It makes my parents laugh when it gets to three o'clock and I have to leave to get to Otto's and Hannah's schools in time for pick-up. I make it to the high school just in time for the last bell, and I scan the sea of kids for Otto's face. When I spot him, he's not alone. He's walking with a short chubby girl who keeps tucking her hair behind her ears, and when her hand drops to her side, their fingers brush. When she walks in the opposite direction, Otto watches her go.

This time, when he gets into the car, he doesn't make a comment about me not being his mom. He just sits in the passenger seat and watches the girl walk away, and I watch him.

"What's her name?" I ask softly, so as not to startle him out of his pining.

He sighs a lovesick sigh. "Madison."

"She's cute," I say. Otto sighs again.

"Yeah."

I don't know what witchcraft is allowing me to talk to Otto about a girl he's obviously into without him shutting me out but I risk pushing it too far when I say, "You like her, huh?"

He goes slightly pink. We don't have much time, only a few minutes between here and Hannah's school. "She's cool. We play the same games. But it doesn't matter 'cause Mom won't even let me go to her house."

"What, like a playdate?" I ask.

"Ugh, no," he says with a groan. "Even Hannah is too old for playdates, Annie." He lets out a very teenage grunt and busies himself with his backpack. "Madison asked me to go over to hers a few weeks ago. Like, for the night, 'cause one of our favorite games got a big new update. But Mom said no. Which is totally lame and unfair."

"Have you had Madison over to your place?" I ask. Teenagers are not my area of expertise, not even when I was one.

"No."

"So your mom doesn't even know this girl that you want to spend the night with?" I glance at the route on my phone to make sure I'm going the right way, imagining a future where I don't need Google Maps because this is my routine every Tuesday.

"No," he says again. "It's not like that, though. We only wanted to play the game and hang out and it takes, like, forty minutes to drive to her house from home so it just makes more sense to stay over."

"Maybe you could talk to your mom about having Madison over for dinner," I say, praying I'm not stepping over boundaries. I need to brush up on Laurel's rules with her kids. "Take it easy, don't rush straight into a sleepover."

"Whatever," he says, looking out of the window.

"I just mean, you know, if you like her then you could woo her with regular dates before you jump straight into sleepover territory." I glance at him. At least he isn't scowling.

"We only wanted to play games. She wants to check out my Xbox."

I laugh and shake my head at him, and this time when I sneak a look at him, there's a hint of a smile on his face. "You don't need to spend the night together for that to happen," I say. "I'm sure your mom would be okay with Madison coming over for a few hours." I pull up outside Hannah's school and put the car in park, turning to Otto. "You have to understand where your mom's coming from. She just had a baby last year – she's not ready for her little boy to grow up, and she is definitely not ready to be a grandma."

He wrinkles his nose. "I'm not having babies anytime soon," he says. "I'm fifteen, Annie, I don't want to be a dad, I just want to play games with a girl I like."

"Hey." I point at him. "If there's one thing we all know, it's that you don't have to want to be a dad to become one."

"Well, that's not happening," he says, and he gets out to go fetch his sister from her classroom.

When they get back, Otto acts like our conversation never happened and Hannah doesn't pepper me with worries about her mom, and it's like this is already normal, already part of the routine. I find it strangely heartwarming that they buckle themselves in without comment, that Hannah rabbits away about her day to me the same way she does to Laurel.

While they're busy at their activities, I go to the same coffee shop I went to last time and I get a peppermint mocha topped with a thick swirl of whipped cream, and I send a picture to Laurel. She sends back a picture of her hand lightly cupping a mug of tea, her fingers flexed. I trace my thumb over every line of her hand, the smooth curve of her nail and the tendon that stretches from her middle finger down to her wrist.

I send a second picture. A selfie, this time. Me in the dark-walled coffee shop, a leafy plant and a painting in a brown frame behind me. My cheeks are still pink from the change in temperature between here and outside, my hair windblown around my face. I purse my lips, like I'm blowing a kiss. She sends a selfie in return, her hair loose around her face and a book in her hand, one of the many proof copies strewn about her house. What I wouldn't give to be that book, the way her thumb is nestled between the pages to hold them open.

Come home soon, she says, and a flicker of delight curls through me. Home. Like I belong there too.

*

After dinner, when all of Laurel's children are in their rooms, we share a sofa by the fire, my feet in Laurel's lap and a blanket draped over both of us. I'm trying to focus on my book – I've borrowed an upcoming sapphic romance from one of many teetering piles of books dotted around the house – but it's hard when Laurel's reading next to me with a pair of glasses perched on the end of her nose.

