The song, I had requested on nostalgic impulse. I was on the dancefloor with the girl who had given me her phone number. One minute, Gabrielle was talking my ears off about consensual nonmonogamy, and I was pretending to know what a polycule was.

The next I was locking eyes with Lexie Cambridge. No, fuck! Of all the clubs on the cruise ship, why had I chosen this one? The familiar tune shot electric flares of memory through me like lightning. Gabrielle's laughter faded.

Acrylic nails raked my hair. Lexie's moan ignited a craving. She writhed divinely in the backseat of my car as the liquid sex voice of my favorite singer rained eroticisms. And at the bridge of the song—the most intense measure—Lexie thrashed against my lips, seeking paradise and running from the rapture. I needed her. My sex throbbed, I needed her. Across time and space, I smelled her perfume; I still tasted her.

"So, yeah, like we've been dating for three weeks, but the fact that my partners are open to me having outside paramours is bliss," Gabrielle drew me back to reality. "Oh, look! Are those your partners, too?"

Devon stormed across the club toward me with Lexie in tow. No, no, not in the mood for this. I pasted on a smile for my travel companions. "Gabrielle and I were on the way out."

"Actually, we need to talk." Devon glowered.

Lexie sized up my date. The two women couldn't have been more different. The glamorous college grad had pearlescent brown skin and mesmerizing spiral curls. My intriguing date had bone-straight purple hair curtaining a dove white manic pixie dream girl face. Lexie was curves. Gabrielle was bone structure and angles.

"Actually," my date cut in, "I wasn't going anywhere. My polycule is here." She nodded in the direction of two men I hadn't noticed. Leaning against the mirrored wall, watching us, the guy with the twists and the blonde with the Timothy Chalamet hair sipped cocktails and talked. The fresh tension in our group enticed them over, though.

Devon pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. Come." He headed out of the nightclub.

True, it wasn't the place for an intimate travel party reunion. I wasn't keen on dragging strangers into personal business, either. "You know what, Gabs, I'll catch up with you later." I disengaged from her at the door.

"Everything good, cupcake? I'm Shane, by the way. This is West." One of the boyfriends shook my hand. He ignored Gabrielle's monologue about what a great time she'd had. Shane was too busy trying to cut off the circulation to my fingers. A passing thought, but I wondered if Gabs realized her "open to paramours" mate wasn't quite open to it.

Chalamet Blondie sipped a mixed drink loaded with fruit and tiny umbrellas. "Hi, how're you?" he asked, disinterested. He danced to the club mix that we could hear outside the venue. Gabrielle segued into dancing with him. Manic pixie energy.

"Vic, pronouns they/them. Nice to meet you guys," I said. There wasn't a chance in hell Shane didn't know he was hurting me.

"Devon, he/him." My friend stepped forward with his hand extended. I knew a save when I saw one. Shane gave him a once over. They were the same height, same build. Devon's grip couldn't be matched. "Minor misunderstanding here. I just need to talk to my friends. You all enjoy the rest of your night."

"Having girl problems, Devon? One bitch is never enough, but two can be quite a handful." Shane grinned.

Devon froze. Lexie's eyes constricted to slits as she pivoted. "Excuse me?"

"Figure of speech. No offense meant." He raised his hands innocently as he backed away, but he kept that same shit-eating grin on his face.

"Shane, baby. Let's go," Gabrielle whispered.

A sneer flicked the corner of my lips. "I think I said my pronouns."

"That you did, honey. I'll remember next time." Shane blew me an unwanted kiss.

I clutched Devon's shirt to keep him from going after the asshole. "It's in your best interest to steer clear of us for the rest of this trip," Devon growled. "Call my girl out of her name or misgender my friend again, and you'll be telling me how many sips it takes to get to the bottom of the Pacific."

"Ooh, threats! That's thoroughly sexy, Devon. See you around," Shane chortled. West smiled and waved, and Gabrielle couldn't meet my gaze but shrugged apologetically.

Devon placed a guiding hand on Lexie's lower back, and his wrist bumped mine in unspoken summons for us to go. Lexie heaved a gusty exhale, taking off in the direction of our stateroom. Behind her, Devon and I shared a look. "In order to have a good time on this vacation," he murmured, "we lay all our cards on the table. . . including me."

