“A little bit of Monica in my life, A little bit of Erica by my side, A little bit of Rita is all I need, A little bit of Tina is what I see, A little bit of Sandra in the sun, A little bit of Mary all night long, A little bit of Jessica, here I am…”
@mischief-with-sandra asked for 13! Imagine this takes place sometime in season 3 where Chloe is In The Know but dating Marcus
13. “You can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen, cause guess what? It did!”
“Lucifer.” Chloe growls, at the very end of her wits. She’s trying to do paperwork and the plastic of the pen in her hand creaks dangerously with the force of her grip. “I’m not talking about it.” She stands up, deciding that she needs a cup of coffee.
His nostrils flare with frustration and he trails after her, dogged. “You can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen, cause guess what? It did!”
She whirls on him, nearly nose to nose. “I know it did! Okay!” He looks taken aback at her intensity. “I am very aware of what happened.” she says and shoves down that little flutter of arousal remembering it.
They’d been investigating the Sinnerman off the books and gotten themselves in a bad situation. Even with Lucifer’s wings spread out protectively around them, it hadn’t looked good. And maybe it had been the adrenaline or the fact that they might not have made it out, but she’d grabbed at his collar, hauled him down, and kissed him. It had been…good. Really good.
She heats a little, remembering the way he had moaned into her mouth, hands slipping around her, clutching at her. The hot slide of his tongue along her own.
Then Maze had set off some explosives and rescued them. They’d pulled away from each other and she had refused to meet Lucifer’s questioning gaze. Chloe’s mouth had tingled with scuff burn for hours after.
Back in the present Lucifer seems genuinely confused. “But I don’t understand. You’re dating the Lieutenant. Why would you…” he trails off.
She can’t believe they are having this conversation in the middle of the precinct. “It was a heat of the moment thing. I thought we were going to die.” she tells him.
He studies her with dark, powerful eyes. “You’re lying.” he says, appearing fascinated by it.
She curses his stupid abilities and starts walking away, but he follows after her, long legs easily keeping pace.
“Why would you lie about this?” he asks, and she ignores him. “Unless.” He halts, sudden enough that she pauses too. “Unless you wanted to kiss me?” he says and she’s not sure why he sounds so bewildered. “But you know what I am, who I am.” he states with fervor. “How could you want -” he cuts himself off.
“You think learning the truth about you would put me off?” she asks, aghast. She is never, ever, telling him about her sex dream with the horns. Never.
“Well, of course.” And he’s got this face that makes him look like a lost little boy. “How could it not?”
And god, she’s going to pay for this later, she just knows, but she can’t let something like that stand. She glances around, makes sure no one is watching and steps into Lucifer’s space. She grabs a fistful of his shirtfront and presses her mouth to his, fast and warm. She falls back to her feet and releases the hold on him. She’s crinkled the material a little, but he doesn’t even notice, staring at her with something akin to shock.
“It doesn’t put me off.” she says, somehow out of breath, even though the kiss had been swift. “Alright?”
Lucifer looks like he’s been poleaxed. “Alright.” he croaks.
“Good. Glad we got that settled.” she states and then spins on her heel and makes a dash to the break-room. She needs coffee and that bottle of whiskey hidden under the counter.
La autopsia de Sandra Bland mostró que tenía una línea de cicatrices al dentro del brazo. Había tratado de suicidarse con píldoras. En la Tejana cárcel, trató de decirles que necesitaba ayuda. Les rogó por el teléfono.
Nadie no le escuchó.
Yo vi los videos de Sandra Bland llamados #SandySpeaks. Con su voz como miel, luchaba para solucionar la injusticia, para traer cosmos a un mundo que no lo merecía. Ella es translúcida como vidrio, tiene facetas; aun sus defectos relucen. Si verdaderamente creyéramos que toda la vida importara, le amaríamos como ella se nos revelaba: enteramente. Con su fe, su energía, su amor y su avaría. Pero aun los simpáticos artículos rebanan sus palabras en bocados; aun este poema lo hace. Sandra la revolución, Sandra la enferma, Sandra la criminal.
Hemos perdido el mundo que ella vio. No creo que lo merezcamos, si despues de tan tiempo todavía no le escuchamos.
I have a scar on the inside of my arm I used to say my dog made.
I did it with my nails, the high school summer I took every pink pill in my prescription.
