The “movie”

She hears him before she sees him—the soft pad of bare feet on hardwood. She turns, glass halfway to her lips, and the words catch in her throat.

He's standing there in just shorts. Low on his hips. No shirt. The dim light carves shadows across his chest, his shoulders, the hard lines of his stomach. She's seen him in clothes before, but this—this is different. This is intentional.

She sets the glass down slowly, letting her hand rest on the couch cushion beside her. She can’t stop looking at his body, especially his six pack. Chad notices…

“You wanna touch them?” He says. Clearly the alcohol has beaten both of them cus they’re struggling to contain it…

She hears the question and her eyes snap up from his chest to his face. The whiskey has loosened her tongue but not her awareness—she knows exactly what she's doing when she lets her gaze linger on him like that. She knows he caught her staring.

A slow smile spreads across her lips as she sets her glass down on the coffee table, turning her body fully toward him on the couch. The blue silk shifts, one strap slipping down her shoulder. She doesn't fix it.

"You offering?"

Her voice is low, teasing, but there's a real heat underneath. She holds his gaze as she reaches out, her fingers hovering an inch from his stomach, waiting for his confirmation before she closes the distance.

She lets her fingers brush against his skin—light, tentative at first, testing the warmth of him under her touch. Then she presses her palm flat against his stomach, feeling the hard ridges beneath her hand.

"Joe doesn't have these."

She says it quietly, almost to herself, her eyes fixed on where her hand meets his skin. Then she looks up at him, her expression unreadable.

"You work out a lot, or is this just genetics?"

She's stalling, filling the space with words because the silence feels too loaded. But her hand doesn't move from his stomach.