The Games We Play

TEN

"That house is so motherfucking cute!" Jude says as he points up at a white weatherboard craftsman. He glances across the road at a navy one. "Ooh—that one is even cuter!"

"Shhh!" I tell him, holding tightly onto his hand as we stumble down the cement sidewalk. The trees above us make the light ripple over our skin, damp and sweaty from the getaway and the muggy heat.

"Should we buy one of those, baby?" Jude asks the lion as he kisses its mane again. "Just me and you because Cam is being a bitch."

I shake my head, pulling him down the street because he's walking so damn slow.

Groaning, I point at the house coming into view ahead. "C'mon, we're almost there."

"Almost where?" he demands, his voice climbing an octave. "Where the hell are you taking me and my baby? Oh! Oh my fucking God. Have you been here before, Cam? You secret little slut—who did you fuck here?"

I pull him off the curb, looking both ways for cars before crossing the street.

The house is silent, but I can see it faintly glowing gold through the closed curtains. Another weatherboard bungalow with a brick porch and a small lawn out front. It's old but well kept.

I take a quick glance at the driveway leading up to the small garage.

There are two trucks this time—and it's the shiny blue one that catches my breath.

"Cam!" Jude whispers as I pull him up the small path to the front door. "Who did you fuck and not tell?"
We stumble onto the porch, and I ignore him as I step forward to press the doorbell.

The doorbell doesn't work, so I knock, giving it three hard hits with my knuckle.

"I'm so proud of you," he interrupts, his voice softening as he leans toward me. "My little sneaky slut. Come here."

"Stop!" I laugh as he wraps me up in his arms like a boa constrictor, along with the lion. The mane flies into my eyes and mouth, and I try to push them both away, but my arms are trapped.

"I just want to congratulate you!" he protests as he begins to kiss the air with his pouty lips. "C'mere. Give Mamma a big ol' kiss."

I struggle to get him off me. "Jude—seriously—"

"Mwah!" Jude says as I pull my neck back as far as possible, every muscle in me straining to get away from him and his lips. "I'm so proud—my favorite little whore—"

The door swings open, and we both freeze.

Standing there is Wes.

He's shirtless, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, a backward cap perched on his blonde hair. A dish towel is slung over his shoulder like he just wandered out of some damn domestic wet dream.

Jude's jaw drops so fast I think I hear it click.

My stomach sinks as I slowly, awkwardly lift my hand to close his mouth.