In the Texas hospital, they hooked me to a machine that made cosmos of my soaked-toxin body.
They plugged my stupid bellows with charcoal and fed cure like mother birds.
An officer appeared and called me selfish. From this, I made out the shape of the crime: to take my life was to defraud the world of my merit.
That’s how I learned it would be impossible to die in Texas, no matter how hard I tried.
This was a rough one for me, and I welcome your feedback. More than that, though: I urge you to do what I did in drafting this piece, and watch the Sandy Speaks YouTube channel. If you’re in a place to do so, there’s no substitute–no poem, certainly not one I write, is going to capture a person like their own words and presence.
(Yes, this translation is inaccurate on purpose. Miss Translated is a meditation on culture, identity, and the things that get lost in translation by Elisa Chavez.)
On March 27, 2009, a security camera at a trailer park in Tracy, California captured little Sandra Cantu (8) skipping home from school by herself. Dressed in her favorite Hello Kitty t-shirt, Sandra appears to be distracted by something to her right, and then she wanders away out of the shot. The camera footage was the last known images of Sandra Cantu; she never made it home from school, and before nightfall she was listed as a missing child. Her disappearance baffles police, and there are very few leads to follow.
Two weeks later on April 6, a couple taking photos of nearby scenery noticed something floating in a stagnant irrigation pond; it appeared to be a suitcase. The curious couple fished out the suitcase and opened it; what they found quickly had them on the phone to the police, for the case contained the decomposing corpse of a child.
It didn’t take long for the body to be identified as Sandra Cantu; though the little girl was covered in bruises, she was still wearing her Hello Kitty t-shirt that she was last sighted in. Sandra’s black leggings were twisted about her body, and a bloody cloth had been fashioned into a noose around her neck. She had been smothered and asphxiated. A post-mortem revealed drugs in her system and injuries to her genitals indicated Sandra had been sexually molested.
The town of Tracy was shocked by Sandra’s senseless murder. Police officers checked out sexual offenders in the area and questioned many convicted child abusers, but to no avail. Many elements of Sandra’s murder did not make sense; she disappeared in full daylight, knew not to talk to strangers, and though there was evidence of sexual assault, no semen found on or near her corpse. Solving the case seemed nigh impossible, but then something extremely strange happened.
On April 10 a woman who identified herself as Melissa Huckaby rang the police to report she had lost a suitcase on the same day Sandra Cantu disappeared. In fact, she had reported the stolen suitcase to the trailer park security office just twenty minutes after Sandra was last seen on camera. Huckaby at first denied knowing what happened to her suitcase, but then abruptly admitted she suspected it might have been used to dispose of Sandra’s body. Police found her statements extremely suspicious, so they arrested Huckaby and kept her detained while they re-visited the camera footage. When Sandra wandered off-screen, police found she was walking directly towards Melissa Huckaby’s house. The Sunday school teacher was promptly charged with murder, and over time details of the grisly murder were revealed.
Somehow Melissa Huckaby lured Sandra into a small church building near her house, and plugged her nose with a drug-soaked rag. After Sandra passed out Huckaby choked her with a twisted peice of cloth, and sexually assaulted her with a rolling pin. Huckaby then stuffed the child’s body into a suitcase, drove to the pond, and sank it. Throughout her police interview Huckaby gave no motive for Sandra’s murder, claiming she was “out of her mind”.
Huckaby was put on trial in April 2010, and throughout the hearing of evidence she cried and begged Sandra’s family to forgive her. On the stand she confessed that she still didnt know why she killed the little girl, saying “I owe you an explanation, but I dont understand myself”. A psychiatrist testified that Huckaby suffered from interpersonal problems, but was not mentally ill. She was found guilty of Sandra Cantu’s murder and sentenced to life in prison with parole.
Paulie had been staring at these numbers for the better part of the morning. She was lounging on her couch with her laptop propped up on her thighs, a half-empty and long gone cold cup of tea on her coffee table, and her eyes set on all the money in her savings account. In said savings account there was one hell of a lot of money. The money that her grandmother had left her, that Niall had suggested she used until she knew what it was she wanted to do with her life. It was sitting in the bank, untouched, and with the interest she got for it, it was basically just getting more and more by the day.
Paulie was fucking loaded and no one other than her close family and Niall knew about it.
