Chapter 8: The Locker Room Interrogation
The locker room door clanged shut behind Alan, the sound echoing off the concrete walls. He turned to find Ray leaning against the lockers, arms crossed, a grin spread across his face. Beside him stood Marcus, a stocky maintenance man with a mop draped over his shoulder.
"There he is," Ray said. "The man of the hour."
Alan's hand tightened on his bucket handle. "What do you need?"
"A story, Alan." Ray pushed off the lockers, stepping closer. The smell of bleach hung thick in the air. "You and Jan. The movie. Give me the details."
Alan's face went hot. "We saw a film. Ate calamari."
Ray's grin widened. "And then?"
"Then we went home."
"Whose home?"
"Ray, come on." Alan tried to sidestep, but Marcus blocked him.
"You two saw a movie. Ate some squid. That's sweet." Marcus leaned on his mop, shaking his head. "Screw whatever date you had. How'd you even get together? How the hell does a guy like you land a knockout like Jan?"
Alan's knuckles went white on the bucket handle. "It's none of your business."
"None of our business," Ray echoed, the words dripping with delight. He folded his arms, cocking his head. "So it's a mystery, then. A real puzzle."
Marcus grinned, stepping closer. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, casting his shadow long across the concrete. "What'd you do, Alan? Slip her a love note? Trip into her office on purpose?"
"Nothing like that." Alan's voice came out thinner than he wanted.
Both men just stared at him, smiles wide, waiting.
The locker room door creaked open. Dave, a wiry facilities tech, leaned in, grinning.
"Room for one more?"
Ray's eyes lit up. "Dave. You know something?"
"Everything." Dave stepped inside, crossing his arms. "Talking to Jan yesterday. Couldn't stop gushing about you, Alan. Told me the whole story. And I mean everything."
Alan's stomach dropped.
"See?" Ray clapped his shoulder. "You got options here."
Dave tilted his head, smile widening. "Tell them, or I will. Your call. She was pretty enthusiastic about the details."
The silence stretched, three grins hanging in the buzzing light. Marcus shifted his weight. Dave's arms stayed crossed, waiting. Ray's smile had teeth in it.
Alan's chest pounded against his ribs. The smell of bleach pressed in from all sides.
He closed his eyes. Drew a breath deep into his lungs. Held it. Let it go slow.
When he opened them, the three of them hadn't moved. But the pressure had loosened, just a fraction.
Alan let out a breath, and something loosened in his shoulders. A small chuckle escaped him, dry and surprised.
"It started with that ridiculous prank that jackass Roland did to me on the office floor."
Marcus's eyebrows shot up. "Roland? The sales guy who got fired for messing with the vending machine?"
"Him." Alan set the bucket down, buying himself a second. "He pulled my pants down in front of the whole floor. You saw it."
"We saw the aftermath, yeah." Ray's grin softened, just a little. "Rough."
"It was rough. I stood there in my underwear, wishing the floor would open up." Alan shook his head. "I finished my cart and was heading back to the closet. Then Jan caught me and pulled me into her office."
"She caught you?" Marcus leaned in.
"She said she wanted to make sure I was okay. That was it at first. Just checking on me." Alan's voice dropped. "And then she told me she liked what I was wearing."
Ray blinked. "Underwear."
"Yeah."
"She complimented your tighty whities."
"Ray."
"I'm just clarifying, man."
"We closed the door and talked about underwear for a while. Hers, mine. What we liked." Alan's face burned, but he pushed through. "And somehow that turned into not wanting to leave, and then not wanting her to leave, and then. I don't know. Everything."
Silence. Ray and Marcus stared at each other, mouths open, utterly empty.
Dave leaned against the lockers, arms crossed. "He's not lying. Jan told me about the underwear conversation. She was very complimentary."
"You knew?" Marcus's voice cracked. "And you didn't warn us?"
"Where's the fun in that?"
Alan let out a deep sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Then a few days later, she found my closet."
"Your closet?" Marcus echoed.
"The janitor closet. I was sitting on an overturned bucket, eating a sandwich. Tuna. I remember because I dropped it when she opened the door." Alan shook his head. "She stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, looking at me like I'd been caught doing something wrong."
"What'd she say?" Ray asked.
