Cross Shifts

"What'd you do today?"


He slumped into the chair, both knees clicking loud in the kitchen. Setting the
iron down, I slipped my blouse on, buttoning it over my bra. I heard the soft
sound of his smile. We'd been working cross shifts for months now.


I was over it. We both were. I could have cried to go back to bed and take him
with me.


He saw it, his hand reaching to draw me across to his lap. The chair creaked
with us both in it.


He murmured into my hair, "Did you at least have fun?" His hand slipped easily
over the fabric of my slacks, his fingers finding me through sensible work wear.
"Did you?"


He ran a thumb over my seam and patted my backside with the other hand.


Three weeks. In three weeks I'd swap to day shifts, and that pat would become
more.