The Swap(15)

Those precise words had run through my mind the first time I met Max Beausoleil. And every time after that. Hot as fuck. It wasn’t just his dark good looks enhanced by a sexy scar running across his lip; or his tall, muscular, athlete’s body. It wasn’t his fame and notoriety. When I met him, he’d been pleasant and engaged, but there was a darkness, a broodiness, a profound sense of tragedy about him. The combination was ridiculously attractive. Even Brian seemed enamored with him. (My husband’s overt fawning was significantly less hot.)

Freya kept going. “Women throw themselves at Max constantly. I’d be naive to think that he never slept with anyone when he was on the road.”

“That must have been hard for you.”

“I honestly didn’t care, as long as he used protection,” she said. “I didn’t want an STD. Or worse, a baby.”

Her comment stung. We had been so desperate for a child and Freya was comparing a baby to a case of herpes. But I hadn’t yet told her about our fertility struggles, or the evaporation of our adoptive child. I was sure she wasn’t being insensitive.

“But Max and I never talked about it,” she continued. “We never said, I love you, but I’m lonely. We’re apart so much, and I have needs.”

“Did you . . . ?” I didn’t want to articulate it, didn’t want it to sound like a judgment or an accusation.

She looked over and met my gaze. “Sex and love are not the same thing. Sex is physical. Sex is fun.” She ducked under a heavy cedar bough. “The people on this island get that. Everybody cheats. At least they’re open about it.”

“Not everybody cheats.”

“Really? You’ve never?”

“No . . . And I don’t think Brian has, either.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“My husband is a straight arrow. He’s just monogamous by nature. We’ve been together since college. I know him.”

“Wow. And you’ve never wanted to be with anyone else, either?”

“I didn’t say that.” My face was warm as I continued. “I guess I’ve thought about it. When I started college, I thought I would date and fool around and have fun. But I met Brian early on and he was so sweet and solid and . . . there. He was always there. . . .”

“Do you worry that you missed out on things?”

“Sometimes. At one stage, I actually brought up doing the hall-pass thing. But Brian couldn’t. He said the thought of me with someone else made him sick. And I wasn’t going to risk a great relationship just so I could have sex with someone other than my husband.”

Freya stopped short. “So you’ve only ever had sex with Brian?”

I was used to being judged for our sexual exclusivity. People seemed to think we were naive or prudish. They acted as if screwing a bunch of strangers was a rite of passage like going to prom or learning to drive. “Yeah.”

“Oh, honey.” She looked at me with such pity. “We need to fix that.”

“I love my husband,” I insisted. “He’s a good man. And . . . we have great sex.” I felt awkward sharing this intimate detail, but I wanted Freya to understand me, understand what I had with Brian.

Freya held her palms up in front of her chest. “I was kidding, babe. I think it’s beautiful that you found the right person when you were a kid.”

“We were in college, not kindergarten,” I quipped, as we began to walk again.

“I totally get it,” Freya chirped. “Brian is smart and witty. They say that’s the most attractive trait to females. A sense of humor. And bonus—he’s super cute, too.” She looked over and smiled. “And, of course, he wouldn’t want to share a gorgeous woman like you.”

“Thanks.” I felt myself warm in the onslaught of compliments.

“But now that you live on this hippie island, maybe you can have your cake and eat it, too?”

“What?” I chuckled, bemused.

“I’m kidding.” Freya waved the comment away. “You and Brian fit together perfectly. You don’t need anyone else. You just make sense.”

“You and Max seem like a great pair, too.” They did. Visually at least. His dark masculinity was a perfect complement to her delicate blond perfection.

“Our relationship is complicated. We’ve been through a lot.”

She was referring to the hit, the death, the lawsuit. I knew all about it. Everyone did. It had been in the news, off and on, for over three years. I gave her an understanding smile. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s been so hard. Sometimes, I’m not sure it’s all worth it.”

“If you love him, it’s worth it,” I said.

“I do.” Freya smiled. “And he’s hung like a stallion.”

I laughed, enjoying my friend’s wit.

When I went home to shower and get ready for work, I replayed our conversation in my mind. I’d never been one of those women who chatted about orgasms and vibrators and blow jobs over brunch. But Freya was so comfortable with the subject, so open about sex and desire and freedom. I was fascinated. And titillated. And I loved having a girlfriend with whom I could discuss even the most intimate subjects.

Later that morning, when I opened the store, I pulled Low’s résumé out of the drawer. Freya had gone to bat for this girl, had assured me that she was a good kid who deserved a break. Freya’s word was enough for me. And I wanted to please my new friend. I called the number at the top of the page.