In a Jam

Text him.” I jerked my chin toward her phone. “Tell him you’re available in two weeks. The SoWa market, South of Washington. You have a few minutes around ten in the morning and that is the only time you can spare him. Send that and then turn off your phone.”

“I know I shouldn’t ask this but”—he ran a hand over his mouth—“how are those work

I want to rip this sweater off you.” He leaned in close to kiss my jaw, his beard scraping over my cheek. “And these jeans. Fuck. Your ass looks like it belongs in my lap when you wear these jeans.”