AM:89

Missy looked at her watch, and back at Chet. “Half an hour,” she said. She was sitting cross-legged on his chair, naked, watching him on his bed.

Chet yawned. “Until when?”

“It’s been half an hour since I felt good about this situation.”

“The sex?” He wondered when she might finally leave.

“This whole situation. It’s been about thirty-two minutes.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it,” he said, pressing his palms to his eyes for a second before removing them and blinking in the light. He was tired, he wanted sleep. “It was your idea, as I recall.”

“Don’t give me that. It was our idea, together.”

“You essentially teased me until I gave in.”

“You gave in. Fantastic.” She rolled onto the floor and covered her breasts with a phone book. “Now I’m a rapist, and a bad lay.”

“Jesus, Missy, you’re not a rapist.”

“I teased you, you gave in. You gave in like it was prom night.” She moved the phone book over her face. Chet reached to the side table for his glasses, which he polished carefully before placing them on his face. He looked at her breasts. Behind the phone book, she was crying.

“Don’t be dramatic,” he said.

“Time keeps going,” she said. “I thought it might not, but it did.”

Missy was making some kind of extended moan from behind the phone book. Chet watched her chest heave. The phone book bobbed up and down with her breath.

“We didn’t go to prom together,” he said.