She tucked her fingers into my waistband, scraping her nails gently along my skin. With one swift movement, she had gone from sitting next to me to straddling my lap, her hands now wrapped around my hips. She placed a delicate kiss on my cheekbone and then traced her lips to my ear, then down my neck. Instinctively, I pressed her into me, wrapping my arms around her back, and let out a long sigh into her neck, resisting the urge to lift her up and carry her to her bed—or, better yet, the kitchen counter.

“I’m listening,” I said. The words came out rough, like wheels on gravel.

“Well, the most important thing to know,” she said, “is that every one of them involves you completely naked.”

*  *  *

The next morning, I woke up again in Franny’s bed. But this time, I wasn’t clutching a pillow. I was holding her. She was splayed across my chest, face-planted and out, one arm draped over my stomach. My arms were wrapped around her like she was a safety blanket. “Franny?” My voice was a hoarse whisper. I got no reply. She was out, and so I lay there, doing absolutely nothing but enjoying the sensation of her body pressed against mine, the way her bare skin felt against my fingers, her rhythmic breathing lulling me back into a quiet, meditative place.

I wasn’t used to lying still, to indulging my senses in what was happening in the present. Normally, I woke up before my alarm, grabbing my phone before my eyes were even open. Scrolling emails. Devouring news. Paying bills. But here, in Franny’s bed, I wasn’t even sure where my phone was. And I didn’t want to leap out of bed, torch my adrenaline, start my day. I felt perfectly content for the first time in maybe forever.

Franny stretched awake and leaned back to face me. “Hey,” she said, rubbing her eyes.

“Morning,” I said softly, running a finger down her nose.

She rolled over to look at her phone and groaned when she saw the time. “I really do not want to take the train out to Connecticut today.”

“Baby shower time?” I asked, trying not to let her hear the disappointment in my voice.

She nodded and slid next to me, her head tucked against my shoulder. “Can we hang out tomorrow night? I could come to you?”

“My flight to Seattle is at six fifteen tomorrow morning. I’m back Thursday night.”

“Noooo,” she moaned.

“You could come stay at my place tonight?” I suggested, determined to figure out a solution.

“I don’t think I get back into the city until, like, ten o’clock.” She ran a hand down my chest, then from hip bone to hip bone, and I sucked in a breath.

Franny giggled. She knew exactly what she was doing to me. Suddenly, she sat upright. “Screw it,” she said. “I’m not going.”