My Husband’s Friend

“I never knew northern Europe was going to be this hot,” I whipped the back of my hand across my brow. I don’t know why but I pictured clouds, rain, and lush green forests.

“There’s a slight breeze coming through the open window.” Harry chuckled. “But you’re wearing too many clothes for August.” 

He had a point. He was wearing thin cotton joggers and a thin cotton top. While my loungewear looked similar, it was of considerably thicker cloth.

I took off my hoodie; I wore a little vest underneath and no bra: don’t judge me for my fashion decisions on a relaxing European vacation.

Craig emerged from whatever he’d been up to for the morning. He must have caught the end of our discussion because he said, “Feel free to wear as little as you like or nothing at all. There’s nobody here but the three of us, so just get comfortable.”

My husband smiled at me. “It will be another scorcher, according to the weather forecast. And that will be hot.” And then he winked.

I felt like he was daring me. 

We’d wander around naked at home — in the privacy of our apartment, that was different. 

“Right. That’s it, then. If you two are okay with it. I’m stripping off everything. Feel free to join me.” And I practically tore off my clothes; I shed them so quickly. I acted on impulse, partly because I guessed it would be acceptable in this home of all places.

It wasn’t just the room temperature or my desire to get naked between these two hunks; inexplicably, I knew our relationship required it.