The Best Kind of Trouble

She snorted a laugh and then moved away, getting dressed.

“You’re going home now?”

“Well, I got what I wanted. I’m going home to notch my bedpost. Where I record all my wild sexual encounters with celebrities and stuff. See you around.”

He blew a raspberry. “Be sure to mark two notches.”

She grinned. “I’ll do that. Should I bring you a gold star the next time I see you?”

He hugged her again because he could, and because he would see her again. And because she made him smile so much.

“As long as it’s not an edible one.”

She snorted and swatted his butt.

After she’d gone, he’d gone to his bed to read awhile before going to sleep. Her scent rose from his skin, and when he woke up the next day, the faint stamp of her presence was still on his hands.

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