“Nap with me.” Amanda extends her hand, leading me into her boudoir, which on other occasions has cuddled our passion. This will not be that, but just what it perfectly is, a afternoon nap, shared, which carries its own special intimacy.

I lie in her bed, on my left side, my good arm under and my broken wrist on top. She crawls in next to me, sliding her arm under my cast and around my waist. If the day started as an intervention, if I had thought for a moment she was with me because she had to solve her “Shae problem,” I now know otherwise. She wants to be with me. She wants me.

She kisses my ear, then pretends to sleep. Soon her hand comes up and cups my breast. “I don’t think I fondled you enough in the cafe today,” she says softly.

“No, I don’t think you did,” I whisper with a smile.

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