Caribbean Surprise

Vika Lita's cleaning up nice for the wedding, halo almost visible. Then some beach trip with her girlfriend wipes the shine right off—rum punches by the pool, someone else's tongue in her mouth, saltwater tang every goddamn place. These mile-long legs nobody's supposed to touch open quick under brown island hands that don't know the name of the fiancé she's posing next to in her pure-white save-the-date. Heat, sweat, the slick press of someone else's palm snaking into her waistband like a sin too cheap to resist, hips surging forward hard while she grins, wet lingerie shoved to the far end of the bed every morning they stagger home.