We stopped outside my bedroom, her pale skin a contrast in the unlit hall. An outside house light sliced through open blinds on my windows. Abbie peeked past the doorway at my unmade bed, two large Ansel Adams photos leaning against a wall, and four stacked boxes. My black bag was in one of those boxes. Maybe I’d open it. Maybe not. I didn’t need it.

What was it Abbie said? Sex is two people being honest skin to skin.

Thunder cracked the night skies, the sound ripping our stillness. Abbie pressed her spine on the doorjamb, a study in black and white, seductive and aloof. The lines of her cheekbones hinted at maturity I’d not seen before.

“I want to warm you.” I paused. “Can you trust me to do that?”

~ ~ ~

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