She smacked his knee and began to laugh. He wiggled his foot into his shoe and laughed with her.

“Are you out of your mind?” she said. “How can you just put your foot beneath my dress like that? So easily?”

“I must admit that pants would’ve posed a bigger challenge.”

“Shush, you know what I mean. How can you just step outside yourself and do things like that? Are you like this with every woman?”

“Only the ones that let me.”

“I hate you,” she said, with sparkling eyes. Her smirking mouth was drawn in a thin line.

“I hate you too,” he said, drawing her close. He rubbed the back of her head as she buried her face in his chest, where his nipple seemed to inject her cheeks with a dye that made them flush.

A cab came. They got inside, she ahead of him because he held the door. And they began to snuggle before the driver had put the Chevy in gear, he leaning against a door, almost horizontally, and she on top of him, sighing as his hand skimmed over her wavy hair, calming her soul like a breeze.

“Is this what it should feel like?” she mumbled, peeling back his T-shirt like a foreskin. As she nuzzled his chest, he pinched a nipple between two fingers and began to suckle her, rocking her, steadying her as the cab bounced out of potholes and swerved to avoid collisions, holding her both hard and soft.

“Should what feel this way?” he asked, wincing but not disturbing her as she pulled on him sharply and clenched him between her teeth, lapping at him hungrily, wanting to nourish her spirit with his essence.

“Should you want a man to mother you?”

“You want me to mother you, sweet girl?”

“Right now, I do,” she said.

“I’ll be your mummy then. Hush, sweetness … go to sleep.”

By the time they reached her apartment she was snoring.

“I’m sorry,” she said when he roused her. “I didn’t mean to doze off. I haven’t hung out in a while.” She yawned. “Oh excuse me.” She reached into her purse. “Here’s my share—”

He patted her hand. “Just cool. It’s okay.”

She opened the door. Something in the mood had changed.

“So we’ll do cookies another time, then,” he told her. He reached into his knapsack for the burlap pouch of coffee.

Sliding across the seat to her he placed one foot on the sidewalk, signaling that he was able if she was willing. She took a step toward him, which raised his hopes, then stumbled, and he grabbed her arm to steady her.

“I think I drank too much,” she said as he stood up. She leaned on him. “I think I need to go inside and get some sleep. Can we get together another time? I wouldn’t be good company tonight.”

She looked up at him, slack-jawed and squinting.

“Okay,” he replied, letting her go, “the next time I’m in town I’ll tell Claire … and we can get together. I wonder what happened to her anyway?”