“Condom,” he whispers.

“I’m on the pill.”

“Good to know.”

And with that, he’s in me, his forehead pressed against mine, the slick sweat of our bellies gliding against each other as he fills me, more and more with each stroke, an impossible fullness that grows as he moves. Just when I think he’s reached as far inside me as he can get, he finds a way to give me more.

This is Ryan, I think as we rock our way to orgasm, his hips rising and falling, moving at angles that render me mute, his powerful arms on either side of me, encasing me in a tiny world our bodies make with motion and flesh, friction and skin, kisses and strokes.

He moves faster, instinct making me widen my legs.

“Wrap your legs around me, Carrie,” he urges, the sound of my name on his lips as we fight for what comes next so arousing I damn near come now. I do as he says, my heels digging into his ass, which moves like a wild animal, all dominance, no mercy.

Something in me breaks, a snap I feel in my heart, like a new ship’s ribbon being cut, the cry of a newborn, the finish line victory of a marathon runner. Tears spring to my eyes, pinpricks that fill and fill and fill me like Ryan, who is gasping my name, face buried in my hair, our bodies saying two years of feelings.

This is Ryan, I think as my last coherent thought before ecstasy washes me out to sea.

This is Ryan.

Chapter 12

CARRIE

Have you ever seen that viral video of otters swimming in a bucket of water? Then you know what I look like getting into my maid of honor dress by myself.

That’s right. By myself.

I woke up to an empty bed the morning after we made love, the morning of Jenny’s wedding.

No Ryan. Again.

I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for why he disappeared after a night of wild passion with me. When I opened my eyes, the room smelled like warm sex and coffee. There was a hot latte next to the bed.

Latte, but no note.

I refuse to panic. As I finish putting on my stockings, an unsure smile makes me chew my lower lip. He’ll be back.

Right? Of course he will. Don’t be silly.

I admit this is a flattering dress, and it achieves that with structural engineering that probably requires a college degree like Ryan’s. But how are you supposed to fasten a row of hooks in the back of your own dress? It’s not like a garter belt, where you can fasten it in front and just spin it around. By the time I manage closure, there are dark circles of sweat under both arms.

But my breasts are higher, my waist is smaller, and my ass is perkier than they were when I started. Too bad Ryan isn’t here to see me.

The bridesmaids have finished brunch, hair, and makeup, and now we’re supposed to get dressed for photos, three hours before the actual wedding. You heard me — three hours. I’ve been able to get a driver’s license faster. It would have been easier if I could have asked Ryan for help with these hooks. Judging by the way he unzipped me last night, he knows his way around women’s garments.

At least, he knows how to remove them.

Is that from working at O? From past girlfriends? Or just from having four sisters? And why do I care, anyway? Last night was just…

I don’t know what last night was. But one way or the other, it changed my life.

Forever.

I take a last peek in the mirror. Several wisps of hair have pulled free from my updo, and are hanging down in inconvenient places. There are mascara smudges under both eyes. I blot the black circles with a tissue. It looks like the morning after a long night and I haven’t even left the room yet.

“Oh well,” I sigh, “It’s about how Jenny looks, not me. No one’s going to be looking at me.” I dust on a little powder and head out the door. Wherever Ryan is, he’ll join me at the wedding.

Right? A date’s a date.

The wedding party is gathered outside on the lawn overlooking the ocean below, and Jenny is indeed a gorgeous bride. She’s always been tall and thin, but Bridal Boot Camp defined her arms and sculpted her back. Her gown is a perfectly simple column of white satin, and although it’s a surprisingly warm day, the Atlantic breeze keeps the temperature perfect. There’s something so romantic about a long white veil billowing in the air.

“Carrie!” She rustles over and hugs me, enveloping me in a cloud of Cristalle perfume. “Your flowers are over on the table.”

“Jenny, you look so beautiful!”

“I should!” she laughs. “Six professionals have been working on me for two days! It’s never going to get any better than this. If I weren’t the one wearing a long white dress, Aiden wouldn’t recognize me.”

“Where is he?” I ask, looking around. “I don’t think I recognize him, either.”

“He’s over there with the ushers. The hotel just sent over a tray of IPAs. And a Champagne cocktail for Jamey.” She smiles, then looks at me sweetly. “I am so grateful you’re still in my wedding, Carrie. And that everything’s working out so well for you. Ryan seems like a really great guy. And it’s obvious he really loves you.” Her eyes fill. “I want you and Jamey both to be happy, as happy as I am.”

Before I can reply, Jenny’s mom appears at her elbow and points to the photographer, who has set up his tripod and is waiting. Another quick hug and she moves off to take care of bride business.

What was it she said? It’s obvious he really loves you… obvious he really loves you...

“You look great, Carrie.” Jamey is standing a step behind me, Champagne flute in hand. The ushers are all wearing navy blue blazers and tan trousers, with coral-colored neckties patterned with scallop shells. Jamey has his Ray-Ban Clubmasters on, so I can’t see his eyes. “I love your hair in that relaxed style.”

“It’s not relaxed,” I snap. “It’s falling down. It’s a mess.”

“Well, whatever it is, it suits you.” His voice is soft and sincere.

I open my mouth to say something bitter and sarcastic, to give him a piece of my mind, to make him sorry he ruined my life.

And I close it again. Is my life really ruined?

“Thank you,” I say instead. “You’re looking pretty snappy yourself.”

I glance around, confused. Did I just say that? It sounded very much like normal polite conversation between friends. Couldn’t have been me.