I laughed. “I’m not blond.” “No?” “No, I have dark hair, are you even looking at me?” “It looks lighter in the yellow light,” he ...aid, grinning. “Are you sure you don’t just want me to be blond?” I ask running my hand through my very brunette hair, which tumbled down in soft waves to just below my shoulders. “I have no preference,” he said, moving closer and raising his hand to my cheek again, this time to softly stroke it with his thumb. I took a half step forward, closing the gap between. I tortured myself over this decision. In the end, my guilt got the best of me. Charlie was the winner.By the time the big day arrived, Charlie and I had developed a great email rapport. I genuinely liked him and felt like we were friends. The plan was for Claire and me to go out to a nice dinner and return to the hotel room for some drinks. Once Claire was nicely buzzed (and thoroughly turned on) we would go down to the bar separately. I would sit off to the side and watch the action as my wife. More

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