Glasses do something to me. I don't know why, can't explain why a bit of plastic and glass has me undone, but I can't stop sneaking glimpses at her as she reads, the flickering electric fire reflected in her lenses. She's in the zone, plowing through the pages of what claims to be a twisty thriller; she must've read a hundred pages in the hour we've been sitting here with Christmas jazz playing in the background, meanwhile I'm so distracted by her that I haven't even made it to page thirty yet.

When she turns the page, she turns her head and she must catch a glimpse of me out of the corner of her eye because she looks up and sounds exasperated when she says, "What?"

"What?" I repeat. "I didn't say anything."

"You keep looking at me." She folds the book around her thumb and I try not to bite my lip. "Is there something on my face?"

"No," I say, and then, "Actually, yes." I lean forward and poke her glasses. She whips them off, folding them in her hand, and she's blushing. Oh god, a blushing Laurel does something to me too.

"Hey, don't laugh at me for needing reading glasses. You'll be forty too someday," she says. I take her hand in mine and unfurl her fingers and take the glasses off her, my fingers brushing her cheeks when I return them to the bridge of her nose.

"I'm not laughing at you," I say, lowering my voice. "I'm incredibly turned on by you."

She touches the frames. "You're turned on by these?"

I nod and pull my bottom lip between my teeth. "They increase your hotness by, like, three hundred percent."

"Three hundred? Wow. That's quite a lot." She uses the tip of her index finger to lower her glasses, looking at me over the top and oh, fuck. There's no way I'm reading another page. I launch the book onto the coffee table – carefully – and throw off the blanket so I can kneel on the cushion next to her to kiss her, knocking her glasses off kilter when my nose bumps hers.

"Someone's frisky tonight," she says, smiling against my lips.

"Just have to take a moment to appreciate how fucking hot my girlfriend is," I say, my forehead pressed to hers, my hands resting on the sides of her neck. I kiss her nose, her top lip, her cheeks, her bottom lip; I cup her jaw in my palms and drink her in, straddling her lap to get closer, to kiss her deeper. She tastes like the chardonnay we shared after dinner, an inch left in her glass on the coffee table.

Her book falls to the floor when her hands come up to hold me against her, when she wraps her arms around me and I sink into her, and I have to remind myself that the kids are upstairs, that it's only just nine o'clock, that I can't do anything but kiss her and be kissed by her. I feel like I'm twenty-one again, so desperate for her touch, sitting on her lap with my hands in her thick hair.

"I love you," I say between kisses. "Fuck, I love you so much."

The words have always come more easily to me and I don't begrudge her that. I know Laurel loves me. I don't need her to tell me all the time just because I say it. But when she says, "I love you, too," my heart skips a beat and I'm overcome by a swarm of butterflies, so many that I could take flight.

She is the only person I've ever had these mad fits of passion with. The only person who can send me into a frenzy with a look. My past relationships have been comfortable, companionable. But Laurel ... Laurel only has to glance at me for me to melt into a puddle at her feet. She only has to smile for my heart to swell three sizes. If I end up in the ER with cardiac problems, it'll be her fault.

A thump upstairs brings us back to reality. I plant one last kiss on her nose and I slide off her lap, topping up both our wine glasses. When Otto comes downstairs a couple minutes later in search of a snack, Laurel and I are back the way we were. Each with a book in hand, sharing the blanket, Laurel's glasses back on her nose as she gets lost in her thriller again. We're closer this time, though. She's holding her book in one hand, her other arm around my shoulders, and every minute or so she squeezes me closer when she reaches out to turn the page.

"Time for bed, hon," Laurel calls out when Otto passes the living room. He comes in, and kudos to the kid, he doesn't ew at our closeness for once.

"I know. Just got hungry," he says with a full mouth, holding up a cereal bar.

"Last day of school tomorrow. You excited?"

He shrugs. "I don't mind school."

I bet I know why that is. School equals Madison. I give him a sly smile from under his mom's arm and his lips twitch at me, like we're speaking our own secret language. Another of Laurel's kids I have a secret with. I just need to pin Hannah down now, though she's such a mommy's girl, I have no hope.

"Have you packed your things for your dad? You won't be back here until Sunday, remember."

He pauses, cereal bar halfway to his mouth. "Shit – uh, I mean shoot. No. I'll go do that."

He lopes upstairs and Laurel sighs. She rests her cheek against my head, her breath ruffling my hair.

"Four whole kid-free days," I say.

"Mmm." She rests her book on her lap and sips her wine. "I should be grateful for the peace but this place is so quiet without them."

I nestle closer and look up at her through my lashes. "I'm sure I can liven it up for you."

Laurel laughs. Her thumb brushes my hair off my face and she says, "I'm sure you can."

