Mike's apartment had a key under the mat for a reason. He was on the late shift again. You were going to crash on his couch, but the couch had laundry on it, and his bedroom door was open. You drank from the water bottle on his nightstand because the kitchen tap ran rusty. The water tasted faintly sweet. You set the bottle down and sat on the edge of the bed.
The shirt you had grabbed was too long on you when you put it on. Now it was the right length. You did not remember the lamp being this warm. Your hair shifted on your shoulders — there was more of it. Your weight had settled differently into the mattress. You looked down at your hands. The polish on your nails was new. The shirt rode up your thigh and you tugged it back down.
The room was too warm. The clock on the nightstand was loud. You could hear the building — cars outside, the cat on the floor above, the kitchen tap still running rusty. The shirt was tight against your skin. Your breasts pressed against the fabric and you did not look down for a long time.
When you did, the shirt had a damp print where your hand had rested. You touched your hair and a curl fell over your shoulder. It was the color of a sunset. You opened your mouth to say a name — Mike, your own — and the word came out higher and softer than either. The lamp warmed the side of a face that had not been yours an hour ago. A keychain jingled at the front door.
***
Mike stopped in the doorway. He didn't say anything for two seconds. Then he set his keys on the dresser the way he set them down every night. He didn't ask who you were. He looked at the water bottle on the nightstand and his shoulders dropped. "You drank it," he said. His voice was low. You nodded. The shirt was his.
He came to the bed and sat down beside you. The mattress dipped. He didn't speak right away. You smelled the late shift on him — coffee, the laundromat downstairs. He reached up and tucked your hair behind your ear. His hand stayed at your jaw.
He kissed you and his beard was soft. He pushed his tongue into your mouth. He held your chin and sucked your bottom lip. Your mouth opened and his tongue slipped inside again. It was slow. His hand slid down your throat and cupped your breast. You moaned against his lips. "This is unreal," he said. He kissed your neck. You leaned back and he came over you. He lifted the shirt and his lips brushed your stomach. He cupped your breasts, one in each hand. He ducked his head and put his mouth over one.
He pressed you into the mattress with his weight. He pulled your panties down your thighs and they caught on your knees and you kicked them off the rest of the way. The lamp warmed the side of his face. He pushed inside you and your breath caught.
"Fuck, you're so tight," he said. You had been a virgin in this body. You had never felt a man in you before. "I love this," you whispered. You had loved his name in your mouth for longer than you remembered. "You like being my girl?" he asked. "I'm your girl," you said. You were. "You're mine." "I'm yours," you echoed. Your whole body was hot. You felt like you were floating. You had never been happier. The bedside clock ticked. You heard the cat upstairs. The light from the lamp shone over his shoulder.