It started out as one of those nights that was supposed to be low-key—a few drinks, some laughs, nothing crazy. My husband, being the life of the party as usual, decided to take on everyone at beer pong, which quickly turned into shots of tequila. By 11, he was passed out on the couch, snoring like it was a sport.

My best friend leaned over and whispered with a grin, “Hot tub time?” I wasn’t going to say no. We grabbed some borrowed bikinis, changed, and slipped outside into the steaming water. It felt amazing, the cool night air making the hot tub even better.

Not long after, four guys wandered over and climbed in with us. They were funny, flirty, and definitely had no problem letting their eyes linger. The vibe turned playful fast—jokes got dirtier, hands brushed under the water, and before long, things escalated. Somewhere along the way, our bikinis ended up on the floor, and nobody seemed to mind.

Meanwhile, my husband? Still passed out, completely missing all the fun.