‘Fuck buddy,’ I said. There was no guessing the end of that sentence. I asked her to tell me about him. She said they met on a photography retreat...several years ago. He was a talented amateur whose day job was a C-level something for a bank headquartered on the west coast. He was also married and had no intention of divorcing his wife. She said the both of them hit it off as friends, the troublemakers in their classes – always talking and cracking jokes when they should have been paying. The problem wasn’t my willingness; it was her father’s reaction. “Lisa, if we do what you’re thinking about doing, and your Dad finds out, he’ll kill me.”She shook her head, her ringlets dancing about. “I won’t let him.”I frowned. “You didn’t exactly try to stop him on that day.”“Yes, I did.”The insanity of our current situation suddenly lost all cohesion with her words. “What?”“I tried to stop Daddy that day. I grabbed his arm, tried to pull him around to look at me, but he was too angry.”“And. More

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