Surrendering to Her Husband's Friends at the Night Market

I never imagined our anniversary in Thailand would unlock something so raw inside me. Mark and I, both twenty-eight, had been wandering the Chiang Mai night market for an hour already, hand in hand beneath strings of red paper lanterns that glowed like floating embers against the dark. The air hung thick with grilled satay, sweet mango sticky rice, and the low hum of bargaining voices. My light sundress clung to my skin in the humidity, the thin fabric whispering against my thighs with every step. We were celebrating five years, just the two of us, until Mark’s laugh cut short and he pointed ahead.

“Holy shit—Jake? Tyler?”

There they were, his two best friends from college, weaving through the crowd like they’d materialized from one of Mark’s old stories. Jake, tall and broad-shouldered with that easy grin, and Tyler, leaner, darker-eyed, both looking sun-kissed and loose from backpacking. They spotted us at the same time. Hugs turned into lingering squeezes. Jake’s hand stayed on the small of my back a beat too long while Tyler looked me up and down openly, eyes catching on the way the dress dipped between my breasts.

“Damn, Mark, you didn’t say your wife got even hotter,” Jake said, voice low enough that only we four could hear over the market noise. “That dress should be illegal.”