SUMMER SWAP // Part 2 // Chapter 1

In the morning light the dirty talk seemed strange and otherworldly. Like it hadn’t been him who’d uttered those terrible words. Like it hadn’t been Cheyenne who’d responded to them.

They both lay in bed, side-by-side, both naked and wound in a tangle of their bedsheets. Cheyenne’s naked hip pressed against his naked hip. He groaned, stretched, turned toward her but wouldn’t meet her eyes. In his periphery he saw that she was awake, but instead he looked out at the view.

“Nice day out there,” he said, putting an arm around her and cradling her body against his. Outside, the morning sky was a bright blue, the lake choppy the water a churning blue-gray. “A little windy,” he added.

Cheyenne kissed his neck, patted his chest, turned in his clutch to look out the window. “It’s supposed to be nice later.”

“I hope so,” he said. “Yesterday was perfect.”

“Yesterday was pretty perfect,” she said. And now he was thinking of alternative meanings to that phrase.

Were the events of yesterday perfect, Cheyenne? The part where you huddled in a small bathroom with a guy who had his pants down, his big dick hanging there? Was it perfect how you two chatted together, alone and sequestered?

Despite the anger that this thought provoked, the seething jealousy, his heart pounded a little faster and he hugged her tighter.

“You’re squishing me.”

“I’ll squish you if I want to squish you,” he said.

Cheyenne kneed him in the balls. Just in her cute and playful way. Not hurting him, just jabbing the front of her thigh against his junk. It got him to grunt. “You’re such a tiger,” he said.

“I am feisty,” she said.

Before he could stop himself he jabbed back, “You were real feisty last night.” He winced. He hadn’t intended to bring up how they fought before they had sex and how she responded during sex.

“I can’t believe we got so crazy last night.”

“You and me?”

“All of us,” she said, and patted his cheek. Her eyes scanned his, looking for his thoughts. Cheyenne had deep green pupils, but the way the sun came in sideways through the window, level with the bed, put sparks of gold you could sometimes see in there. He kissed the tip of her nose.

He confessed: “I had fun last night.”

“I had fun too.”

Now he could think that she meant fun with Philippe and his giant dick, but then she could come back yeah, you had fun with Carla and her big tits. They both got a little crazy last night. But it was all in good fun. And yeah he got turned on by Carla’s bared breasts. And so what if Cheyenne got turned on by what Philippe had between his legs. A girl could be aroused by things. That was all right. Even if it was your wife.

If he wanted this to go away, it would have to be him to smooth it over. He kissed her forehead, ran his hand under the sheets, along the softness of her back, then over to grab one of her butt cheeks. He patted it. “I’m hungry,” he said.

“So, we’re not going to fight about that anymore?”

“What’s there to fight about?”

***

Despite the luxury and expense of their yacht rental, the second floor’s main kitchen was cluttered like they were all still in college. Opened bags of bread, dirty plates and forks and knives, unclean cooking pans, open jars of jam, cereal boxes with tops popped.

Byron and Cheyenne weren’t the only ones up: Arlo and Sullivan were drinking coffee on the back deck, and Scarlett was in the bathroom. The rest of them were in bed while Byron cooked toast and scrambled eggs on the propane burner. The kitchen was spacious and modern. Out both sides they had views of the water and the sandstone horizon beyond. Cheyenne sat on a stool on the opposite side of the kitchen island reading messages on her phone.

Byron flipped the eggs in the pan, said over his shoulder, “That better not be work stuff, Cheyenne.”

“Uh-oh.” Cheyenne laughed.

“Phones away,” he said now, dumping their two plates with the scrambled eggs. He pushed Cheyenne’s plate toward her, and when the toast popped, threw two pieces on it. He shoved a bottle of ketchup across.

With his plate, he came around to join Cheyenne, both of them sitting side-by-side at the countertop. She put her phone away, hiding it in her sweatshirt’s pouch.

“What do you want to do today? You want to take the jet skis, maybe go to shore, go shopping or something?”

“I want to stay on the boat.”

“What do you feel like doing?”

“Laying in the sun.”

“You don’t even takes sun that well.”

“Practice makes perfect,” she said, squirting ketchup in a zigzag across the pale yellow reef of scrambled eggs.

“Maybe I’ll go fishing with Sullivan. See if those guys want to go out.”

“You could do that,” she said.

“Thanks for your permission.”

Cheyenne laughed, leaned close and bumped her shoulder against his, took a bite of her toast and said, “I mean it’s a good idea.”

“I know what you meant.”

There was a yawn from behind them, someone coming in from the bedrooms, squeaky bare feet moving from the tile floor onto the hardwood.

It was Carla, coming around the island now and into the kitchen space, going to the sink and pouring herself a glass of water. She was still yawning, saying, “Good morning,” but almost unintelligible.

“Look at you, up bright and early,” Byron said.

“I’m so wrecked today,” Carla replied, drank a swig of water, popped the top on her multivitamins, tossed one into her open mouth, then knocked back the water to finish it off.

Carla wore an oversized T-shirt as a nightshirt. It clung to her curves, and it was clear she wore no bra. And her nipples were up and ready for the day as well. The front of the shirt had an image of a dog with messy hair; the T-shirt slogan underneath saying Dog Tired. Hardened nipple-bolts poked out on either side of the dog’s cartoon face. She said, “You guys are up too early.”

Byron said, “Arlo and Sullivan were up first. They’re out back having coffee.”

“Couple of nerds,” Carla said and laughed, put her empty glass in the sink and brought down a cereal bowl. Now her back was to them again, and he was watching her butt move underneath the pale blue T-shirt.

