It’s wrong, you know it’s wrong and so does he, but you want it to work so bad. Schlatt spoons you and presses his nose to the back of your neck. There is a musk of whiskey and cigarette smoke, and you wouldn’t rather be anyuhere else but here. You’re drowsy from sex, and your eyes slip shut a few times.

Schlatt wraps his arms around your waist and in a raspy voice, he says, “you can sleep, gorgeous, I've got you."

You don’t wake back up until close to midnight; Schlatt is gone but there is still a dent where he laid, his spot is still warm, you shiver when you shift naked out of his bed and pick up parties and his shirt. After tiptoeing around you find him enjoying the views of NYC he's missed so much since he had moved to Texas. There's a cigarette between his fingers and a glass in the other hand.

You open the sliding glass door and mumble a quiet, "Johnathan?"

He ashers you closer and sets the whiskey down to hold you in his lap, "What’re you doin' up, honey?"

You shrug and snuggle closer and he chuckles. He rubs away your goose bumps and his chops tickle your face when he kisses your checks. You were torturing yourself by sleeping with him. Not only sleeping with him, but loving him, kissing him, snuggling. This isn’t a one night stand but more accurately a love affair.

“I’m gonna miss you when I go back home," you admit softly. You hear him exhale. His hands are tangled in your hair, and he sounds like he might cry, you think.

You kiss his cheek, "this was the best night I've had in awhile. Not just because of the sex, because that was good too, but ‘cause I got to love you for one more night.”

"Maybe we coud do it," Schlatt sounds like a dying man begging for mercy.

You shake your head knowingly and he starts to cry. It’s an ugly cry with red, puffy eyes, and snot dripping down his face. He clutches you so hand it hurts, and you let him.