One Shot Request - Eddie Blake (The Comedian/Watchmen) and OC
This was a request by anonymous… hope this lives up to expectations - LEMONS/SMUT/ RATED M
Edward Blake roughly pulled up a bar stool and sat himself down, immediately catching the attention of the lone bar tender at the same dive in the heart of the city.
“What can I get for you sir?” he asked.
“Get me an Old Fashioned,” he said dryly, “Any bourbon will fuckin’ do.”
The bartender nodded and Eddie turned toward a woman two stools down. She looked about as miserable as he felt, sipping on what appeared to be scotch, bourbon or whiskey.
“Whatcha got there darlin’?” he asked, prompting her head to slowly turn in his direction.
“It’s a Manhattan.” She took a small swig and set the glass back down before fixating her stare on the television above the bar.
“Great minds think alike.” He managed a cool smile and the woman turned back to him.
“You got and Old Fashioned.”
“Same fuckin’ thing… more or less.” He studied her features. She was genuinely beautiful with piercing green eyes that gave way just to the tiniest hint of crow’s feet. “Most women come in here and order some fruity martini.”
“Yeah, well… I’m not most woman.” She looked him in the eye as she took another sip from the glass and then let out a sigh. She then ran her hands through her pin-straight dark hair and tossed it up into a high ponytail.
“I can see that.” Eddie held her stare, though notably wanted to let his eyes wander the length of her body. They dropped for a half-a-second toward the barely-there cleavage that peaked out from behind a V-neck, tight white t-shirt.
“Here you go sir.” The bartender relieved him of his stare and placed the drink down in front of him. Eddie reached into his back pocket, handing the man six dollars before sweeping the glass up in his hand.
“You must’ve had a rough fuckin’ day,” Eddie went on to the woman. He looked around the dark empty bar, “To be in this shithole.”
“Try a rough fucking life.” Her eyes met his again and this time he picked up on a small string of freckles that decorated the bridge of her nose and trickled just slightly down beneath her eyes toward her high cheek bones. “Why are you in this shithole?”
Eddie turned toward her more directly with the glass between his hands. “It suits me.”
“It suits you?”
“That’s right.” He looked her up and down now. “I’d typically ask if a woman of your stature was scared to be alone in this part of town… especially in a bar like this but I can sense you have many fuckin’ layers to you.”
“You have no idea.” Her eyes challenged him now and this time she was the one who let her eyes run the length of his body. “Do you have a name?”
“Eddie,” he extended a hand in her direction. “Eddie Blake.”
The woman narrowed her eyes. “I’ve heard of you.”
“Have you now?”
“I’m a detective,” she admitted. “Your name has been thrown around in conversation before.”
“I’m yet to get yours.”
“Sandra.” She looked him back in the eye. “You fought in the war - you and Dr. Manhattan.”
Eddie tipped the corner of his mouth up in a smile and then took a sip from his drink and let out a laugh.
“Am I right?”
“Do they call me a hero or a fuckin’ vigilante down there?”
“Both,” Sandra admitted. She looked down at her drink and swirled the liquid around.
Eddie watched intently as she took another sip. “How old are you Sandra?”
“How old you think I am?” She raised her eyebrows, challenging him and finished off the drink.
“Let me buy your next drink.”
“Only if you answer my question without insulting me.”
Eddie smirked some more and purposely took in the entirety of her body before studying her facial features again. “Twenty-nine.”
A slow smile spread across her face, “Thirty-two.”
“Another Manhattan?” He raised his eyebrows. When she smiled as a response he flagged the bartender down. “Another round for the two of us.”
Sandra eyed his glass that still held plenty of liquid and then looked back up at him.
Eddie followed her stare and purposely downed the rest of the drink, smacking his lips when the glass was empty and pushed it toward the end of the bar without breaking eye contact. “I like a woman who can hold her liquor.”
“When you grow up in a man’s world you learn to adapt.”
“For a pretty little thing I’m confident you can hold your own. You’ve got a fuckin’ edginess to you.”
“Pretty little thing?” Sandra raised her eyebrows and began to shake her head in disapproval, though simultaneously couldn’t keep a smile from her face. When the bartender returned with their drinks she thanked him and watched as Eddie slipped the man a short stack of folded bills.
“What you don’t think so?”
“A little sexist is all.”
“My mouth always does get me in trouble,” Eddie admitted.
“I can see that being true.”
