Sunlight filtered through the window lace, turning her long blonde hair into a brilliant golden hue.

She sat on our quiet bed, the sheets all crumpled, wearing my blue Charles Tyrwhitt oxford shirt. With the top three buttons undone, the fabric lay gently over her voluptuous breasts, exposing enough to make me wonder why I ever got out of bed.

 Her mesmerizing green eyes locked right onto mine. “Call in sick and come back to bed,” she said, her sultry voice accompanied by a wicked, promising grin.

My heavy phone clattered onto the nightstand. I made the call and stayed.