“I think you’ve done this before,” says Roy as Anya struts past him and then strik

“I think you’ve done this before,” says Roy as Anya struts past him and then strikes a pose, her hand placed coyly under her chin, hip bones jutting almost as sharp as her cheekbones, her breasts gently chiding him for last night’s uselessness. I’m so sorry, breasts! thinks Roy. I’ll make it up to you soon, I promise!

“I’ve modeled in a few fashion shows at school,” says Anya. “We all model each other’s designs. We can’t afford professional models, obviously.”

“You look very professional to me,” says Roy. He continues to try and communicate telepathically with her breasts.

“Do you want me to model anything else?” says Anya.

“What I want,” says Roy, “is for you to turn off your phone and follow me upstairs to the bedroom.”

“My phone’s out of battery. But I don’t want to go to the bedroom,” says Anya.

“You don’t?” says Roy. Heat is prickling across his skin, but no longer in a horny way. It feels related to the shame he felt last night, and also to the time he dislocated his shoulder and his hopes of a professional football career came crashing down around him. The rude, burning shock of life treating him unfairly, his expectations being dashed. He needs to get shitfaced drunk, that’s what he needs to do. He wonders if Crystal can slot him in tonight, if she’s by some miracle had a cancellation….

“Nah, let’s do it here instead,” says Anya, bouncing on top of him.