It was late, 10 pm. I was relaxed, buzzed from the martinis I’d had with an old high school friend passing through town, and dressed in little pajama pants and a white t-shirt. My breasts hung heavy and loose beneath the filmy cotton as I bustled around the kitchen. A pot steamed on the back burner filled with aromatic chicken stock and clam juice. I tossed in the bright pink armor of six freshly shelled shrimp and stirred the risotto on the front burner.
I checked the cooking shrimp and removed them just as there was a knock at my door. I didn’t even bother to look up as I heard the door open and shut. The Neighbor walked in wearing only his shiny black basketball shorts. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said smiling. “It smells amazing.”
“Well, thank you,” I smiled back as I cleaned the scallops and put them in the hot pan the shrimp had just occupied. He walked around the bar into the kitchen. “Aren’t we dressed for dinner!” I laughed as I looked at the two of us.