A Slippery Coincidence

Karla squints at her schedule and nearly chokes on her coffee—Elias Cash. No way. The kid she used to plop frozen waffles in front of just walked through the door taller, stubbled, and grinning like he half-remembers the girl who once bossed him into pajamas. They swap awkward hellos, do the quick math on missed birthdays, then shrug at the same time. Might as well keep the appointment. He strips, steps into the open shower stall, and Karla follows in nothing but oil and a smirk. Warm water slicks every curve she pours against his back. The Nuru gel turns skin to silk; she slides, rolls, presses, catches his breath every time her nipples drag over him. One slow grind turns into two. His hands settle on her hips like they belong there. They lock eyes, the professional line officially torched, and neither of them pretends they want to stop.