“Mmm…” He smiled and took a sip from his second drink. “So… rough life you said. What’s all that about?”
Sandra wasn’t used to anyone being so direct, though she took the opportunity to vent. “Parents split… dad took off when I was young. My mom raised me and four brothers, never remarried. We struggled.” She shrugged and took a sip. “I was in trouble a lot as a young girl. I didn’t do well in school. I got involved with other neighborhood kids who were out stealing and breaking in to places.”
“What the fuck made you become a detective then?”
She smiled, oddly pleased by his forwardness and bluntly honest personality. “I got sick of being a shithead.” Sandra gave the tiniest wink, making Eddie laugh out loud.
“I fuckin’ like you already.”
Sandra laughed lightly and eyed the one seat that lingered between them.
Eddie smiled to himself and motioned with his hand for her to move closer. “I ain’t gonna stop you honey.”
She edged her way beside him and stared back at the television that played the same old bad news that lingered in the city’s grimiest parts. “I hate this shit,” Sandra admitted. She shook her head. “I’ve seen too many dead bodies to count. There is always something. Sometimes I feel so…”
“Numb?” Eddie turned to her and Sandra nodded.
“Yeah.” She held his stare for a moment, now just a few inches away, and then turned back toward the television. “I hate watching the news.”
Eddie whistled and waved the bartender over, motioning to the television. “Turn this shit off, will ya?”
“No, I didn’t-” Sandra began but Eddie’s smile silenced her as he turned to face her again.
“It’s fine honey. He doesn’t mind.”
The bartender shook his head and then flipped the switch on the television until a sitcom appeared, immediately filling the bar with the fake laughter of an audience to whatever the main character had said.
“Better?” Eddie asked.
Sandra nodded, holding his stare again and brought her glass toward her lips. “Better.”
“Good.” Eddie now took another, longer sip from the Old Fashioned and placed a hand across the back of her stool.
Sandra didn’t back away. She stayed put, urging on the close proximity of his face and hers. There was nothing Sandra needed more than an escape from reality and a part of her was thinking that Eddie Blake would fill that void.
“You want to get out of here?” he asked, reading her body language that mirrored his.
Sandra couldn’t deny that Eddie was good-looking and charming to match with his witty word choices and bold questions. Of all the things she had done, Sandra had never left the bar with a man she barely knew. A male friend to fill the void on occasion - sure. But never an encounter like the one she knew was brewing now. The connection she felt with Eddie was immediately electric. He reminded her of herself, like he could relate to her numbness and need to escape. It was why she answered his question the way that she did.
He would have typically smiled wide, relishing in his conquest but in the short time he and Sandra had spoken at the bar he felt she was as fucked up as he was on some level. For that, he wanted to explore her in every way he could.
Eddie tapped her glass with his. “To fucked up pasts?”
“Very.” Sandra touched her glass to his and then drank most of the Manhattan down in a single swig.
“Easy honey.” He smiled to himself and let out a hearty laugh.
“You’re right,” she told him, “It’s been one of those fucking days.”
Eddie sipped on his glass a final time and then rose up from his bar stool, holding a hand out to help her down from hers. He knew she didn’t need it, and almost felt like he was insulting her by treating her like a typical, breakable woman though could see she didn’t seem to mind.
“Where’s your car?” he asked her.
“Out front. Yours?”
“Taxi,” Eddie said simply.
“Where do you live?”
“Pent house on Main Street.”
Sandra raised her eyebrows and couldn’t help but ask. “Alone?”
Eddie smiled and pushed the door to the bar open, allowing her out ahead of him. “Would I be trying to fuck you if I was married?”
She turned to him as they stopped in front of her car. “You’re very straight forward,” she pointed out, not at all knowing what to say in response to his question.
“I’ve been told,” Eddie agreed, “And yes, again, my mouth does tend to get me in trouble.” He leaned down toward her and left a single kiss on her lips before pulling away for a moment and going in for a longer, sensual kiss that left her sighing when she needed a breath.
Sandra swallowed hard, tasting the lingering bourbon on his tongue. She smiled and looked up at him. “You smoke cigars.”
Eddie chuckled against her lips and crinkled his nose as he continued to smile. “Can taste it?”
“Mmm…” She pulled him back to her more roughly this time, kissing him harder and wanting to quite literally rip his clothes off right there in the street.
