*

Holding a bundle of clothing and a toiletry bag in her arms, Audra knocks on Peter's bedroom door. She is still wearing her tennis gear, and her blonde hair is pulled into a high ponytail. She waits for a response; however, upon silence, knocks again. And again. And... Again. Finally, CRASH!

Inside, Peter falls out of bed and stumbles towards the door. Shirtless from the night before, he rubs his tired eyes, facing Audra and squinting slightly. "Yes?"

She smiles, "Good morning, I need to use your–"

Peter groans, tilting his head back, "Is this going to become an everyday thing with you?"

Audra flattens, aggravated by his annoyance. It's not her fault the shower doesn't work. She narrows, nostrils flared, "I thought you said I was welcome anytime."

Her eyes drift to the long scar on his abdomen as Peter exhales. He scratches the back of his neck. "That was before you woke me up."

Audra sighs, "Right, well–"

"Wait," Peter furrows, taking stock of her appearance. "You were serious?"

"Excuse me?" Audra asks.

Peter points to her attire. "Yesterday," He says, "when you said you play tennis. You were serious."

Audra arches her eyebrows, exhaling a breathy laugh, "Of course I was serious. Why wouldn't I be?"

Peter shrugs, rubbing his eyes again, "I don't know. I thought it was a metaphor." "

No," Audra says, failing to bite back another breathy laugh, "I'm a professional tennis player."

"I can see that."

They glance at one another, chuckling softly.

Eventually, Audra points past him towards the bathroom. "So, can I use your shower, or..."

Peter blinks, waking up, "Yeah, yeah." He steps aside, beckoning Audra inside. "Come in."

She slides past him, "Thanks."