Chapter Three
The car hummed beneath us, tyres whispering over the road. Morning sun streamed through the windscreen, turning the lanes to soft gold. Lou had her bare feet on the dash, a beer balanced loosely in her hand even though it was barely ten. She looked easy and alive, as if the day had already chosen her.
Phil sat behind me with his own bottle, the window half-open so a cool thread of air moved through the car. Fleetwood Mac played quietly—our usual road-trip mix, songs we could hum without thinking.
Lou tipped her head back. “Looks like it’s going to be a nice day.”
“Perfect for it,” I said. “Couldn’t have picked better weather.”
Phil laughed under his breath. “Let’s just hope I don’t regret saying yes to this.”
In the mirror I caught his reflection: a half-smile, fingers tapping the bottle neck in tiny, restless beats.
“You’ll be fine,” I said. “Bit of camping, few drinks. Easy.”
Lou turned in her seat, sunlight spilling over her hair. “And the rest,” she teased. “Don’t forget the other part.”
Phil raised a brow. “You mean the ‘other part’ I’m trying not to think about?”
She laughed, warm and musical. “What, being naked in the great outdoors?”
He chuckled, but there was tension under it. “Yeah. That bit.”
“You’ll get used to it,” I said.
She looked at me, then at Phil, the corner of her mouth curling. “Oh, I plan to.”
Phil’s grin deepened and for a second neither of them looked away. I felt the air thicken around us, the music suddenly quieter. I shifted my grip on the wheel.
Lou broke the spell first, glancing out at the fields. “You’re pretending you’re not nervous, Phil, but you started this whole idea.”
“Yeah,” he said, half-smiling, “and now I’m wondering why.”
“I’m not nervous,” I said, maybe too quickly. “I’m looking forward to it.”
And I was—more than I wanted to admit. The thought of Lou in sunlight, carefree, laughing—of sharing that with Phil watching—sparked something I couldn’t name.
Phil leaned forward between the seats. “You two sound far too calm about stripping off in front of your best mate.”
Lou tilted her head, eyes glinting. “Well, you’ve already seen more than most, haven’t you, Phil?”
He laughed softly. “Don’t remind me.”
Her cheeks coloured faintly, and she turned back to the window with a small smile that lingered. My pulse picked up. I wasn’t sure who I envied—him for being the target of her teasing, or her for enjoying it so easily.
Phil settled back. “Still can’t believe I agreed to this.”
“You’ll thank us when you’re sunbathing with a beer,” I said.
“Or arrested,” he muttered.
Lou’s laughter filled the car, light and quick, and heat rose in my throat. Watching the two of them spark off each other shouldn’t have affected me—but it did. I kept my eyes on the road and told myself it was nothing.
Phil shifted. “Here’s hoping I don’t chicken out.”
“You won’t,” I said. “You’ll love it.”
Lou turned, sunlight touching her face. “We all will.”
I smiled, though it felt different now—warmer, heavier. The road unwound ahead of us, and the weekend already felt charged.
Fields rolled by in slow green waves under an impossible blue. The hum of the tyres settled into rhythm. The tape looped back to Rhiannon. Lou’s empty bottle rolled in the footwell; Phil opened another but drank slower, thoughtful.
“So,” Lou said, breaking the lull. “Who’s most likely to chicken out this weekend?”
Phil leaned forward, his grin returning. “Easy. You.”
I caught her glance in the mirror, sparks in her eyes. “Gotta agree with him,” I said. “You talk big, but you’ll be first to grab a towel.”
Lou gasped in mock outrage. “Me? You’re both delusional. I’ve already shown more than most.” She flicked her hair. “You two will be clutching your shorts like lifelines.”
Phil laughed. “All talk. Ten minutes in the woods and you’ll be hiding behind a tree.”
“She’ll sprint back to the car,” I said, grinning.
Lou folded her arms but couldn’t hide her smile. “You’re both full of it. And you”—she pointed a finger at Phil—“have been fidgeting since we left.”
He raised his hands, bottle dangling. “I’m here, aren’t I? That’s more than most.”
“Exactly,” I said, steering through a curve. “But Lou’s right—you look twitchy.”
“Twitchy?” he said, mock-offended. “Cool as ice. Lou’s the one who’ll bolt.”
“Keep dreaming,” she shot back, voice low and teasing.
A small petrol station appeared ahead, half hidden by hedges, its sign faded by sun. I slowed and turned in, gravel crunching.
“Top-up time,” I said. “Anyone want anything?”
Phil shook his head. “I’m good.”
Lou unbuckled, glancing between us with a glint in her eyes. “So sure I’m going to chicken out, are you?”
Neither of us answered fast enough, caught in the weight of her challenge.
“I’ll do it,” she said, her voice low and teasing, and climbed out of the car with a deliberate sway that made the air feel tighter. As she stepped onto the gravel, she reached under her t-shirt, her movements quick and bold, unhooking her bra and sliding it off from underneath, pulling it out through her sleeve in a trick only women knew how to perform. Without missing a beat, she tossed it through Phil’s open window, the soft fabric landing squarely in his lap as she turned to grab the pump.
Phil froze, the bra—a delicate thing of lace and cotton—sitting there like a challenge of its own. His face flushed faintly, and he lifted it gingerly, setting it on the side of his seat with an awkward shift, as if embarrassed by its presence. But his fingers lingered, subtly tracing the lace between his thumb and forefinger, a fleeting touch that betrayed more than he meant to show.
Through Phil’s window, I watched her set the nozzle, one hand on her hip. Her thin t-shirt clung softly to her curves, now faintly translucent, the soft outline of her tits visible—nothing overt, but enough to steal the breath from the car.
Phil’s gaze lingered, caught on the gentle swell beneath the thin cotton. He shifted in his seat, his fingers tightening around the neck of his bottle, betraying the effort to look away. I didn’t blame him. My chest tightened, not with jealousy but with something hotter—a strange thrill at watching him watch her, my wife, so effortlessly commanding the moment.
The pump’s steady rhythm filled the silence, each pulse seeming to match the quickening beat in my veins. Inside, the air grew thick, heavy with unspoken things. Phil’s eyes flicked to the glass, then down to his lap, but they drifted back to her, helpless. I caught his reflection in the rearview mirror—jaw tight, a faint flush creeping up his neck. My own gaze kept pulling to the side mirror, to Lou’s silhouette, the way her shirt now hinted at what was beneath. The car felt smaller, the space between us charged with something I couldn’t name.
The pump clicked off. Lou set the nozzle back, her movements slow, almost deliberate, before disappearing inside to pay. When she returned, paper bag in hand, she slid into the seat with a wide, knowing smile. “Crisps, mints, water,” she said, her voice light but carrying an edge of triumph. “See? I can handle it.”
Phil let out a breath, a mix of relief and something else, his eyes flickering to her chest before he caught himself and forced a grin. “You win, Lou!” he said, his voice rougher than before.
“Exactly,” she replied, leaning back in her seat and reaching back to nudge his knee with her hand, a casual touch that lingered just a moment too long, sending a jolt through the car. Her eyes met mine for a split second, sparkling with mischief, and I felt the heat of it—of her confidence, of Phil’s gaze, of the way I soaked in every second of his quiet struggle.
I started the engine, the tyres humming softly as we pulled back onto the road. No one spoke for a while. Lou leaned against the window, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on the glass, her shirt still clinging softly to her skin. Phil stared straight ahead, but his grip on the bottle was tighter now. I drove, savouring the pulse of something new thrumming between all three of us, my mind caught on the image of her tits faintly visible beneath her shirt and the way Phil couldn’t look away.
