I was too exhausted to really care on the night of, but when I woke up in the morning, all I could feel was the pleasantly seedy sensation of being covered in sweat and the funk of lovemaking. AJ, by then, had gotten up and I thought I could hear her tooling around in the kitchen. I’d grown up with five siblings, so I had a pretty good sense for the different sounds of people. Marta, I thought, would still be sleeping—a look at my watch on the coffee table said it was only 7 AM, and I knew how people liked to sleep in on vacation.
I got up, cracking the stiffness out of my joints—if there was one thing worse on the back than sleeping on a couch, it was sleeping on a couch while being someone’s cuddle bunny—and went to the kitchen. It was walled off from the rest of the apartment, with a service window on top of a counter like the place had once been a diner or something. I opened it up and saw AJ. She was wearing a bit of red lingerie that looked nicely illegal. I was pretty sure she hadn’t been wearing that the night before. The notion that AJ would dress up in some naughty underwear just to do a big ‘wearing nothing but my underwear in the morning’ scene seemed to fit with what I knew of her. She was standing in front of the microwave, watching as what smelled like oatmeal got the Manhattan Project treatment.
“Morning,” I said.
She turned around with an actorly bit of business meant to evince surprise and a bit of nervousness at being caught in her underwear. I wasn’t quite convinced. AJ wore that shit like she was ready to tango with a stripper pole.
“Morning, stud,” she said, getting over her ‘nerves.’ “Thought I’d fix us breakfast.”
“Sounds good. I mean, smells good. Both,” I trailed off. “I’m gonna grab a shower. Unless you need it?”
“Do I look like I need it?” she asked. And no. She looked like she’d just been born from sea foam or something.
“Nah,” I told her.
I went to the bathroom, turned the shower on, and started in on the routine. I’d finished the preliminaries, just standing there and absorbing the heat of the water as it flowed over me, when the door opened.
It was hard not to feel a pang of arousal, since I’d been thinking of AJ, and it’d occurred to me that she might be in the mood for seconds—technically thirds. I turned to see who it was, and though I couldn’t see a lot through the pebbled glass, I could tell dark hair from red.
“Jesus,” I said. “Marta, what are you doing in here?”
“Using the bathroom,” she said, sounding about as gruff as I’d ever heard her. She walked by the stall she was in to go to the bathtub, which she started up. I winced as my hot water went loco, and stood clear of the shower spray.
“You’re taking a bath?” I asked her, watching in disbelief as she tossed in a complimentary bath bomb.
“Why not?” she asked me, shouting to be heard over the roar of the tub filling. Or maybe just because she was in a loud mood. “You’re with AJ now, so isn’t our whole thing pretty platonic? We’re like brother and sister now, right? I could start jilling off here and you wouldn’t make a pass at me.”
“I… don’t do that in front of my siblings,” I said. “And how do you know about the AJ thing?”
“Damon, the couch smelled like a peepshow booth and she wasn’t in the bed when I woke up. What am I supposed to think?”
I was getting cold, so I stepped back under the water. It was tepidly warm, but that was better than freezing. “I me…