Page 7 of Sex, Lies, and Margarita Mixes

Yowling as the pain threatens to take me to my knees, I grab my crotch and check for damage. I’m bleeding.

Miguel is just staring at us both. Finally, he shakes his head and starts backing out of the kitchen like he just walked into a live porn taping with his parents.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll be back to, er, clean the mess, once your dick is back in your pants or whatever. I hope she didn’t skin you. My bad,” he yells as the door solidly closes.

Roxy jumps to her feet. We both stand there, breathing hard, staring at the door Miguel just disappeared through. Still ruined and my dick is still throbbing… from my injury.

Roxy groans and leans back against the fridge. She winces as she sees me cradling my wounded appendage. “Is it bad? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to use my teeth.” She growls. “I swear, if I ever speak to that man again, it’ll be at his funeral.”

Adjusting myself with a hiss, I groan again, “Yeah, I’m gonna need like twelve hours and an ice pack.”

She exhales, then, she wickedly grins and says, “I’ll give you six.”

ROXY

“So,” I say, flopping face-first onto the couch in the empty living room after our deeply interrupted moment, “I think we need ground rules.”

Chase sits beside me, legs wide, arms stretched across the back like he didn’t just get a blowjob in the kitchen that abruptly ended with an injured little Chase.

“Rules,” he repeats, blinking at me.

“You know, boundaries.” I say.

“Sure. Let’s make rules, Roxy.” He chuckles, and then, his finger drifts over my upper arm. “I mean, you’re ‘No sex with my husband one’ was so effective. What are these rules, babe? I need to know so I can know exactly when we cross them.” He waggles his brows.

Oh shut up, you sexy mother fucker. It’s not my fault I have no willpower when it comes to you.

Our friend just saw me with your dick in my mouth in the middle of the kitchen.

Rolling my eyes, I shoot him a glare so sharp it could peel paint.

He holds up both hands, but his smirk has my insides twisting. “I’m listening, Roxanne. Go on.”

He only uses my full name when he’s about to either seduce me or argue for his life.

Probably both in this instance.

I sit up and count on my fingers.

“One: No sex.”

Chase laughs. “We’ve already broken that one. Twice. Irrelevant and voided. Next.”

“Yes, and they were a mistake. A moist, frosting-covered mistake, and then, a “my husband is too fine and sweet and I cannot resist him” moment of weakness. That will not be happening again.”

He nods, “Uh huh. Sure. I believe you, baby.”

I slap his thigh.

He grins.

We both know that it’s happening again.

“Two,” I continue, “no sleeping in the same bed.”

He tilts his head and says with exasperation, “Again, already broken. So, voided. Next.”

“Chase, I’m serious.” I growl.

Grabbing my feet, he pulls me over to him on the couch. “Me, too. Rules one and two are hereby voided. But do go on.”

My thighs clench but I mutter, “Three: No touching without permission.” I glance down at his hand on my feet that are now in his lap.

He bites his bottom lip. “Yeah… about that one.”

I can’t help it, I smirk. “Be honest, you’re already picturing how to ask permission in the dirtiest way possible, aren’t you?”

He shrugs and traces the arch on the bottom of my feet. “Consent is hot, babe. So, I’m going to need you to say that one is void, too.”

I shiver as he continues to torment me. Then, I growl, “Fine.”

He smirks, “So, we’re good for sex, sleeping in the same bed, and touching whenever we want to. I mean… it’s like we’re married or something, babe.”

Damnit, Chase!

I pause, then chuckle as I add one more. “Four: Mouth stuff is on a case-by-case basis.”

He nearly falls off the couch from laughing. He finally recovers and says, “My dick was just in your mouth in the kitchen, and I had you for dessert a couple of nights ago on the island top . All of your rules are bullshit. We’ve broken them all already.”

I retort, “Doesn’t matter. Rules are rules.” I smirk. “Just being realistic.”

He leans in, eyes gleaming. “No, you’re delusional . You’re telling me that if I make you coffee the way you like it, rub your feet, and do your laundry, you might reconsider Rules One through Four if I promise to make you scream my name so loudly the whole retreat hears?”

I don’t blink. “I’m saying I reserve the right to sit on your face if the vibes align.”

He laughs heartily and presses his fist to his heart. “Whatever you say, my queen.”

A beat passes. Then, we both start laughing… because this is so us . This is how we survive. We flirt through heartbreak. We seduce or just say “fuck it” to rules. And time after time after time, we fall back into each other like we never even left.

Ten minutes later, we’re still on the couch, half-draped over each other, soft petting and working each other up in “innocent” ways, when Whitney walks in and says, “Sorry to interrupt this sexual tension fest, but the next couple activity starts in five. Sasha says to bring your emotional baggage and your safe word.”

Chase mutters, “Same word for both, actually.”

Whitney tilts her head. “What is it?”

He grins and says, “Roxy.”

The exercise is called "What’s Your Fantasy?"

Each couple pulls a card, reads it aloud, and answers the prompt. Together at the same time.

It’s supposed to be about “deepening emotional connections.”

We are taking it as a challenge not to, “say something inappropriate and get kicked out of the class.”

Sasha and Miguel go first.

Their card says- “Describe a fantasy your partner doesn’t know about.”

Miguel answers immediately. “Blindfolds. Silk ties. Slow jazz. Watching eyes.”

Sasha: “You want to role-play as the guy from Bridgerton again?”

Miguel: “You love the accent!”

Sasha: “You kept saying ‘I burn for thee’ while trying to open the condom. It was confusing.”

They high-five.

They use condoms?

I sip my margarita and raise my brow at Chase.

I’d be down for that one.

He grins and I know we’re on the same wavelength.

Next up: Bree and Weston.