When we make it upstairs, once Laurel has finished her book and I've finished ten pages, and constructed several fantasies in my head, everyone else is asleep. Otto's gently snoring behind his closed door and Hannah's fallen asleep with her book in her hand, her light still on. I lean in the doorway, watching as Laurel carefully slides the book out of Hannah's slack grip and marks her page for her, kissing her forehead and turning off the light.

Laurel catches my hand as she comes out of Hannah's room and says, "You're staring again."

"I love watching you be a mom."

She stretches out her arms, her sweater lifting up to expose her stomach, and says, "Well, watch away, 'cause I'm a mom every day."

I lace my fingers with hers, pull her close, and kiss her on the landing. She's still holding my hands when she wraps her arms around me, crossing my arms behind my back, so I am powerless when she kisses me against the door frame.

"Time for bed," she whispers against my jaw, her finger under my chin to tilt my head up to her. Who could say no to that?

Lying in Laurel's arms, her body warm against mine, I am content. I could easily fall asleep like this, wrapped up in her.

"I love sleeping with you," I say. "I mean, you know, actually sleeping."

"So do I," she says quietly. The first time around, our relationship was all about sex. Snatching moments to make out, to touch each other, seeing how many times I could make her come before Christian brought the kids back. Now it's slower. Deeper. We get to actually sleep together.

"I like this," I say. "Just ... lying here."

"I like it better when you're on top of me," Laurel says.

"Oh yeah?" A shiver rushes through me.

"I like the pressure," she says. I roll out of her grip and lie on top of her, our stomachs pressed together. I fold my arms over her chest and rest my chin on my wrists, gazing down at her.

"You like that?" I ask. She nods. It's dark in here, her wide pupils melting into the deep brown of her irises so I can't tell where one ends and the other begins. "Is this a kink, huh? You like to be squashed?"

She laughs and shakes her head, messing up her hair against the pillow. "I just like it," she says. "It's an autistic thing, I guess. It makes me feel ... tethered." She pauses. Takes a breath. "I like the closeness, and the weight. Like a weighted blanket. It makes me feel safe."

My stomach flips over. I grin giddily down at her. "Do I make you feel safe?"

"Yeah," she says. "You do."

I rest my cheek on my forearm, the comforter over both of us. "You make for a good mattress. I like this."

Her arms are around me, the tips of her fingers grazing my butt.

"I like the sex, too," I say, "though there hasn't been much of that this time around."

Laurel laughs, her body vibrating underneath me. "Annie, honey," she says softly, "you're far too loud for sex when there are kids in the house."

I release one of my hands to trail it down her side, finding the hem of her nightdress at her thigh and slipping my hand underneath to touch her warm skin. "How about we just do you, then?" I ask, my eyes on hers. She gazes up at me, swallowing hard, nodding when the tip of my thumb brushes between her legs and I discover she's not wearing underwear.

"Can you be quiet?" I ask. I know she can. She never makes more noise than a gasp or a sigh, breathy little noises that drive me wild. This position is intense, our faces mere inches apart, our bodies pressed together to become one as I draw patterns on her thighs and swallow her gasps when I kiss her. She parts her legs, hooking them around me, and I fall into the space she creates.

We don't make a sound. It's insanely erotic, looking into her eyes as I touch her, as she grips me, as her breathing gets heavier and I slow down, move my hand away. I want the moment to last. I want to savor this. Laurel underneath me, her chest heaving, her pupils blown wide, her skin hot and her cheeks red.

Her nails dig into my back when she arches away from the bed, forcing our bodies even closer together, and when she comes, she grabs my face and kisses me, whimpering against my lips as she shudders, thighs trembling from the force of her silent orgasm.

"Very quiet," I say, when she stops shaking, when her legs go slack and she releases her grip on me. I kiss her collarbone, her earlobe, her cupid's bow. "Good girl."

This was a bad idea. I was horny before, and now I desperately need to come, but Laurel's right. I need to work on my volume. It's one thing when I touch myself, but when someone else is involved, I lose all my senses.

"Oh, god," Laurel says at last. A smile breaks out over her lips. "Thank you."

"You're so pretty when you come," I say. She's stunning all the time of course, but there's something about watching her face as she comes, her lips parted in an O, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushed. A work of art.

It takes everything for me not to touch myself right now, looking into her post-orgasmic daze. I slide off her, settling into the space by her side, and fit my body to hers as she takes back control of her breathing. It isn't long before it steadies, her eyes falling shut, sleep taking over.

I watch her for a minute, for two, until I'm too drowsy to hold my head off her chest, and I return my cheek to the pillow of her breast. One more day, I think, clamping my thighs together and draping my arm over Laurel. I can wait until tomorrow.

*

annie is a horny little devil idk how she'll last til tomorrow