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her. Naked hockey players,
pumping their hips to the beat of the Rolling Stones. And her, right in the
middle of them, nude and gyrating.
    What was wrong with her? Shaking off the image, she thrust
her hand into the potato chip bag. Warm flesh surprised her—Gavin’s hand. She
snatched hers away.
    “Sorry.”
    “Beth, you have to stop that. You’ve apologized twice in the
last five minutes. And you haven’t done anything worth an apology.”
    Sorry , she wanted to say, stopping herself just in
time. “My mother always said apologies were the oil of polite conversation.
They keep things running smoothly.”
    That silenced Gavin. Any mention of her mother tended to do
that. Her mother had always been good at silencing other people, especially her
daughter. Apparently death hadn’t diminished her powers.
    “I booked us into the same lodge where the players are
staying. Hope that’s okay,” Gavin said.
    “Well, sure, why wouldn’t it be?” She could think of one
reason. The distracting presence of young male bodies.
    “They’re a rambunctious crew, those Renegades. I can make
them go to sleep early the night before the game, but after the game all bets
are off. We might have to go have our own party that night.” He slanted her a
teasing look.
    “I vote for that. Maybe a nice dinner somewhere, just the
two of us.”
    “You, me, a bottle of red wine. It’s a date.”
    She pictured it, the two of them at a quiet corner table,
sharing a bottle of red wine. After the wine, they’d go back to their room and
launch into their usual routine. She’d change into her nightgown, he’d undress.
By the time she got into bed, he’d already be there, naked. She’d turn out the
light. They’d caress each other and she’d let him pull off her nightgown. He’d lick
her nipples, which felt lovely. She’d stroke his arousal in the way she knew he
liked. He’d finger her until she turned liquid and shivery. He always made sure
she orgasmed. Never once had she faked it, as she had with her one previous
boyfriend. He’d mount her and thrust until he came. Then she’d put her
nightgown back on.
    Her mother had never permitted her to sleep naked, and the
first time she’d gone to bed with Gavin, she’d been shocked.
    “How else are we supposed to make love?” he’d asked
quizzically.
    “Well, during sex, that’s different. But shouldn’t you put
your clothes on afterwards?”
    “I like sleeping naked. I like walking around naked. Ever
been in a men’s locker room?”
    “Of course not!”
    “Everyone’s naked there. I’m used to it. It feels good. You
should try it sometime.”
    “My mother would kill me.”
    He’d rolled her over and pinned her arms over her head.
“Let’s keep your mother out of our bedroom, if you don’t mind.” His black eyes
had bored into her with near-physical force.
    At this show of command, her mouth had gone dry. She’d
nodded quickly. Then, shocked at how easily she’d given in to him, pushed him
away. He’d rolled off her and said nothing for a few moments.
    “Sorry,” he’d whispered. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
    She didn’t explain that his words hadn’t upset her. Her own
response had. A wild urge to do something—submit, surrender, splay herself
open, turn herself inside out—had surged within her. Curled up at the edge of
the bed, she’d beaten it back until her heartbeat had returned to normal and
the crazed heat in her body had subsided.
    That shameful part of her, the part her mother despised, had
nearly betrayed her.
    To this day, Gavin stubbornly slept naked but Beth always
wore one of her high-necked, filmy nightgowns from Laura Ashley.
    Did they have a good sex life? Some people, she’d read,
never had an orgasm. So she should count herself lucky and ignore that little
voice inside her that longed for something more. Something deeper.
    “Or we could do something different.”
    Gavin’s statement startled her—as if he’d read her