Getting Even. Kayla Perrin

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      I drop the strap-on back into the box and move it behind us. Then I stretch my body out on Adam’s. “Sweetie,” I purr in his ear. “I like being the girl.”

      “And I like being the guy. Nothing’s gonna change that. But I saw how much that woman in the cage enjoyed the way she was doing that guy…and I thought…I want that for you. A different kind of sexual pleasure.”

      I make a sound of derision.

      “Hold on to it until you become comfortable,” Adam tells me. “Maybe you never will, but you never know.”

      I don’t see that happening. The truth is, the things I’ve tried with Adam I would never have suggested. And quite frankly, while we don’t do it often, I don’t care if we never watch another porn video. And I certainly don’t want to go to another sex club. Adam turns me on. Him alone. Everything about him.

      “I’ll tell you right now, I’m not bringing that thing to my parents’ place. We’ll keep it here. I can just imagine what would happen if the cleaner stumbled upon it, or worse—my mother!”

      I laugh, and to my relief, Adam does, too. But Lord, I hope he forgets about this strap-on thing. I can’t help wondering if he’s going through some sort of sexual crisis with all the weird and different stuff he’s wanted us to try in the past few months. I pray this phase passes soon, and we can start our lives in the wedded bliss I’ve dreamed of since I was a child.

      Is Diana staring at me weirdly? I can’t help wondering the next morning as we sit across from her in my parents’ backyard. We’re getting together with the wedding planner this morning to go over the final menu. It’s decision day. The week before the wedding, we fly the chefs up from New Orleans to prepare all the items on the menu for us to sample. If there’s anything we don’t like, we can change our minds then, but we need a pretty solid idea of what we’re going with today.

      Diana, a graying woman in her late fifties who looks a lot like Diane Keaton, slips her glasses on and opens her planner. “So for appetizers you’re going with the five tomato mozzarella salad, the gumbo and the petite couchon baton. What about the main course? Were you still hoping for beef?”

      I look at Adam. He’s wearing dark glasses so no one can see his eyes. But I already know what they look like. Red. He got high this morning before we came to meet Diana.

      It’s one other change in him I don’t like. In the past year, Adam’s weed smoking has gotten excessive. He says he needs to relax because he’s so stressed with all the planning for the wedding, as well as his aspirations to run for mayor. I understand that, but there’s a limit for everything.

      I ask, “What do you think, Adam?”

      “I told you what I think. Let’s have beef.”

      I face Diana. “My mother and I have been getting calls. People are wondering why there isn’t a beef option.”

      “Those people aren’t planning a wedding for six hundred guests.”

      “I know, but—”

      “Can I make a suggestion?” she asks.

      “Of course,” I answer.

      “You’ve got onion-crusted American red snapper and pecan smoked Muscovy duck breast. That’s an excellent menu, certainly satisfactory for even the most discriminating eater. If you want to add anything else, I’d suggest another appetizer. The truffled soft-shell crab bisque. There’s plenty of choice for everyone.”

      “You’re probably right.”

      “I am right,” Diana assures me. “If anyone wants to complain, tell them to come to me.” She smiles sweetly, a smile that says she’s been planning weddings for over thirty years and knows her stuff.

      “Can we make a decision on this, Adam?”

      “Whatever you suggest is fine.”

      I roll my eyes slightly. I swear, I wish he’d get more involved.

      “What about the dessert?” Diana asks.

      “The best part,” I say. “I think I’ll gain ten pounds before my honeymoon.”

      Diana lifts the sheet with the dessert items and their descriptions. Adam and I have a copy of the same sheet to peruse. “Lemon flan,” Diana reads. “Chocolate-fudge Sheba, crème brûlée, Commander’s pecan pie à la mode, praline parfait, Creole bread pudding soufflé and Creole cream-cheese cheesecake.” She lowers the sheet. “You’re choosing two.”

      I glance at Adam, but he’s not even looking our way. His gaze is off in the direction of the woods behind my parents’ house.

      I reach for his leg under the table.

      “Honey?”

      “Yeah, sure. Sounds great.”

      Great, he’s not even paying attention! I hide my embarrassment by quickly saying, “We’ll do the Creole bread pudding soufflé and crème brûlée.” I nod. “Yeah, that’s good.”

      Diana scribbles some notes.

      Is that the right choice? I wonder. “Wait. You know what—if they’re preparing a sampling menu for us, why don’t you add the lemon flan and praline parfait to the list. That way, we can see what we like best before the wedding.”

      “No problem.” Diana makes more notes. “You’re paying big bucks for perfection, and I assure you you’ll have perfection.”

      At the price she’s charging, we most certainly should have perfection.

      “Now for the fun part.”

      “Oh?” I say.

      “I have a surprise for you.”

      I squeeze Adam’s hand. “A surprise. Isn’t that exciting, Adam?”

      “Oh, yeah. It’s great.”

      Diana removes her glasses, pushes her chair back and stands. “Let’s head to the pool-area bar, because you two lovebirds are going to create your own drink.”

      “Our own drink?” I can’t help smiling.

      “I brought in a mixologist today and he’ll work with you to concoct a cocktail specifically for you and your guests that they’ll enjoy as they arrive at the reception.”

      “That sounds amazing.” I look to Adam, who’s got a cheesy smile on his face. “I had no clue.”

      “I like to add some personal touches of my own,” Diana tells us.

      Adam and I get up. We follow Diana to the pool area in my parents’ vast backyard. They have a full bar there housed in a Caribbean-style hut. Behind the bar’s counter, I see a white man with shoulder-length blond hair. He’s tanned and looks as if he just stepped off a beach. He’s the type I associate with surfers and a carefree lifestyle.

      “I’m СКАЧАТЬ