Mostly she slumbered on the overstuffed corduroy couch, but four days ago, before the liquor had run out, she’d awoke from a drunken stupor to find ...erself on the floor of her huge walk-in closet wearing a fleecy, navy blue sweatshirt. HIS sweatshirt. She’d buried it deep in a box of her winter clothes along with a bottle of his cologne after he left that day. She could smell HIM now all over her. ‘I don’t know where your goddamned shirt is! And what the fuck use do I have for your cologne?’ . I closed the door behind me and slipped on to the bed beside her.“This works better,” I said, “If you take off your top.”Tammy turned on to her side and sat up. She silently took off the soft fuzzy sweater, leaving on her white lace brassiere. “This too?” she asked, looking down at her bra.“It’s up to you,” I replied.Tammy turned and silently resumed her prone position, laying on her stomach. As she did, she reached behind her back and unfastened her bra. I repositioned myself, straddling her,. More

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