Eddie would have taken her right there in the car if she was most woman - but he could see that she was far more than that. “Take me home,” he whispered.
He breathed against her lips and rested his forehead against hers. “The things I want to do to you can’t be done in a car sweetheart.”
Sandra knew that going to a man’s house that she didn’t know was against all the rules of safety that she not only had engrained in her own mind, but that she also passed on to others day in and day out on the job. She was going against all logic, though told herself that everyone in the industry knew of Edward Blake - the Vietnam War hero.
“What do you want to do to me?” she asked, taking in a deep breath when his hand snaked from her jawline, down her neck and down in the inside of the front of her shirt to squeeze her breast.
Eddie kissed her again more passionately this time. “Come with me and find out.”
The walk to Eddie’s penthouse suite from the car was a big blur of kissing, touching and attempts to walk from point A to point B in between. When they found themselves in the elevator Sandra pinned him to the back wall, eager to see what he was working with. She kissed him hard and unbuckled the belt around his waist before slipping her hand down the front of the black pants he was wearing.
Eddie moaned into her mouth, feeling her hand tighten around him as she examined the length of him. “What do you think honey?” he breathed out the words and kissed her hard again.
“Wow.” Sandra moaned back as he grabbed her ass roughly with both hands.
“That’s what I thought you’d fuckin’ say,” he choked out, only opening his eyes when the chime in the elevator indicated that they had reached his floor.
Eddie reluctantly forced her to stop, reaching for her hand as he towed her as fast as he could out of the elevator toward the end of the hall where his door sat all by itself. He fiddled for his keys in the pocket of his pants, not having the time to tell Sandra to wait before she swiftly undid the button and slid them down off his waist.
“Sandra…” he tried to reach for the pocket again, now even with his knee but gave in when she dropped to her knees and took every inch of him into her mouth. “Ohh fuuucck.” Eddie placed a hand on his door and grabbed her ponytail with the other, entangling his hand in her dark locks as she carried on.
Sandra felt like she had lost her mind as everything about that night was severely out of character for her. She didn’t care. Eddie’s raw sexuality and realness appealed to her on some level she didn’t even care to identify. It all felt right. He felt right. The second Eddie Blake had addressed her in that bar she felt alive. When he moaned again she looked up at him, seeing his eyes pressed shut as she carried on, the dimples on either side of his face highlighting his open mouth as he relished in every ounce of pleasure she was giving him.
“Oh, fuck honey. You couldn’t fuckin’ wait to get a piece of my dick.” He huffed the sentence out, breathing in heavily in between words and then finally got in a coherent thought when she stopped and rose to her feet, removing the keys from his pocket as she did.
Eddie let a wide smile take over his face beneath his moustache and took the keys that she dangled in front of his eyes. “You are just full of fucking surprises.”
“The night’s young Eddie.” Sandra gave a teasing smile, letting her tongue dance across her lips.
He slid the key in the door and only pulled his pants up so he could walk inside behind her. When the door slammed shut he could see Sandra’s eyes scanned his home in curiosity.
Eddie didn’t have it in him to wait. He crept up behind where she stood looking outward over the big, open windows that gave a view of the city and began to trail his lips and teeth down her neck.
Sandra’s eyes closed and she melted against him as he unbuttoned her jeans and began to urge them down before paying attention to breasts. Eddie slid his hands up the front of her shirt and cupped them both with each hand beneath the plain, black bra she had thrown on with no intention of anyone seeing it that night.
“Eddie…” his name escaped her lips and she stepped out of her pants, feeling his erection up against her from behind.
He continued to kiss her, before encouraging her to slow bend over in front of him.
“Fuck me Eddie.”
Her words alone made him moan and his hands dug into the sides of her hips. Eddie closed his eyes and decided to make the moment last with the beautiful stranger he’d met. “Not yet honey.”
Sandra looked back at him, her ass up and back arched as he peeled off his shirt and pushed his pants down to his ankles. Without warning he scooped her up off her feet and sat her at the edge of the small kitchen table where he rarely helped himself to a meal.
She laid back, spreading her legs wide as he encouraged her to do so and then let out a moan as she squirmed when she felt his face between her thighs. Almost immediately after his tongue began to dance across the most sensitive parts of her while his hands forced her hips down as she bucked up with each swipe of his tongue.
“Oh my God…” Sandra barely got the words out and she grabbed a fistful of his hair.
