The wine is getting to you. You knew drinking on an empty stomach would do that but for some reason you don’t mind.

You sit across from each other, chatting easily. She giggles at something you said, the wine gently sloshing in her glass and a smile dancing across her face. One hand is holding her glass, the other is squeezing your feet in her lap, absently wiggling your toes and kneading the arches. Between the visual, aural, and physical stimulus you find it hard to focus on the words but the conversations flows easily from topic to topic, a little hummingbird dancing on lips of flowers.

With the wine finished (most of it, anyway) she suggests the two of you take a look behind door number one. It is innocuous, white, with a plain cheap mirror stuck to the front but what it reveals is anything but plain. Soft light from above illuminates a pile of pillows, cushions piled up against the wall making a mound of cream colored squishiness. Her eyes invite you even more than her words and you both sink down toward the floor. The cushions are piled so as to push you together, holding you in the embrace of not only each other but cool pillows and a warm fuzzy blanket.

Time doesn’t exist here. There is nothing to distract from skin against skin and the warmth you generate together. The tingle from the alcohol blends in with the tingle where your bodies meet. It smells of cinnamon buns and coconut and lavender. You could almost fall asleep, murmuring sweet nothings to each other, listening to each other breathe. Her sleepy eyes flutter as she struggles to stay awake and loses. There is no time here.