In the room, they each slipped out of their street
clothes and into something more comfy. Kess grabbed the laptop for a quick email
check, passing it to Jack a few minutes later so he could do the same. She
poured herself a glass of wine and settled onto the bed to watch television
while Jack checked his messages.
Two-thirds of an hour and two-thirds of a bottle later, Jack was still on the
computer, and Kess was more than two-thirds drunk. She stood on shaky legs,
stripped off her clothes, and slid under the covers without a word.
The movement distracted him from whatever was holding his interest online. There
was a rustle as he placed the laptop on the nightstand, then his hands slid over
her bare body.
Too late, Kess thought. Even her thoughts were slurred. Two-thirds too
little and two-thirds too late.
"How sleepy are you, baby?" His voice dripped with a plaintive guilt, the kind
that grated on Kess' last nerve. If he'd just fucking pay attention, such tacit
apologies would be completely unnecessary.
"Not sleepy. Drunk."
"How drunk?" He seemed surprised, as if he’d no clue how that could’ve happened,
and annoyed, as if she’d robbed him of some entitlement.
"Bed spins drunk." Kess' anger fueled the slight exaggeration.
And that was that.