'Ripley!' Frankie was complaining. 'When it's yellow, let it mellow—'

'You're a piglet.'

'—when it's brown, flush it down. That's what Mia says!'

So. Fucking. Tired. Why couldn't they ever sleep in? Just once.

He heard a breathy groan. A warm hand brushed his back.

That's right… Sam.

'Morning,' she croaked as she stumbled by naked, searching for her clothes. Thomas watched her through bleary eyes, wondered at her perfect, figure-skater ass. Sunlight streamed through the sheers, making marble of her skin, illuminating her edges with otherwise invisible hair. It seemed the shape of her had been stamped into him—a million years of evolution, a lifetime of social conditioning—this one perfect woman. There was something glorious about that.

In the daily headline of his life, he thought, today's would read:

HOT FEDERAL AGENT BANGS WORN-OUT ACADEMIC

Too cool.

He was still drowsing when she returned wearing her skirt and blouse. He watched as she craned this way and that before his full-length mirror, frowning as she tried to flatten a fabric crease across her bum, first by rubbing a palm across it, then by endlessly readjusting the waist. She murmured, 'Shit…' over and over, each time with the why-me contempt women reserve for uncooperative clothing and seditious body-parts.

A long blink was all he needed to fall back asleep.

But as he dozed worry shot threads through the drift of associations, then like a pyjama-bottom drawstring, began to cinch things up. He saw Neil reaching into the nethers of Nora's skirt, as though about to shake another man's hand. He saw Frankie hunched in the shadows at the top of the stairs, watching him and Sam in the bounce of pornographic lights. Then everything began to smear, flicker… Gyges scowling at his reflection. Mackenzie laughing like a gnome. Cynthia Powski shrieking, cooing, bleeding—

The alarm went off.

He felt nailed to his pillow by his sinuses. Moving as little as possible, he grabbed the phone and croaked, 'Work.' Suzanne's digital recording tickled his ear. 'Mental health day,' he said after the tone.

Dragging his ass out of bed, he found the upstairs deserted. He hoped Ripley and Frankie were playing nice with Daddy's new friend. He shuffled to the bathroom, anxious and awake in a still-lurching body.

It was obscene how good a hot shower could feel. His body exulted in the steamy downpour, even as his thoughts lurched in recrimination.

Frankie and Ripley. They were the only important thing.

Sam would understand. Wouldn't she?

He trotted down the steps, still toweling his hair. Sam, looking almost as smart as she had yesterday, came out of the den with Ripley, who was clinging to her hand. They looked good, if somewhat uncomfortable, together.

'What are you two up to?' he asked.

Sam flashed him a baffled smile. 'I guess we're looking for something called—' she grimaced—'Skin-baby.'

'I can't find Skin-baby anywhere, Dad.'