Problem With Authority

Officer Billy raps on the door like every pissed-off neighbor in the neighborhood personally dared him to show up. Athena cracks it open, hair messy, shorts barely clinging to her hips. "Stepmom filed the paperwork because I won't let her dictate my soundtrack or my guy schedule," she smirks. Billy sighs, notepad out, ready to play hall monitor, but Athena tilts her chin and sizes him up. "Since you're already here, Officer, we might as well put that authority to better use than writing ticket paper." She steps closer, drops her voice, and adds, "Bet the cuffs look cuter on the bedpost anyway." Her hand lingers at his chest just long enough for the suggestion to sink in. She shrugs off one strap of her tank and waits, half-grin, half-challenge. Billy clears his throat, glances down the hallway like somebody might catch them, then nudges the door shut with his boot. The report slips from his fingers and hits the floor unfiled while she pulls him deeper into the room and tugs at his belt like it owes her rent. The noise complaint fades into muffled laughter and the soft clink of metal against wood as cuffs become décor. Somewhere across the hall, the stepmom’s TV drones on, completely unaware her headline has already turned explicit.