ceiling.

“Yes, I can,” I replied to his wife.

“Party of four?”

…

“Then I said to Jax, ‘we could list the cakes at two for five dollars, and the kids would eat them up.’ She has brilliant ideas, but those other PTA moms and dads.” Amber dug into her meaty keto salad. “They are set in their archaic ways.”

Quigley gave Amber a tight smile.

Kevin swallowed his steamed vegetables. “Those other parents sound like a handful.”

As Amber continued regaling Kevin with stories from our kids' school, I felt Quigley's eyes on me, boring a hole into my foolish heart.

I didn't dare meet his glance, out of fear that our spouses would suspect our clandestine connection.

Kevin placed his palm on my upper back. “You okay?”

I slid out of the glass and wood curlicue booth. “I will be right back. The bathroom is that way?”

Amber nodded. “Around that dark corner.”

I left other members of my party, shuffled around the other diners, and dashed into the Ladies’ room, which was empty. I locked myself into a stall and paced in a cramped circle, wondering how to keep it together.

Once I was finished with the facilities, I swung open the door back to the hallway and almost ran into some guy on his phone.

“What took you so long?”

Quigley.

“Have you been standing here waiting for me?” I demanded.

He scrutinized my uneasy face without a word, searching for the answer to a question I hadn’t verbalized.

“What? What? What?” 

“Amber didn't tell me your name,” Quigley responded, checking over his shoulder. “She said we were meeting up with Riley's Mom, because you called her Cory's Mom.” 

“Brilliant, she really is funny,” I grumbled. 

“Does Kevin know we…” he hedged.

“We?”

“Hang out together, alone, after the club meetings are over.”

“He knows that I like to socialize afterwards with some of the members at a café. I mentioned your name once.” I heard the clanking of dishes and silverware in the nearby kitchen. “I didn’t mention that you were the only member I was socializing with.”

Quigley took that in. “I told Amber that the meetings run long.”

“I wasn’t sure that there was anything else to tell.”

“We are not doing anything wrong. We are friends.”

“Friends?” I nodded, my stomach in knots.

“We talk, albeit lengthily, about movies, once a month. And throughout the month, through texts. And not always about movies.” He blinked rapidly.

“Then why…” I didn’t even know why I bothered to start that sentence when I had no idea what I truly wanted to ask him.

He waited.

I balked. “That shirt looks good on you.”

“Yeah?” He smoothed the black fabric across his chest.

“Trying to impress your wife’s friends?”

He checked over his back again. Then he leaned closer to me. “Is it working?”

I whispered in Quigley’s ear. “See you at the table.”

...

“We should do this again.” 

“Great idea, Amber. How about next month, first Wednesday?” 

“Works for me, Kevin.” 

“Works for me, too,” I inserted, as we walked through the parking lot.

Quigley shrugged. “I'll have to check my--” He glanced at Amber's frown. “We'll be there,” he amended.

“We don't have many couple friends.” 

“Neither do we!” Kevin exclaimed to Amber. “That's what Jax said!” 

“I did say that.” 

Amber hugged Kevin and then me. “Now we're all friends. Done.”

“See you at the next meeting,” Quigley muttered in my general direction. 

I nodded towards him.

“What’s the next movie?” Kevin asked us.

Quigley and I answered simultaneously, “The Sixth Sense.”

I felt my cheeks heat up.

Amber held out her pinky for me to link. “Jinx.”

…

Outside the bedroom window, the rest of the neighborhood slept soundly, as did my husband lying prone next to me, his eyes closed, his lips curled in a satisfied smile. 

Though it was almost midnight, I couldn’t rest, not after that dinner.

Confident that Kevin's snores signaled his residence in REM Slumberland, I sneaked out of the covers. I grabbed my phone and a velvet pouch from my nightstand, then I tiptoed across the room, down the hall, and into the spare bedroom.

After I locked the door, I sat on the daybed, gathered my bare legs onto the fleece blanket, and tossed the inordinate number of throw pillows to the floor. 

I couldn't get Amber and Quigley off my mind. I had no idea what I was getting myself into becoming friends with both of them. It wasn't like there was anything salacious going on, but l knew my relationship with Quigley was developing into something less innocent with every monthly club meeting.

I spread my legs and turned on my toy, making my lower lips quiver through the fabric. To distract myself, I scrolled through an erotic story on my phone from one of my favorite authors. It was a sensual retelling of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, called Black Ice and the Reverse Harem.  

But Quigley remained in my head, taunting me, studying my body like my curves contained the answers to his final exam.

I dropped the phone and let my adulterous thoughts take over.

The buzzing increased on my panties. I massaged my breasts but kept my shirt on in case anyone tried to come in.

I imagined what Quigley would say if he saw me in this position, thighs open, hand under shirt, panties soaked. Would he excuse himself from the room, embarrassed? 

Would he stay with me and grow aroused? 

Would he unzip his pants and rub his bulge along with my movements?

Would he take his cock out for air, running his curved fingers up and down the thick shaft?

Would I remove my shirt to provide him with a more enticing view?

Would he leak precum from the tip of his engorged head?

Would I lick it clean?

As I was getting closer, warmer, wetter, daydreaming about Quigley stroking in front of me, my phone buzzed next to me on the bed, Startled. I checked the door to make sure it was still locked. Then I read the glowing screen.

It was Quigley.

“R U up? WYD?”

I typed a response to his juvenile text. “Are you an adult, or is this a Twitch chat room?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

I looked at the door one more time, returned to the bed, and mulled over a clever response. A bed emoji? An eggplant with a lightning bolt?

I settled on three letters and a punctuation mark. “WYD?”