Jan. Week 3: Friday Evening--Leah Rejects Jonathan's Advances... (Luck: +10)

Leah could see his arousal through his pants, the way he ran a hand across the back of his neck like he was trying to burn off his own embarrassment before making a move on her. He always wanted her the most when she was fresh from the shower: no makeup, no armor, just Leah in her own skin. Maybe it was the innocence, maybe it was the vulnerability, or maybe it was his own private kink—he’d never said, but she’d caught the way he watched her every time.

But tonight she felt raw in a way that wasn’t cute or sexy. Her nerves were still electrified from the afternoon, and her body felt overused, like a rental car returned on empty. She let him hold her, arms wrapping around the towel, but when Jonathan leaned in for a deeper kiss, Leah put two cool fingers against his lips and flashed him a sheepish, apologetic smile.

“Sorry, babe. I’m just… wiped. Long day. Actually, long week.” She let out a shuddery little laugh, and his face melted from expectant to gently crestfallen.

Jonathan blinked, then caught himself, squeezing her with one arm and ruffling her wet hair with the other.

“No worries. I can microwave a pizza and we can veg out. Maybe start that show you said was ‘mandatory viewing for couples on the internet.’”

“You’re a saint.” She grinned, grateful for the easy exit. He kissed her again, this time on the forehead, and then let her go.

“Maybe we can get a little weird before bed?” he asked, half-joking, half-hopeful.

“Maybe.” She winked.

They didn’t.

By the time the credits rolled on that trendy show and they’d devoured the pizza and two glasses of wine each, Jonathan and Leah were barely awake. They fumbled into bed and were soon fast asleep.