Yes

Deciding to get more comfortable before joining him, she heads to her room to change. Joe’s too drunk to notice. She pads back into the living room, the blue silk of her pajama set whispering against her skin. The shorts are barely there—a triangle of fabric at each hip, the curve of her ass visible at the bottom edge. The matching camisole ties at her chest, leaving her shoulders bare, her collarbones catching the television's blue.

She expects to see Chad on the couch. Instead, the room is empty.

She stops, tilting her head, a faint crease forming between her brows.

"Chad?"

No answer. She sets the remote down, walks toward the kitchen, peers into the dark hallway. Nothing.

She turns back to the living room, and that's when she sees it—a glass on the coffee table, still half-full. A jacket draped over the armchair. His phone, screen dark, left behind.

He's still here. Just not where she expected him.

She lowers herself onto the couch, legs tucked beneath her, the silk riding high against her thighs. She picks up her glass, takes a sip, and waits, eyes fixed on the hallway where she last saw him.