"Good," Oliver said, balancing the mug on his chest.
"Do you like it strong?"
"Yes," he said. "I mean—while you're at it. I usually buy a dark roast."
"That's what I like," Jennifer said. "Organic." She drank and put down her mug. "Do you think I'm awful?"
"Huh? No. Why should I?"
"Well, being a loose woman and all that. And then barging in without any warning."
"What else were you going to do?"
"I'm not awful?" She smiled and turned closer.
"Of course not."
"You're not mad at me?" Oliver shook his head. "Well—could I have a little hug?" She moved down and opened her arms. The bathrobe fell open. Oliver put down his mug. He rolled over, partially covering her, his arms around her. "I won't break," she said and drew him closer. "Oh, Oliver . . ." She was deep chested with high flat breasts that were beginning to swell. He fit his face over her shoulder, and she hugged him tightly. "Oh." She moved her hands down his back and under his shorts, pulling him to her. Oliver's thoughts skidded away.