They sit in their underwear, post-sex and adjacent to each other in the kitchen. Their shoulders almost touch at the small table. Jason pours wine, filling their glasses again. He might be getting drunk just a bit. Doesn’t matter, though, since he’s not doing anything for the rest of the evening except for spending it with the cop. “Don’t promise things you can’t fulfill.”
Jason laughs: heartily, boldly, filling the kitchen with his voice. “Don’t doubt me. It’s not worth your time. And trust me, I can show you another good time. Don’t think I can’t.”
“I’m going to take you up on that.”
“We have to have dessert first.” Jason puts his fork down and rises from the table. He shifts his tight ass to the refrigerator, opens one of its wide doors, and removes two crystal sundae bowls filled with scoops of something brown and fluffy. When he returns to the table with the bowls, placing them between them, he says, “Chocolate mousse.”
“Again, one of my favorites.”