My wife and I had been married for eight years, and things in the bedroom had become predictable. We both felt it, but neither of us said it out loud until we hired Chloe as our babysitter. She was 19, a college freshman who lived a few blocks away, with long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a tight little body that she never tried to hide. Short skirts, cropped tops, the kind of confidence that made you look twice. Our kids adored her, and honestly, so did we.
I still can’t believe how it happened with Lucy, the girl next door. She was twenty-one, home from university for the summer, with long wavy brown hair, sun-kissed skin, and that innocent smile that hid a completely different side. I’d lived in the house beside her family for years, always friendly hellos over the fence, but nothing more until that scorching July weekend when her parents left town for a wedding.