"She said I was coming over to her place for dinner. That night. She said I had no say in it." Alan's voice caught, and he almost smiled. "I tried to explain that I was working until six, and she just said she'd cook for seven. Then she left. Didn't even wait for an answer."
Marcus let out a low whistle. "That's bold."
"She made salmon. Glazed it with something sweet, I never got the recipe. Had a bottle of red wine open on the counter when I got there." Alan's gaze went distant, the locker room falling away. "We talked for hours. Not about work, not about the office. Just, I don't know. Everything. The kind of conversation where you forget to check your phone."
Ray leaned against the locker, arms crossed, a grin spreading across his face. "And the rest is history."
"Yeah." Alan's face flushed, but he didn't look away. "The rest is history."
Marcus shook his head slowly, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. Dave stayed silent against the lockers, letting the story settle between them. The fluorescent hum filled the quiet.
Ray clapped Alan on the shoulder, the teasing edge fading from his voice. "Good for you, man. Really."
Alan picked his bucket back up, the weight familiar in his hand.
Dave pushed off the lockers, arms crossed. "Is that all?"
Alan looked at him. "Yes?"
Dave's grin sharpened. "Are you sure about that?"
Alan's face went red. "Yeah."
Ray and Marcus exchanged a look. Dave let the silence stretch.
Dave's grin sharpened. "Alright then. So what he is not telling you is that he hooked up with Jan at all three of those interactions. Her office, the closet, that dinner, and every night since!"
Marcus's mop clattered to the concrete. Ray's mouth fell open, his eyes going wide as dinner plates.
"What?" Marcus breathed.
"No," Ray said, a slow grin breaking across his face. "No way. Every night?"
Alan's face erupted. Heat flooded from his collar to his hairline. "Hey! No! Come on!" He grabbed for Dave's arm, but Dave sidestepped, still grinning.
Ray held up a hand, almost reverent. "So wait. Wait. You're telling me that Jan, the Jan, the spreadsheet goddess, has been letting this man hit it on the regular?"
"Dave, stop," Alan pleaded, his voice cracking.
Dave ignored him, crossing his arms. "And from what Jan herself has said, this guy is a real stud apparently!"
The word hung in the fluorescent air like a grenade.
Marcus made a strangled noise. Ray stared at Alan as if seeing him for the first time, his eyes traveling up and down, searching for something he'd missed.
"Stud?" Ray repeated, tasting the word. "Our Alan. The guy who wears tighty whities and eats tuna sandwiches in the closet. Stud."
"I never said that," Alan managed, his voice thin. His hands shook. He couldn't feel his face. He wasn't sure it was still attached.
"She said more than that, actually," Dave added, leisurely. "Much more."
Alan's knees buckled. He caught himself on the locker, metal cold through his shirt, and for one desperate moment he considered diving headfirst into the supply cabinet.
"Yeah, man, stud Alan here!" Dave's voice carried through the locker room like a bullhorn. "Jan says she just can't resist him at all! You know Alan was late the other day, right? I'm sure you can guess why!"
Alan's grip on the locker went white-knuckled. That morning came back in a stomach-dropping rush. "How late was he?" Marcus asked, his voice barely a squeak.
"Two hours," Dave said. "Jan called me herself, laughing her head off. Said he'd been so distracted all night that he'd forgotten he had a job. She had to remind him his pants were still in her hallway."
Ray let out a whoop that bounced off the concrete walls. "Our man Alan forgot about work because he was too busy with Jan. I don't know whether to be proud or horrified."
"Both," Marcus said, shaking his head. "Definitely both."
Alan found his voice, thin and cracked at the edges. "The alarm died. It was a mistake."
"Sure it was, champ." Ray draped an arm over his shoulder. "A mistake."
Alan's face had gone past red into a shade he didn't have a name for. The locker room pressed in around him, the smell of bleach and three grins closing in from every side.
Dave crossed his arms, enjoying the moment far too much. "She said you make her feel like a teenager again."
Marcus's mop clattered to the floor again. Ray's jaw hung open.
Dave's grin widened until it nearly split his face. "She says Alan here has left her trembling every time. Last night was the first night they didn't fool around for once."
The locker room went dead quiet. Even the fluorescent hum seemed to hold its breath.
Ray's jaw worked, but no sound came out. Marcus stared at Alan like he'd grown a second head. The mop lay forgotten at his feet, handle rolling slowly across the concrete.
