A wise man would surely stop and think after experiencing the best sex of his life. But Andrew was a man in love and still too young to be very wise. He didn’t stand a chance in hell of keeping his feet planted on terra firma. He whistled in the shower. He hummed while he dressed. He bent over his sleeping wife and kissed her forehead before sinking down on the bed, his hips near her slender shoulders as he worked on the knot in his tie.His soul was singing. The night before he’d claimed the woman he loved. Life was good. “Wake up Babycakes.” He nuzzled her ear. “Huhnn...” Babycakes mumbled. “I think you’d better get up. The boys won’t make it to school on their own.” “Uh Huh…” No man in his right mind would have taken that as an affirmative. Andrew nibbled on Denise’s ear, one eye searching for the face of the clock he kept on his bedside table. He swore under his breath. He didn’t want to leave his beautiful wife to go to work. Reluctantly, he swung his long legs over the edge of the bed but he turned back and stole one more moment of pleasure – her face was so lovely he didn’t think he’d ever tire of looking at it – before shooting a hand out to touch her shoulder for a second. “Thank you for last night, Denise. It meant the world to me.” He looked down at her for a moment. Was she really asleep? Or simply pretending because she was embarrassed? A grin split his face. He’d be embarrassed too if he’d screamed that loudly when he came. He had been wise enough to shove his entire face into the pillow next to her head at the same time as he’d thrust up into her for the last time. A few moments later Andrew stood in the kitchen, one arm braced on the door to the refrigerator while he searched – fruitlessly -- for something edible. He ignored the Chinese takeout. It didn’t matter how excellent the moo shoo had been originally, no way could he eat it again before noon the next day. He found several containers of soy yogurt. A container of medication labeled “Keep Refrigerated”. Ketchup. Mustard. Chocolate Sauce. Hot Sauce. Whipping Cream. He had a brief thought about Whipping Cream and immediately banished it. Whipping cream was not the same thing as whipped cream, although it probably could turn into it eventually. Like after you whipped it. Worcestershire Sauce. Steak sauce. Pesto. Extra Hot, Hot sauce. For the love of god. Where was the food they put all these fricking sauces on? So yes, he suffered a twinge of annoyance, but he was a man in love. Drive thrus clustered on every corner, Starbucks infested almost every city block, and he graciously refused to be annoyed by the complete lack of any breakfast food. He’d mention it sometime soon. After all, there were growing boys in the house who certainly needed to eat healthy breakfasts. He could forage on his own, but should he have too? Her parents probably never taught her that breakfast was the most important meal of the day. He left the kitchen through the door that led into the garage, managing to slam his car door before any of the six thousand dogs succeeded in landing on him. He set out for his office a happy man. Upstairs, Denise lay in bed rigid until she heard the sound of his car head down the drive, and then she relaxed. The room was dim; the sun hadn’t fully committed to the day yet. She rolled over to go back to sleep because now he was gone she could breathe easily. But a sudden wave of heat flashed and zinged its way through her body. She could – almost -- feel the warmth of his hands as he’d explored every inch of her. Denise pulled the pillow over her head and concentrated fiercely on her falling asleep ritual: The backwards alphabet. Z Y X W… She wasn’t very good at it, which meant she always had to start over a number of