~*~

I loosened the collar of my shirt and flopped onto the loveseat, crossing my ankle over my knee. The day had brought such a smorgasbord of emotions that I welcomed feeling drained. With my arms spread on the backrest, I let my head loll. "So, what's going on?" I asked the ceiling. If Lexie and Devon thought I would be the one to spill my guts first, they were mistaken.

"Vic and I had sex my freshman year," Lexie blurted out.

At the same time, Devon said in a rush, "Lex, I don't want a relationship."

"Wait, what?" She blinked in surprise.

"You slept together?" he countered.

The collective hitched breath taken in the thorny silence made me sit forward and raise a finger. "I just want to say that I only came on this trip to be a supportive friend."

"I figured you two had had a flirtationship but. . ." Devon swore under his breath and laughed humorlessly. "I completely misread this."

"Since we're being honest, supportive in what way?" Lexie glared at me, and I wanted to wither away. "I mean, did he tell you that he was going to do this? Did you show up to witness my embarrassment? Supportive how?" She had tears in her eyes. I lurched to my feet to go to her, but Devon was there first. Redirecting my steps, I paced the room and disregarded the lump in my throat.

I studied the floor instead of the tenderness between them. God, Devon was the epitome of sex appeal. He had gotten out of his shirt the second we entered the room, and his muscular torso was on display, toned, smooth-skinned, and hungry for touch. Naturally—naturally—Lexie was attracted to him. How could she not be? Hell, I was attracted to him on a weak day.

"Lexie, I would never do anything like that to you." Devon collected her teardrop with the pad of his thumb. He caught her chin and coaxed her to look at him. "Neither of us wants to see you hurt. I invited Vic because I thought it would keep you and me from having to have this discussion. Like I said, I misread, and I apologize."

I stopped pacing and confronted them. "You can't see the obvious? Are you both that naïve? You have something special. So, you're not a fan of monogamy. So what? The girl I was out with tonight couldn't stop talking about open relationships and polycules or whatever. Try something like that." I wanted to not care. Except, I cared. Tons. I was suggesting they date to wipe the dejected look off Lexie's face and to straighten Devon's shoulders. Somebody owed me a Best Enby Friend award.

"You missed the part where he doesn't want to be with me." Lexie sniffed.

"That's not exactly what I said," Devon replied.

"But didn't you?" She emitted a bitter laugh as she settled at the foot of the bed. "I don't know. Maybe the crystal ball was right."

"What, the manghuhula, the psychic? You met her?" I asked.

Devon quirked an eyebrow. "The fortune teller?"

Lexie blushed. "Yeah, it's nothing. It—it's stupid. The cruise line hired some lady to entertain passengers with nonsense about what to look forward to on the trip. She said that if I didn't start making decisions for myself, the choices would be taken from me, and here we are." She lifted her eyebrows.

"Samentha told me that getting stuck in the past would be bad luck." I tried not to put emphasis on the 'bad luck' part, but the night was taking a toll. It was my fault. I had expressly asked for that song, knowing it would dredge up old memories, which was the opposite of what the manghuhula had told me to do.

"It's silly. I shouldn't have mentioned it. The three of us just need to find a way to get through the next two weeks with the least amount of emotional damage," Lexie summed it up.

"Well, the fortune teller talked to me, too," said Devon. "She told me to find a serious relationship or risk becoming a rolling stone like my father."

"Your dad's a family man," I replied.

He crossed his arms with a grin. "Exactly. Always has been. Fortune tellers are grifters. The woman took one look at me, drew a couple of stereotypical conclusions, and decided I came from a long line of philanderers, but she was wrong. You're in control of your own destiny, remember that.

"As far as this trip is concerned, the three of us are mature enough to bunk together and be friends," he said.

Lexie wiped tears. "Of course, we can." Her eyes grazed mine, and her cheeks burned red. I bit thought about logarithms. Logarithms, not her kisses. Not her moaning my name as I took her to heaven in the backseat of my Subaru.

"Just friends," Devon said with relief.

"Yep. Friends," I agreed.

In fact, we shook on it. Then we took turns in the comfort room, preparing for bed. It was such a feat, pretending my audiobook was more engrossing than Devon in his sleepwear, making a papag, a bed on the floor, and stretching out. He was manly as a slick wrestling match. Lexie climbed in bed wearing something sheer and abbreviated, a reminder she had come on this trip to share a bed with someone. Friends, we had agreed. Just friends. I slept an uncomfortable sleep.

The next morning, we found out the whole cruise was a throuples' retreat.

I needed new fairy godparents.