Their card says- “What’s the dirtiest thought you’ve had about your partner this week?”

Weston blurts out, “I had a dream she rode me on a paddleboard in the water.”

Bree laughs and exclaims, “I did ride you on a paddleboard.”

Weston grins and stretches, crossing his arm behind his head. “It was still a dream, babydoll.”

Honestly, it’s iconic.

Chase winks at me and I see we’ve added another one to the list.

Trent and Whitney are next. Whitney pulls out a card that says- “Where would you be an exhibitionist?” She shakes her head and nods at Trent to go.

He says, “I fantasized about taking Whitney on the counter in the kitchen during the day while everyone else is right out in the living room or on the deck.”

Whitney’s eyes widen and she blushes as she sputters, “Trent! They could hear or see us!”

He mutters, “Yeah, that’s literally the point.”

Chase winks at me— Been there. Done that— and it’s our turn.

He draws a card and immediately smirks. My nerves kick in as he starts to read it aloud.

“What’s one fantasy you’ve never told anyone… because you thought it was too much?”

The group howls and leans forward. They’re not even trying to hide their interest in our answer.

Sasha murmurs, “Ohhhh, I know this is going to be good.”

Trent and Miguel both laugh, and Trent says, “There is something about these two that’s too much? I walked in on them fucking on the island and Miguel walked in on Roxy blowing Chase in the kitchen. Let’s go .”

I stare at Chase while he stares at me.

And then, like an idiot, I blurt out. “My fantasy involves a hotel room. Late check out. Open windows. Room service delivering strawberries, champagne, chocolates, and whipped cream. Silk sheets. No clothes. And Chase—” I stop and the table goes silent.

Whitney fans herself.

Chase is rooted to the spot with his eyes locked on me.

Miguel whispers, “Shit, go on.”

I clear my throat. “Chase… on his knees. Wrecked and begging. ”

Trent chuckles and says, “Forgiveness or puss?—"

Whitney smacks him with their card.

I try to play it off.

I laugh. Shrug. Sip my wine… but I can feel Chase watching me.

I glance over at him. His whole body is tense. His jaw is tight. His nostrils flare and his light eyes are so dark only the pupil is visible.

I almost fold right there.

“Your turn,” I say, trying to sound casual though my entire body is awake, alert, and humming.

Chase leans back in his chair but he doesn’t break eye contact, and he says, “ My fantasy is simple… she says stay —and means it.”

Oh my… holy shit. He just said that. Publicly. In front of our friends.

It’s not a secret that our marriage is a mess. Or that it’s my fault most of the time.

But he just threw me under the bus. And I can’t even be mad. Because his fantasy shouldn’t be a fantasy. It’s what a normal healthy relationship is supposed to be like.

And I’m definitely not normal… but I feel exposed.

No one makes a sound. Not even Bree. And Bree is always making a sound.

I want to say something.

Anything. But I can’t. Because I’m two seconds from breaking again.

So instead, I quickly stand and brokenly whisper, “I need air.”

I leave.

I walk on the beach for a bit. But I feel even more exposed out there, so I slip back into the condo and head to our room, hoping it’ll be empty. It is.

I pace. I scream into a pillow. I stare at the ceiling and pretend I’m not crying.

I’m a hot mess and Chase is in a toxic relationship with me because he loves me and I don’t let him know how much I actually love him, too.

I do. I do love him. I do want him to stay.

I just don’t know how to say it without losing myself in the process.

CHASE

I don’t even try to fall asleep. I can’t.

I’m lying in bed, in the small room across the beach house—the one she came to me in last night—staring at the ceiling, replaying her voice in my head on a loop while she’s still beside me.

“Chase… on his knees. Begging.”

She said it like it was a fantasy… but I know better.

It’s a memory. It happened . Once.

It was the first time she kicked me out, a mere month after our wedding.

She was almost hysterical, and I had no idea why.

Nothing happened that I could remember. But she took off her wedding ring, her actual ring, the one I bought her the day after our wedding and threw it onto the counter.

She told me she couldn’t do it anymore and I needed to get out.

I begged her to calm down. I was on my knees on the cold tile. My hands were shaking. Tears were rolling down her face. She was so panicked and I didn’t know why. Not because I was pathetic, but because I meant my wedding vows. Losing her was never an option.

It still isn’t.

It’s almost 3AM when I stand up and grab the notebook from the nightstand—I’ve been carrying it since the first day she ever told me to leave—and walk barefoot across the patio to the guest room she’s using on the opposite side of the house.

I don’t knock. I just slide it under the door. And I leave.

The notebook isn’t anything fancy.

It’s a black composition notebook. The kind you use in school. The edges are frayed. The spine is bent. It doesn’t even close all of the way anymore. But inside… every page is hers .

The first sentence on the first page reads,

“Shit I Should’ve Said Before You Walked Out.”

The second says,

“I didn’t put the cayenne next to the oregano to hurt you. I did it because you always reach for it first, and I live to see you smile.”

Page after page is just filled with my thoughts.. about her.. about us… about how much I’m not going to let her go, no matter how hard she pushes me.

“You were right about the mirror. I look different without you in it.”

“I smell your perfume on my shirts, and it calms me when you frustrate me because you don’t know how much I love you.”

“I lied. I liked the pink glitter vase.”

And on the last page, the last entry from earlier today, I wrote.

I’m still here.

Same dumb heart that belongs to you. Same stupid hope that you’ll finally realize you’re everything I could ever want or need. Still yours even when you say you don’t want me. I know that you do.

-Chase

After walking back to my room, I crawl under the sheets, and stare at the dark ceiling for another hour.

I’m not hoping . I’m just waiting. Because if she reads it… and doesn’t lock her door, that’s a start. And if she opens my door…. that’s everything .