Angela slid into the kitchen all smiles and shrugs, hamming up her hangover to align with us early-rising house party victims. I snubbed her lingering ‘morning’ with a perfunctory ‘hi’, continuing my conversation with Tom.

Angela fixed me with another gaze as she brought steaming coffee to her mouth. Coolly, I recalled her deep-throating me the night before while I pretended to be sound asleep. Flatly, I’d maintained that conceit even while shooting streams of spunk deep into her throat.

Paul emerged, kissing Angela fully. He always went down hard after a few drinks. Like his wife, so to speak.