Page 129 of Full Contact

“The wall may be more forgiving.” He let go of my knee and went back to his pastitsio, picking the layers apart.

He asked whether Kelsey had sent me the pot-roast recipe yet. I reminded him she’d requested a formal written application through the Peaches list.

***

Trier put the leftovers away while I rinsed the plates. He opened the drawer to the left of the dishwasher and took out a dish towel. He didn’t need to ask where anything was anymore.

I took my leather chair and picked up a thriller paperback I’d started the day before. Trier stretched out on the sofa with a magazine he’d rolled into his coat pocket. He flattened it against his thigh and crossed one socked foot over the other on the far cushion.

The quiet was good. I read several pages before I realized I hadn’t once checked whether Trier was enjoying himself. When I looked up, he was absorbed in an article with a photograph of a stone oven, one hand behind his head. He didn’t notice me watching.

Eventually, I closed my book and sat on the edge of the sofa by Trier’s hip. He moved his legs to make room without looking up.

We were both quiet enough to hear his pages turn. Five minutes later, I took the magazine out of his hand. He pulled me down against him and kissed me.

“Anna says she can cover the morning too,” he said against my mouth. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’d like more room than this sofa.”

***

My bedroom had no curtains. Twenty-three floors up, nobody could see in, and I’d never seen the point of covering the windows. The night outside was a dim blue-gray, with the scattered orange of Lake Shore Drive along the bottom of the glass. It was enough to see our way to the bed.

I stepped up close and pulled the green sweater over Trier’s head. The wool crackled. Blue sparks jumped in the dark, a dozen tiny snaps along the sleeves, and when the sweater came free, his hair stood on end, creating a halo effect against the window.

“Is that you?” Trier asked.

“It’s February.”

He ran fingers through his hair. “How bad is it?”

“You look like you’ve been struck by lightning.”

“Damn.”

I smoothed his hair down with both hands. It snapped at my fingers, and he flinched. Then he laughed and kissed me while my fingers were still in his hair.

Gripping his elbow, I pulled Trier toward the bed, and he sat. He leaned back on his elbows, watching me undress in the low light.

“What are we doing?” he asked.

“You’re lying there.” I opened the nightstand drawer. “I’m doing everything else.”

“Everything?”

“Yes.”

“So I get to watch,” he said. “I’m a spectator.”

“You’re the venue.”

Trier laughed from deep inside his chest. I knelt over him and kissed his mouth. I tugged his shirt off over his head while he wiggled out of his jeans.

I opened myself with two fingers slicked with lube while still kneeling astride him. I braced myself with one hand on his chest, rolling my head back and letting out a low moan.

When I rolled the condom onto him, he raised his hips off the bed and reached out with both hands to grip my thighs.