Free The Wedding Sisters by Jamie Brenner Page A

only Pinterest board. Wearing a Monique Lhuillier dress was the only context in which Meg had ever discussed getting married. And, following Meg’s lead, Amy had quickly found herself enamored with the gowns by the superstar designer.
    â€œI love you,” she said, leaning forward and kissing him.
    â€œLove you too,” he said, giving her a peck and immediately turning back to his computer.
    She sighed inwardly. When was the last time they’d had sex? She was pretty sure it had been at Stonehill, over a long weekend. Labor Day? But no—that would make it six weeks! And yet … possible.
    A few months ago, Amy had almost asked one of her friends how often she and her boyfriend had sex. But she was too embarrassed to go through with it. More recently, walking to the subway with Jo after a dinner a few Sunday nights ago, she had almost asked her. But judging from the way she still mooned over Caroline, it was obvious they probably still banged every day.
    The thing was, she and Andy had been together longer than any couple she knew. Longer than some marriages lasted. It was normal to hit a sexual plateau—wasn’t it?
    Unfortunately, it was definitely not normal how, during these lulls, her thoughts always drifted back to her one and only one-night stand.
    How was it that a guy who hadn’t known her at all had known so absolutely how to touch her?
    It had happened that summer in Spain. She would never cheat on Andy, and—given their “break” status at the time of this insane, unforgettable sex—had never cheated on him. Technically speaking.
    Afterwards, she probably wouldn’t even have thought about Chris at all—that was his name, Chris. It wasn’t Juan or Pablo or any of the foreign-to-the-tongue kind of names he would have if they had met in a Woody Allen film. He wasn’t even Spanish. Chris was an exchange student from Skidmore. He was as Midwestern as they came, with sandy blond hair and blue eyes. He was a lacrosse player.
    When he had fingered her, she hit the moon.
    Lying side by side in the twin bed she slept in at her host family’s house—a family that went out for dinner at ten at night and usually returned after she was already asleep—she’d already had an orgasm by the time he moved on top of her.
    Amy shook her head, scattering the unwelcome thoughts.
    Her eyes fell to the ring on her finger—her gorgeous, cushion-cut, three-carat Tiffany engagement ring. A ring that was bigger than Meg’s. But then, Meg didn’t want a big ring. Meg was nothing if not understated. But Amy did want a big ring, damn it.
    And, at that moment, she wanted to be fucked. By her fiancé.
    She pulled the laptop from his hands.
    â€œHey, babe,” he said when she kissed him on the mouth.
    â€œHey.” She pulled off her T-shirt. Andy, finally getting with the program, kissed her more ardently. He took off his boxers, and she was gratified to see he was already hard. She closed her eyes, her lips curling into a smile, and when he slipped his fingers between her legs, she willed herself to feel excited.
    She didn’t.
    Andy was lost in the woods down there. Even when she showed him—touch me here, touch me like that—he went about it in such a literal and rote way, she couldn’t help but think she was better off masturbating.
    Then he moved on top of her and it felt … good. It always did. After a few minutes of practiced, rhythmic motion, she finally felt a climax within reach. Amy always tried to prolong that sensation of building pleasure, trying to time it so that she and Andy could come together. She rarely could, because Andy tended to go on and on. By the time he climaxed, her own orgasm had come and gone and she felt as detached from his orgasm as a casual bystander.
    Her phone chirped. Who was calling at this hour?
    â€œI should probably get it,” she groaned when she saw her mom’s face pop