I stood at the bar, nursing my second bourbon, watching Sarah work the room. Twenty-five years since graduation, and she still had that prom queen magnetism. The silver cocktail dress she’d picked out hugged her curves in ways that made me grateful I’d married up all those years ago. I smiled to myself, remembering how shocked the guys on the team had been when she’d said yes to my proposal senior year.

Her blonde hair, a little shorter now than it was in high school, was styled in soft waves that framed a face that had barely aged a day. She still had the same smile, wide and genuine, that could stop traffic. That silver dress was a masterpiece, a shimmering sheath of fabric that clung to her full breasts and the generous curve of her ass. I knew for a fact she wasn’t wearing a bra; I’d watched her get dressed, and the low-cut back of the dress made it impossible. The only thing she had on underneath was a tiny black thong, a little wisp of fabric that was the only way to avoid a panty line in a dress that tight.

“Another one?” the bartender asked.

I nodded, watching Sarah laugh at something across the room. That’s when I noticed who she was talking to. Brad fucking Morrison. Our old running back. We’d competed for everything back then: playing time, yards, the starting position. I’d won most of those battles, but looking at them now, standing a little too close, I felt that old competitive edge flare up.

Sarah touched his arm, leaning in to hear something over the music. He said something that made her throw her head back laughing, that genuine laugh she usually saved for home. For me.

The bartender slid my drink across the polished wood. I took a sip, eyes never leaving them.

Brad’s hand went to Sarah’s waist. Casual. Friendly. Then it drifted lower. My grip tightened on the glass. His palm cupped her ass, not a brush, not an accident, a full, possessive grab. And Sarah ... Sarah didn’t pull away. She didn’t slap him. She didn’t even flinch. Instead, she bit her lower lip and said something that made Brad grin like he’d just won the state championship all over again.

What the fuck?

Sarah’s eyes scanned the room. Looking for me. I ducked behind a tall guy in a letterman jacket, feeling ridiculous but unable to stop myself. When I peeked back out, they were gone. Both of them. Just ... disappeared.

I set down my drink and moved through the crowd, trying to look casual, trying not to imagine what I was imagining. The ballroom doors led to a hallway. Empty. I checked the bathrooms: single occupancy, both vacant. Then I saw the exit sign glowing red at the end of the corridor.

The night air hit me when I pushed through the door. I was in the back parking lot, poorly lit, dumpsters lined up along the far wall. I heard voices. Sarah’s laugh, breathy and excited. Brad’s low rumble.

I moved without thinking, slipping into the shadows behind the nearest dumpster. The smell of garbage and old grease surrounded me, but I barely noticed. I pressed my back against the cold metal, straining to hear.

“God, I’ve missed this,” Sarah’s voice, husky in a way I rarely heard it.

“Missed what? Sneaking around?” Brad. Smug. Confident.

“Missed you. Missed this cock.”

I froze. The words didn’t compute. Missed? This wasn’t ... they hadn’t...

“Yeah? You remember how good I used to fuck you back then?”