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When I get upstairs, Jade has left the bedside lamp on for me, and she doesn't stir when I come in. I use the bathroom quietly and change into yoga pants and a T-shirt.

When I try to slide into bed without disturbing her, she lifts her head off the pillow. “Sara?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Her jaw cracks in a yawn, and I click off the light.

“Did you do it?”

I turn toward her in the dark. “Do what?”

“Bang Chris,” her voice is slow, and I think she’s already falling back asleep.

“No, but we kissed.”

“Mmmm,” she hums. “Tell me about it in the morning.”

“Okay,” I say.

“I want all the details.”

Now I’m trying not to laugh. I nearly answer, but Jade lets out a little snore next to me.

In the morning, I’ll tell her all about it. But first, I’ll replay them over and over in my head until I fall asleep.

23

Chris

I hesitatein my room before leaving. I don’t want to crash Sara’s weekend with her friends, but I know they will be having breakfast soon and then heading out for their day of sightseeing.

While they were at the baths, I couldn’t get the picture of Sara coming down the stairs out of my mind. That short black dress, the long, lean legs. I knew Sara was tall, but some part of my brain hadn’t put it together that she’s mostly legs. You would think, with her constantly in yoga pants, that I would have noticed. Maybe it was the heels? Or the hemline? Or the extra boost of confidence Sara wore like a cloak?

And while I have certainly fantasized about those legs wrapping around me, now it’s those bare legs around my waist, her dress hiking up, and her hands holding on for dear life while her heels dig into my back, and I . . .

After our kiss last night, I wrote furiously. The words quickly became lyrics; a tangle of long legs, black dresses, hot water, and angry words about betrayal and the burden of responsibility.

What’s left is a mess—a cathartic mess, sure—but a mess nonetheless. Some threads blended together into angry songs about when a woman’s chosen someone else. Some are lusty songs, and I don’t have to guess where that train of thought has come from. There’s even a ballad, which I hardly ever write, but I decided, after a few hours, that that was my favorite one.

When I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore, I forced myself to bed where I lay, knowing Sara was sleeping somewhere above me, a dull ache in my cock from wanting her so badly and running the kiss over and over again in my mind.

I do set an alarm, though, to make sure I see her and get another kiss before she leaves for the day. The thought of going without one is torture.

It’s already eight fifteen and I don’t know if this breakfast is a dine-and-dash or a leisurely meal. I can hear the four women in the kitchen when I step out of my room, and I lean against the doorframe before anyone spots me.

Sara stands at the stove, making crepes, while the other three sit at the counter in various stages of eating. Condiments are strewn about, some things I know Sara had bought for her friends to enjoy, like Nutella, jelly, and chocolate sauce. I wonder what she puts in her crepes.

Pan in one hand, Sara takes a step away from the stove and shakes the crepe loose. A count comes up: “Three, two, one . . . ohhhhh!” as Sara flicks her wrist, and the crepe goes airborne and lands neatly back in the pan. She didn’t have those theatrics when she made me crepes.

When Sara looks up at her friends, grinning, she catches sight of me, and the smile gets wider.

“Hey,” she says, and three heads twist to look at me.

“Oh, dear god,” Jade says when my wide grin matches Sara’s. “They’re going to be insufferable now.”

“Eat your damn crepes,” Sara says, but the smile belies any heat in her words. When the ladies’ attention is off me and back on their breakfast, I stride into the kitchen and come up behind Sara. I put a hand on her waist, and we both lean into each other, her back to my chest.

I want to kiss her so badly, but with a glance to my left, I see all three of her friends have stopped eating again to watch us. Instead of a kiss, I lean in and rest my chin on her shoulder. “Any breakfast for me here?”

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