Back to Joe

She presses a quick, warm kiss to Chad's lips—lingering just a second longer than a peck should—before slipping off his lap and padding quickly down the hall. She eases the bedroom door open, slips inside, and closes it behind her with a soft click.

The room is dark, quiet, filled with the sound of Joe's steady breathing. She stands there for a moment, letting her eyes adjust, letting her heartbeat slow. Then she slides into bed beside him, curling against his warmth, her head finding its place on his chest.

He stirs slightly, a sleep-mumbled sound, his arm draping across her waist automatically. She closes her eyes, breathes him in, feels the familiar comfort of his body against hers.

She lies still for a long moment, calculating. Then, carefully, she extracts herself from his arm, slips out of bed, and pads to the dresser. She pulls out a fresh thong, a clean tube top, and changes in the dark, her movements silent and practiced.

She climbs back into bed, presses a kiss to Joe's shoulder, and stares at the ceiling, her mind a tangled mess of satisfaction and guilt and curiosity about what tomorrow will bring.

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