Pajamas Won’t Save You from the Sins of Your Past
“The coyotes are having a party again,” Erica said.
Clint looked up from his laptop’s glow and turned his head toward their bedroom window.
Yipping and barking, peppered with an occasional brief howl, echoed from the hills beyond their property.
Clint turned back to his wife — playing a game on her phone — and said, “I’m having some trouble with this scene. I don’t want to sound cliche, or like every other scene I’ve written.”
Her phone lit up her face, and light spilled into their dark bedroom. “How many ways can you write a sex scene?” She responded without taking her eyes off her game. “Maybe you can try writing something other than erotica.”
Clint turned back to his laptop and resumed writing. “Yeah, and miss out on this easy money? Sex sells. Even the hackneyed shit.”
Erica lazily shrugged her shoulders. “Damn it! You distracted me.” She started her game again.
“You’re just pissed I make money with sex and you have to do marketing.”
“Hey, I’m superb at it, and this marketing brings in more money than your word porn.”
He shook his head and grinned. Like a little kid, he enjoyed getting a rise out of his wife, and loved to work those reactions into his…
