Anna stirred. John was behind her on the bed, spooning her, but he was awake. “Jack,” she whispered.

“I gotta pee.” He let her slip out of the bed and away from him, but he was gratified to hear the noises coming from the bathroom and see the bar of light under the door – otherwise he might have thought he had dreamt it all.

When she came out, she smiled at him, amused by the look on his face. She stepped lightly back to the bed, but didn’t accept his open-armed invitation to come back in. Instead, she pulled at his hand with both of hers. 

“Jack, come with me,” she said.

“Aw, fuck no, girl!” he said with mock indignation, refusing to be pulled out of bed. “I’ve already come four times in one night  – I don’t think I can come anymore!” She collapsed into a giggling heap on the floor next to his bed. He smiled at the sound of her laugh. “Well, not for a couple more hours, at least.” She laughed even more at that.

“No, Jack,” she struggled to control her laughter. “No, I mean let’s go get some breakfast. There’s a diner …” Her voice drifted at the look that she caught on his face, there for only a second before it was gone. 

“What?” When he didn’t answer, she asked again, “What is it, Jack?”

He moved closer to the edge of the bed, reached out to cup the side of her face and brush his thumb across her lips. Her laugh had gone, replaced by confusion, maybe even concern. He wanted to bring it back. But first thing’s first. 

“My name’s not Jack,” he told her.

The little line between her brows disappeared and her smile came back. “I know,” she assured him. 

“Mmmmm.” He paused for a second. “Well, it’s not Bill either,” he said with mock regret on his face.

This time she laughed outright. It made her head fall back, and his hand moved down to her creamy neck with her holding it in both of hers. “Yeah,” she said when she could catch her breath. “I know that too.” He stroked her neck. “I always think of you as ‘Jack’ anyway. Do I have to stop calling you that?” she teased.

“Nope,” he told her.

“And anyway,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper, “my name’s not Anna.” 

He smiled at that. “S’ok. I always think of you as Pirate.”

“Let’s go eat!” she said. He obliged by getting out of the bed, but when he saw her move toward the red sheath of a dress she’d dropped in the middle of the floor, he protested. 

“Oh honey, pirate or no pirate, you can’t wear *that* to a diner!” He gestured toward the black heels. “And those? On a Saturday morning? Are you out of your mind? You’ll have every short-order cook in the city panting after you!”

She just smiled as she pulled the dress over her head. She sat in the recliner to put the strappy heels on. “Better’n that.” She nodded toward his work clothes, also on the floor and now wrinkled: a standard white, collared shirt and khaki pants.

“Yeah, but I live here – I have other clothes to wear you know!” And with that, he moved to the dresser, unaware of how she was checking out his body as he moved: lean and lightly muscled, just the way she liked it. His less-than-hulking size didn’t betray how strong he was – he’d picked her up last night like she was just a baby cradled in his arms! By the time he fished out a shirt and