Eddie closed his eyes, not letting up as he pushed down on her thighs with his hands as he feasted on her. Each whimper she made him harder and the feel of her shaking legs against the sides of his face let him know she was closing in on her breaking point - one he didn’t want her to reach yet.
Sandra had never felt such an instant, intense pleasure in her life. When Eddie stopped she almost begged him to continue but he repositioned himself to hover above her so quickly that she didn’t get a chance. The feel of his erection against her forced her legs to lock around his waist and he kissed her hard on top of the table.
“You didn’t want me to fuckin’ stop did you?” he whispered, grinding his hips against hers.
She shook her head, still breathing heavy and unable to get out a coherent response.
“I want you to come on my dick honey,” Eddie kissed her lips once chastely despite the intense nature of their encounter, “If that’s not too much to ask.”
Sandra pulled him back to her and kissed him forcefully, a needy kiss that Eddie reciprocated as he pushed inside of her with a groan.
“Oh…” It was the only word he could get out as he rocked his hips once before capturing her lips again.
She whined into his mouth, pleased from the way he filled her and felt her toes curl beneath the pale white socks she still had on. When he thrusted up into her another time she cried out louder, separating her lips from his this time.
Eddie opened his eyes and kept pumping into her, taking in her expression as he did. Her facial expression alone could have gotten him off - that and the increased desperate nature of her moaning. Her eyes were shut so tightly that he could quite literally sense her pleasure. “Let it out Sandra,” he encouraged in a husky whisper, placing his hands down on the table on either side of her head as he began to go faster.
Sandra bit down on her bottom lip, feeling her breasts bouncing uncontrollably as he began to fuck her harder.
“Let it out,” he said again, this time his voice matching the desperation in hers.
She dug her nails into his back and felt she could have awoken the neighbors with her cries of pleasure that she couldn’t contain. Sandra had never been taken care of in such a way that left her entire body aching.
“Eddie…” Sandra clutched onto him firmer and tightened her thighs around the outsides of his as he moaned more consistently on top of her, lunging forward with such force that she felt the table might break beneath them. She felt the build up shooting from all directions. Her body stiffened up and she felt the first burst of pleasure below her waist. “Oh fuck…” the words came out in a quiet whine at first, though when another series of orgasms followed she cursed uncontrollably.
“That’s it baby.” Eddie rode her harder as she continued to feel the effects of the high he was giving her. “Fuck… fuck…” He didn’t let up, feeling the build up of his own that stemmed from her moans and the feel of the pulsing contractions around his dick. “I’m gunna come.”
Sandra opened her eyes, feeling him jolt as he pulled out of her, cursing wildly and sending a stream of white come shooting so violently that it landed on her throat first, before trickling down her breasts and to her stomach.
“Ohhhh fuuckkk… Jesus… God…” Eddie finished himself off on top of her, cocking his head back as the last of it oozed out of him and then finally worked himself back to somewhat neutral with a series of deep breaths.
Sandra laid there a moment, one hand still locked on his shoulder and the other now on the side of her face. Neither of them spoke for a moment, both still as they took in the chorus of breathing that they contributed to equally.
Eddie finally climbed off of her, taking a few steps to the kitchen counter to remove some paper towels before taking it upon himself to clean her off.
Sandra cleared her throat, still breathing heavy and closed her eyes as he gently patted her down before finally reopening them.
Eddie made his way to a small garbage pail and tossed the napkins away before turning to face her, his dick still partially erect in the dim lighting that crept in from the large nature of the windows to their left. He let out a breath and then held a hand out, helping her off the kitchen table.
“Well…” He swallowed hard and stared her up and down.
“Well.” Sandra didn’t know what came next. “Should I… should I be…” She shrugged, “Wow.”
“That was a hell of a fuck.” Eddie let a slow grin spread across his face.
“Yeah.” She looked down shyly almost and nodded.
There was something about Sandra that didn’t immediately make him want to send her away. It was rare for him. Eddie was good at the ‘nail and bail’. He could see for the first time that evening she was timid and so he used his head to motion toward a door that led out of the kitchen.
“I’m going to take a shower.”
“Okay.” Sandra eyed the floor for her clothes, prepared to leave.
“Care to join me?”
She almost froze, but was pleasantly surprised and nodded. “Shower with Eddie Blake.” She chuckled when he did, “I would be honored.”