They did not sleep.

The sweat cooled and then it didn’t. Lena’s hip stuck to Owen’s thigh. Jude’s mouth was open on her shoulder, not kissing, just breathing there like a man who had not finished thinking with his body. The sheet was wrecked. The window was a dead grey eye. Nobody had asked to leave.

Lena sat up first.

She was sore in the good ugly way. When she stood, come had dried in a tight map down her belly and onto her thigh. She did not clean it. She walked to the mirror naked and looked at the three of them in the spotted glass: two men on...