Alan's throat had closed up entirely. He could feel his pulse in his ears, hot and loud. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out except a small, strangled noise.
"She said that?" Marcus breathed.
"Word for word," Dave said. "Said she's been walking around the office with jelly legs all week. Had to start taking the elevator instead of the stairs just to be safe."
Ray slowly raised both hands and pressed them to his temples, like he was trying to keep his brain from leaking out his ears. "So let me get this straight. Our Alan. The guy who apologizes to the vending machine when it eats his dollar. He's been leaving Jan with jelly legs."
"Trembling," Dave corrected. "Her word, not mine."
Alan's back hit the locker behind him. The metal was cold through his shirt, and he pressed into it, wishing it would open and swallow him whole. "Dave. Please."
"She also said you have very strong hands."
"Dave."
"And that you're surprisingly confident when the lights are off."
"Dave, I will quit. I will move to another state."
Ray found his voice at last. "Strong hands?" He turned to Marcus, eyes wide. "Our Alan? The guy who carries the toilet paper up three flights of stairs with both arms?"
"Strong hands," Marcus repeated, nodding slowly. Something like respect crept into his voice. "Huh."
Alan pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. The locker room smelled like bleach and betrayal. Somewhere above him, the fluorescent light buzzed its steady, indifferent hum.
Dave spread his arms wide, palms up, as if presenting a trophy. "Can you believe it? We've been working with a sleeping dog this whole time!"
The locker room erupted. Marcus bent double, slapping his knee, his laugh bouncing off the concrete. Ray grabbed the locker for support, wheezing, tears glinting at the corners of his eyes. Even the fluorescent light seemed to buzz brighter.
Alan stood frozen, his face still burning, but the heat had shifted. It wasn't shame anymore, not exactly. It was something closer to wonder, the kind of warm disbelief that came from being seen.
Ray recovered first, wiping his eyes. "Our Alan. Hiding in the closet, eating tuna, wearing tighty whities." He shook his head, grinning. "And Jan's been getting the ride of her life. I'm not gonna lie, man. I'm a little jealous."
"You and me both," Marcus said, still chuckling. "How do you do it, man?"
Alan opened his mouth, but no answer came. He didn't have one. It was just Jan. She made it easy.
Dave stepped forward, and before Alan could brace, he wrapped him in a rough hug, clapping his back hard enough to make him cough. "Good for you, man. Really."
"Hey!" Ray shoved in, arms going around both of them. "Group hug. Get in here, Marcus."
Marcus groaned, but he joined, his stocky arms closing around the pile. The smell of bleach and sweat and cheap deodorant pressed in from all sides, but it wasn't choking anymore. It was warm, almost brotherly.
Alan's eyes stung. He blinked hard.
Ray pulled back first, holding Alan at arm's length. "You deserve it, you know. All of it."
"Yeah," Marcus added, nodding. "You're a good guy, Alan. About time something good happened to you."
Alan's throat tightened. "Thanks, guys."
Ray pulled back, grinning, shaking his head. "So you're telling me the closet man? That's insane!"
Alan's face went red again, all the way to his ears. He grabbed his bucket, turned, and walked out without a word.
"Hey, congrats, stud!" Marcus called after him.
"Give Jan our best!" Ray shouted, laughter chasing him down the hallway.
Alan kept walking, bucket swinging at his side. The flush on his face cooled by the time he reached the supply closet. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he let it stay.
The evening had settled into Jan's apartment like a held breath. Warm lamplight pooled over the bed, and the faint smell of her citrus lotion hung in the air. Alan knelt astraddle her thighs, his palms spread over the small of her back, working slow circles into the muscle there.
Jan lay flat on her belly, face turned toward the window, arms tucked under the pillow. A low, satisfied hum escaped her as his thumbs pressed along her spine. She wore a pair of pale pink panties, cotton with a thin lace trim along the edges, the fabric riding just high enough to show the crease where her thighs met. The color stood out against her skin, soft and almost shy against the confident curve of her hips.
Alan let his gaze linger there for a moment, then looked away, his hands moving up to her shoulders.
"So Ray and Marcus cornered me in the locker room," he said.
Jan's head tilted. "That sounds ominous."
"They wanted the story. Every detail." He pressed his thumbs into the knot at her shoulder blade, and she let out a small groan. "Dave got involved. Told them everything."
