He stepped out of his jeans and shorts, tugged his T-shirt up over his head, and realized she was helping him get it off. They seemed to melt together, and in a moment they were crouching on a soft surface that was not a bed, but a mattress that had a plastic surface and a few inches of foam rubber like the narrow mattress of a piece of lawn furniture. There were also some throw pillows. He gave the mattress no thought because by then his attention was fully engaged with her, his hands moving to caress her, exploring her body and letting her touch his. The process was hurried and eager, and the excitement grew, until in a short time they were making love. That was the term that came to him. They were quick and wild, even feverish in the small, dark room. There was a voracity that seemed to come from the forbidden nature of their new relationship, which was partly an agreement to do what they were not supposed to do. The transgression made them elated and burned away all the barriers and caution and even gentleness. They had granted themselves the right to take and take.

When they at last had to stop and lay side by side for a moment, he whispered, “Is this safe?”

“Do you mean is my husband home, or do I take the pill? He’s away tonight, and I do.”

“Good.” He lay still for a moment. “Of course, worrying about those two questions helped me last longer.”

She giggled. “You’ll just have to go back to thinking about baseball to control yourself, like other men.”

“It’s our national game.”

She put one leg over him and raised herself up to straddle him. “No, this is our national game.” She leaned forward and kissed his lips, a long, lingering, wet kiss. He felt her nipples just barely touch his chest, and her hips began to move, her pelvis grinding slowly against him, reawakening his feelings for her.

He adjusted his position on the mattress slightly, and she gave a sigh that trailed off into a moan. “Second inning,” she said.

The lovemaking went on for about two and a half hours before they lay still and stayed there, both covered with sweat and panting. When Charlotte’s breathing returned to normal, she said, “What time is it?”

He sat up, held his watch to the window, and moved the curtain an inch. “About two. But if that’s what you’re thinking, it’s time for me to go.”

“That’s true,” she said. “We both have to get up in three or four hours and put in a day of work, or people will wonder why we’re both tired.”

“Will they?”