by Nik V. Markevicius
She came in two hours late, and by the dim blue night light Eric watched her tiptoe around their small bedroom. Christine wore a scarlet miniskirt and an almost-sheer black crop top. The sleazy clothes showed off the creeper of vines tattooing her hips, and plenty of tanned flesh.
Her frilly pink waitress uniform drooped from a hanger she carried on the tips of her fingers. She folded it over the back of the chair by the bathroom, set her purse atop the seat, and fished out her phone. When the screen lit up, it revealed her nervous frown.
Eric held still in bed, on his stomach as usual. He kept one eye open just a crack as his heart thudded against the mattress. His right hand slid a little deeper under the pillow.
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