Crushin' On Sidra

Sidra stretched out across my bed in nothing but my T-shirt, legs bare and lightly tanned, ankle hooked around mine. She had arrived for one night in LA and I’d booked her a red-eye. She looked up from her phone. "It says my flight is cancelled," she said. I swallowed my lie and answered that we’d rebook tomorrow. Ten minutes later the guilt hit hard. I confessed. Her eyes stayed on mine; she nodded once, slow. We stood in my doorway, both knowing what came next. I slid the shirt off her shoulders and it fell. She tasted like mint gum and plane air. I sank into her on the mattress while the city lights pulsed through the blinds. She moaned my name around a clenched jaw and pressed her heels into my back until her thighs shook. Sweat slicked between us. After I came she laughed under her breath, a low sound that warmed against my neck. No apology left to give, just skin on skin and an empty suitcase still waiting by the door.