After the hug

She stands there in the middle of the living room, still in just the towel, the front door clicking shut behind Chad. The silence settles around her like a second skin. She doesn't move to dress. Doesn't move at all.

Her mind replays it—the press of his body against hers, the unmistakable hardness she felt through his jeans, pressed against the thin towel that was all that separated them. Her breath is shallow. Her skin remembers the shape of him.

She brings a hand to her chest, feeling her own heartbeat under her palm.

"...What the fuck was that?"

She whispers it to the empty room. But she knows exactly what it was. And she knows she didn't pull away. She didn't step back. She let him hold her, let him feel her through the towel, let herself feel him.

She walks slowly to the bedroom, closes the door behind her, and sits on the edge of the bed, staring at nothing.