"Everything?"
"Apparently you told Dave everything. Including the word stud."
Jan's laugh was muffled by the pillow. "I might have mentioned you once or twice."
"Jan."
"Three times." She turned her head, a grin peeking through her hair. "You make me feel like a teenager. It's your fault."
Alan's face went warm. He shifted his weight, the cotton of his tighty whities pulling across his hips. They were white, plain, a little loose in the seat, the kind of underwear he'd worn for years without thinking about it. Now he thought about it every time she looked at him.
"I don't know how you put up with them," Jan said. "The teasing. The locker room stuff."
"They're just having fun." Alan's hands moved lower, thumbs pressing into her lower back. "It's not so bad when it's about something good."
Jan propped herself up on her elbows, craning her neck to look at him. The pale pink fabric stretched across her rear as she moved, and Alan felt his mouth go dry.
"You know what I like about that?" she said. "You're not hiding anymore."
He looked at her, her hair mussed, her skin warm from his hands. He was straddling her in his tighty whities, and she was looking at him like he was the only person in the world.
"I'm not," he said. "Not with you."
She smiled at him, that slow, easy smile that made the room feel smaller. "Not with me either."
Alan smiled back, the words settling somewhere warm in his chest. Jan lowered herself back onto the pillow, her body relaxing under his hands. He resumed the slow circles on her lower back, thumbs pressing along the ridge of her spine.
"Does it bother you?" he asked. "The guys. Knowing everything."
Jan's voice came out muffled against the pillow. "Doesn't bother me in the slightest."
"You sure?"
She propped herself up just enough to look back at him, her hair falling across her cheek. "Alan. I told Dave all of it. I wanted him to know. I'm not exactly shy about the fact that I'm crazy about you."
His hands stilled for a moment. Then he pressed his thumbs into a knot near her waist, and she let out a soft groan of relief.
"That's going to be a problem for you," she added. "Knowing I have no filter."
"I've noticed."
"You're dating a woman who announces your bedroom habits to the facilities staff."
"Apparently I'm dating a woman who calls me a stud in front of said facilities staff."
Jan snorted, burying her face in the pillow. "I regret that."
"You don't."
"I really don't." She turned her head, grinning at him from over her shoulder. "But I also told Dave you have strong hands. That part's just factual."
Alan laughed, low and warm, and pressed his palm flat against the small of her back. Her skin was warm under his touch. He let his thumb trace the edge of the pink lace, just once, soft enough that it could have been an accident.
"Keep that up," Jan said, her voice dropping half a register, "and I'm going to start making good on all those rumors."
Alan's hands stilled on her lower back. Crimson flooded up his neck, across his cheeks, all the way to the tips of his ears. He'd gotten used to the locker room. He wasn't used to her saying things like that with her chin propped on her fists, watching him like she'd found something rare.
"Jan," he managed.
"What? I'm just saying." She rolled onto her side, the pink cotton shifting with her. "You get all red like that and I can't help myself. It's like waving a steak at a hungry dog."
"That's a terrible analogy."
"It's an honest one." She reached up and hooked a finger under the waistband of his briefs, tugging him forward an inch. "Come here."
Alan let her tug him forward, his knees shifting on the mattress. Jan rolled onto her back in one smooth motion, the pink cotton riding up her hip as she settled. Her legs opened, unhurried, and she reached down to guide him into the space she'd made.
He came down on his forearms, bracketing her, the heat of her thighs against his hips. She pulled him in close, arms looping around his shoulders, heels hooking behind his knees. The white cotton of his briefs pressed against the pink lace of hers, a soft seam of warmth between them.
"You're always thinking," Jan said, her voice low. "Even when you don't have to."
He looked at her, her hair spread across the pillow, her eyes dark in the lamplight. "I'm not thinking right now."
"That's better." She traced a finger along his jaw, light as a breath. "Just stay here a minute."
He stayed. The room settled around them, the hum of the heater, the distant tick of a clock. Her chest rose and fell against his. She shifted her hips just enough to slide one leg higher over his, and he felt the cotton of her panties move against his own, soft and dry and electric.
Jan's finger traced the line of his jaw, slow and deliberate, her eyes half-lidded in the lamplight. "So what else did Dave tell them?"
