Poker

Chloe was still working her way through the last of the cocktails when Katie’s voice came again from the living room—breathless, strained, and punctuated by the same soft, rhythmic sounds that had been going on for far too long.

“We’ve… almost got it,” she called, the words shaky. “Brian’s still helping. He’s being so patient. Just a little more—”

A short, sharp moan cut her off. There was a brief pause, then the wet rhythm resumed, slower this time but no less deliberate. Katie’s breathing stayed uneven as she forced the next words out.

“Maybe… maybe we should take this somewhere else after. Our place is only a few doors down. Dylan can set up the poker table. We could all go back there and play. Proper poker. Or… or the version where the loser has to take something off. Or keep going until the deck runs out. It would be more comfortable. More private. We could stay as long as we wanted—”

Her suggestion broke into a longer, trembling cry. The couch creaked. Brian’s low voice murmured something too quiet to catch, and Katie’s next sound was higher, almost startled, before it melted into another open moan.

In the kitchen the circle around you didn’t move. Chloe kept her eyes on the shaker, pouring the final drinks with the same unhurried care. One of Brian’s friends took a slow sip of his cocktail and glanced toward the doorway.

“Sounds like she’s got the next part of the night planned already,” he said mildly.

You tried once more to step forward. Two bodies shifted, blocking the path without seeming to try.

Katie’s voice drifted back, thinner now, as if she were speaking through clenched teeth or something else entirely.

“Dylan can… he can get the table ready. We’ll follow in a few minutes. Brian’s just—ah—helping me finish getting dressed. We’re good. We’re really good. Just… give us a little longer.”

The wet sounds continued. Her breathing grew more ragged. Whatever “help” Brian was still giving her showed no sign of ending, even as she kept offering up the idea of moving the entire party to your house a few doors down.

Chloe finally set the last cocktail on the counter and wiped her hands.

“Almost done here,” she said lightly. “Sounds like Katie’s already planning the rest of the evening for us.”

She looked at you over the rim of her glass, the same small, satisfied smile on her face, while from the living room your wife’s moans kept rising between every new suggestion about poker and privacy and staying longer.