Cheyenne was watching him.

Byron look to her, smiled, making himself look innocent. He couldn’t help what Carla was wearing.

Cheyenne made no expression, then finished her scrambled eggs. She took his plate from him even though he still had half a piece of toast left, brought them both to the sink, dumped the remaining food in the trash compactor, pushed the foot pedal to grind it, and then began rinsing the dishes. She said, “Is nobody doing dishes around here?”

Carla chuckled, said, “Somebody’s crotchety in the morning. Usually it’s me . . .”

“Cheyenne’s not crotchety,” Byron said, hugging his arms and leaning on the counter watching the two of them side-by-side.

Carla tumbled a boatload of Froot Loops into her empty bowl and splashed milk in it. She came across to the opposite side of the counter with her elbows leaning, began spooning Froot Loops into her mouth. She wore no makeup this morning, her brown hair tied back, hanging down in wisps across the nape of her neck and down one side of her face. There was something about the way her lips moved, something sexy about her confidence and demeanor.

But Cheyenne was wary, washing dishes and looking over her shoulder to see what Carla was doing. Cheyenne didn’t do all the dishes, only scrubbed their two plates and the pan that he’d used. She put them in the drying rack, came to stand next to Carla, both girls facing them. Cheyenne said to him, “You want to go sit in the sun?”

“Yeah, good idea.”

Out of nowhere, Cheyenne turned to Carla, saying, “And in the future, why don’t you keep your tits to yourself?” Then she turned on a heel, headed aside out of the kitchen and down the narrow hallway toward the steps that would take her up to the second floor where she could sit in the sun.

Carla made no reaction, continued munching her Froot Loops, watching the space where Cheyenne had stood.

She tossed her spoon back in the bowl. It rattled. She palmed her hands on the counter and looked at him with serious intent. “You fucking told her that? You’re such a big mouth.”

Byron smirked awkwardly, shrugged, showed her his palms. “I don’t have secrets.”

“You could have a couple of secrets, Byron, you fucking moron. Way to go . . .”

Byron laughed. “She’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“You’re such an idiot,” she said, gathered up her bowl, held it to her stomach, then left the kitchen in Cheyenne’s wake, looking to catch up with her.

***

For a couple of minutes Byron sat at the kitchen counter by himself, still amused by what happened. There was something good with Cheyenne’s jealousy. Jealousy made him happy. Maybe his jealousy would make her happy, too.

Gradually, though, his amusement at the situation waned and he began to feel bad for having confided the truth in Cheyenne. Of course he should have told her. That was obvious. But he had betrayed Carla. Carla had done a funny thing that didn’t mean much. She flashed her tits at him when they were joking around, and kindly asked him not to tell Cody. And yeah, he didn’t tell Cody, but now Cheyenne knew. Maybe soon somebody else would know and then it would get back to Cody. It was kind of shitty. He’d apologize to Carla, but for now he’d let Carla and Cheyenne work it out between them, and he left the kitchen in the opposite direction, going out toward the front of the second level where he knew Arlo and Sullivan were sitting.

There was a short deck at the end of the hallway that threaded between the upper level rooms, and that’s where he found his two buddies, sitting on wicker sofas facing each other. Their coffee cups sat on a low table between them, and they were laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

Sullivan said he didn’t think he could streak around the boat last night if he wasn’t drunk.

“You were doing a dance, that’s for sure. And naked. It’s a good thing you didn’t fall in the lake.”

“I would’ve been all right.”

“What if you hit your head? I don’t think any one of us would’ve been able to save you.”

“I don’t think any one of you could save me stone cold sober.”

Arlo agreed, raised a beer bottle, then took a swig.

“You’re drinking already?”

Sullivan laughed, hoisted up his own beer bottle saying, “You can’t drink all day—”

Arlo finished, pointing at Sullivan saying “If you don’t start in the morning.”

They all laughed, and though it wasn’t even 9:30 in the morning, now Byron was craving a beer or two. He said, “Hey, you guys want to go out in the jet skis later, bring some rods, we’ll go fishing?”

“I’ll tell you what,” Arlo said, “if I’m not passed out by two o’clock, we’ll go.”

“Sounds like a deal,” Byron said. “Let me go grab a beer, I’ll join you guys.”

“Bring us a couple more,” Arlo said as Byron headed down to the kitchen again.

While the morning had looked tumultuous, Cheyenne was right, and the weather was already calming. Now he was too hot in his sweatshirt.

In the kitchen, he pulled out three beer bottles and set them on the counter. But he left them there, heading to the steps that would take him to the lower level where the bedrooms were, looking to get out of his sweatpants and into some shorts, and file away his hoodie.

Down on the lower level, Scarlett was heading into her bedroom. He said, “Little early for a nap.”

“What are you doing, you’re heading for a nap?”

He hoisted his sweatshirt saying, “No, I gotta change. It’s hot out now.”

“I’ll meet you outside in a couple minutes,” Scarlet said, heading into her bedroom.

He called out, “Me and Sully and Arlo are having beers on that little deck up on the second floor.”

“Beers?” Scarlet laughed then closed the door behind her.

It was kinda crazy, but it was a beautiful vacation morning and why the hell not?

He pulled open the bedroom door and jumped back. Cheyenne was in there with Philippe. They stood together and startled as he opened the door, Cheyenne scooting back from Philippe like they’d been close. His heart pounded with shock, and then his brow lowered feeling that angry jealousy come on.

What the hell were they doing together like that in the closed bedroom?