Alan let out a shaky breath. "He said you told him I have strong hands."
"I do tell him that."
"And that I left you trembling."
"I did say that too." Her lips curved. "It's true."
Alan's face burned. He buried it in the curve of her neck. "I can't believe you told him all that."
Jan's fingers walked up his spine, light and unhurried, tracing each vertebra like she was reading him by touch. Her palm smoothed over the cotton of his briefs, down to the small of his back, then back up again, slow and patient.
"Was it really that embarrassing?" she asked. "What Dave said?"
Alan lifted his head from her neck. Her eyes were soft in the lamplight, watching him with that quiet attention she gave him when she wasn't teasing.
"It was at first," he said. "When they started calling me stud. When Dave mentioned the trembling." He felt the heat creep up his neck again, but it faded faster this time. "But I guess I'm over it now."
Her hands stilled on his back. "Already?"
"Yeah." He let out a small laugh. "The more I think about it, the less it matters. They're just messing around. And it's not like any of it's a lie."
Jan's smile curved slow and warm. She slid her hand up over his shoulder blade and pressed her palm flat between his shoulder blades.
"That was quick. Last week you'd have flushed purple and faked a heart attack."
"Last week I wasn't lying on top of you in my underwear."
"Fair point." Her fingers traced the seam of his white cotton briefs at his hip, and she shifted beneath him, tilting her pelvis just enough to rock the lace against his waistband. "So what did you tell them when Dave said I couldn't resist you?"
Alan's throat went tight.
Alan's throat went tight. He dropped his gaze to the hollow of her collarbone. "I wasn't really saying much of anything. Just dying from embarrassment."
Jan's fingers traced the shell of his ear. "That's it?"
"That's it." He let out a breath, slow and uneven. "I couldn't get words out. My face was on fire. I think I made some kind of noise, like a dying animal."
"Charming."
"Dave kept going anyway. He didn't need me."
Jan laughed, the sound low and warm against his chest. "I can picture it. Three guys staring at you like you'd grown a second head."
"Marcus dropped his mop twice."
"Twice?"
"Twice." Alan lifted his head, meeting her eyes. "It was different, though. Last week I would've wanted to crawl under the floor. But I kept thinking about you. About how you told Dave all of it on purpose. How you weren't hiding."
"And?"
"And I figured if you were brave enough to say all that, I could at least stand there and take it."
Jan's smile softened into something quieter. She slid her hand up the back of his neck and pulled him down to her, pressing her lips to his. It was slow, unhurried, her mouth warm and sure against his. When she pulled back, her eyes were bright in the lamplight.
"Look at you," she said softly. "Getting confident on me."
"Just with you."
"Good." She shifted beneath him, hooking her leg higher over his hip. The cotton of her panties slid against the cotton of his briefs, and the room seemed to shrink around them.
Jan's hand found the back of his neck and pulled him down into another kiss. It was quick, firm, her lips parting against his for just a second before she let him go.
"Okay," she said, breathless, her fingers still tangled in the hair at his nape. "I'll try to tone down the kiss and tell. A little."
Alan laughed, the sound buzzing against her throat. "I'd appreciate that."
Jan's grin turned sly. She traced a line down his chest, stopping just above the waistband of his briefs. "But what happens between us in this room, well, that stays here. The abuse this bed takes will remain our little secret."
Alan's eyebrows lifted. "Abuse?"
"It's a sturdy bed. It's handled everything so far."
He looked down at her, at the pink lace riding up her hip, at the warm confidence in her eyes. "I guess you do have a pretty sturdy bed."
"It's held up remarkably well."
Jan giggled, a soft, pleased sound. Alan grinned, and before she could say anything else, he braced his hands on either side of her head and rolled his hips against hers. The cotton of his briefs slid against the lace of her panties, rough and quick, three firm thrusts that pressed her deeper into the mattress.
"Yeah," he said, his voice dropping to a low, playful growl, "it's pretty sturdy!"
Jan squealed, delighted, her back arching. "Alan!"
He did it again, a little harder, and the bed frame let out a sharp creak. Jan burst into laughter, slapping his shoulder, her cheeks flushed pink.
"You're going to break it!"
"You said it was sturdy."
"It was a statement of fact, not a challenge!"
