Chapter 4: The Door Doesn't Lock

I was out of bed before the second "yoo-hoo."

I grabbed Randy's T-shirt off the dresser, my jeans off the floor, and his wrist, and dragged him into the bathroom.

He shut the door behind us.

It swung straight back open an inch, because the lock hung off the frame by one screw.

"Hold it," I hissed.

He put his back against it, in his sweatpants and nothing else.

I pulled his shirt over my head, which came to my thighs, and hopped into my jeans.

"Mrs. Kowalski?" Gloria's voice came from the kitchen. "I let myself in with my master key. Is that all right?"

"Just a second!" I called.

"Take your time, dear! I'm only putting the cake in the oven to warm."

I heard the oven door creak and a dish settle on the rack.

Then slippers crossed the floor, and stopped right outside the bathroom.

"Are you two in there together?"

Randy's shoulders were shaking.

I clapped a hand over my own mouth.

"I'm brushing my teeth!" I said around my knuckles.

"At eight on a Saturday, how lovely. A husband who fixes locks."

Randy had found a screwdriver in his tool bag and was holding it in one hand, with a look of pure pain.

"I'll just wait right here," Gloria said, and I felt her settle against the other side of the door like a woman getting comfortable at a bus stop.

There was a very small gap, and a very large man leaning on it.

A woman three inches away on the other side of the wood.

And between my legs I could feel what he had left in me, warm and slow.

I must have made a face, because he stopped laughing.

He looked down at me.

I looked at his mouth.

"Don't," he breathed.

"Be quiet," I whispered back.

I put my hand on his chest and turned him around so he faced the sink.

I pressed my back against the door, and I unbuttoned my jeans.

His eyes went wide.

"Tina. She's right there."

"Then you'll have to be very quiet."

I slid the denim down to my thighs.

I turned around and braced my hands flat on the door, with his shirt riding up my hips, and looked at him over my shoulder.