Alan laughed, deep and warm, and settled his weight onto her, burying his face in the curve of her neck. He could feel her giggling against his chest, her hands sliding up his back, holding him there. The bed frame creaked once more, then quieted.
"Sturdy," he murmured into her skin.
Jan's laugh softened into a hum. "Very sturdy."
Alan pressed his lips to the tender spot just below her ear. Soft. Slow. He felt her breath hitch.
"Alan," she whispered, her fingers curling into his hair.
He kissed lower, along the curve of her throat, and her hips rolled against his in a slow, searching motion. She tilted her head back, giving him more of her neck, and the quiet sound she made went straight through him.
"Keep doing that," she said, her voice barely above a breath.
He did. His lips trailed down to where her collarbone met her shoulder, and she shivered beneath him, her legs tightening around his waist.
"Alan." Her voice cracked, just slightly. "Come here."
She pulled his face up to hers, and the kiss was soft, deep, unhurried. When she broke it, her eyes were bright and unguarded.
"I love you," she said.
The words hit him like a wave, warm and overwhelming. Her eyes held his, unguarded, waiting.
"Jan," he said, and his voice cracked on her name. He cupped her face in his hands, thumbs brushing her cheekbones. "I love you too. I love you so much it scares me sometimes."
Her breath caught. He pressed his forehead to hers, the words still coming, unstoppable now.
"I've loved you since before we ever talked. Since you thanked me in that warm voice for cleaning your office. Since you flashed me your underwear in front of the whole floor. I love that you told Dave everything. I love that you don't hide. I love that you make me feel like I'm someone worth seeing."
Jan's eyes glistened. She pulled him down, kissing him hard, and when she broke away her voice was thick.
"Say it again."
"I love you, Jan."
Her breath came out in a soft, uneven sigh, and she pulled him down into the quiet space between her neck and shoulder. He settled there, his weight a warm pressure along her body. The lamplight caught the curve of her ear, the fine hairs at her temple.
Neither of them spoke for a long while.
Alan's hand found the dip of her waist and rested there. Her skin was warm through the thin cotton of her panties. She shifted beneath him, and the lace slid against his briefs with a dry, whisper-soft whisper. He felt her heartbeat through her ribs, slow and steady.
Jan's fingers traced lazy patterns on his back. The seam of his tighty whities ran along his hip, and she followed it with her thumb, once, twice. He tightened his hold on her waist, and she hummed, a low, contented sound that vibrated against his chest.
He pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat. She tilted her head back, giving him more. He kissed the pulse point there, soft and slow, and felt it jump under his mouth.
"Can we stay like this?" she whispered.
"Yeah," he said into her skin. "As long as you want."
She hooked her leg higher over his hip, drawing them closer. The cotton of his briefs pressed against the lace of hers, warm and yielding. She rolled her hips once, a slow, searching motion, and the friction sent a quiet spark up his spine.
He breathed her in. Citrus lotion, warm skin, the faint smell of the night air still clinging to her hair. She did the same, her nose brushing his temple, her fingers curling into the cotton at his shoulder blade.
Time stretched. The heater hummed. The clock ticked. None of it reached them.
She ran her palm down his spine, over the waistband of his briefs, and settled it on the small of his back. He was bare there, skin against skin. He thought about how often he'd imagined being close to someone like this, and how the reality was quieter than the dream. No fireworks. Just warmth.
He moved his hand from her waist, up along her ribs. Let it rest over her heart.
"I love you," she said again, barely above a breath.
"I know," he said. "I love you too."
She smiled against his temple and pulled him in tighter. The world outside the door kept turning, but in the lamplight, in the warm hollow of her arms, they had nowhere else to be.
The lamplight dimmed to a low amber glow. Jan reached over and turned it off, leaving only the faint silver of the streetlight through the blinds. Alan shifted, pulling her into the crook of his arm, her head settling against his shoulder.
"Both of us off tomorrow," she murmured, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. "First time together."
"Whole day," he said, pressing a kiss to her hair.
"What do you want to do?"
Alan thought, the warmth of her against him making the question feel easy. "Sleep in. Breakfast. I don't know. We'll play it by ear."
Jan hummed, snugging closer. "We'll figure something out."
He felt her breathing slow, her body going heavy against him. He held her through the quiet, the streetlight casting soft shadows across the ceiling, and let himself drift with her into the dark.