His Gift

The porch light buzzed overhead, a sound Cassie had stopped hearing months ago—but tonight it seemed louder, like the house itself was holding its breath. She stood in the doorway with her palm pressed flat against the worn paint, the wood smooth and cool beneath her skin, and stared at the man on her step.

Johnny grinned. It was the same grin from the gym, the one that had made her mention him to Terry in the first place, all easy charm and crooked teeth. His hoodie was zipped halfway, with the drawstrings hanging loose, his eyes glinting in the porch light.

"Hey," he said. "Terry sent me."

Cassie's heart was doing something complicated in her chest, a stutter-step rhythm that made her feel like she'd just missed a stair. She'd read Terry's text three times before she'd padded to the front door—"go open the door"—and she'd still been telling herself it was a joke when she'd pulled the door open. But here he was. Johnny. The cute guy from the gym, standing in front of her.

"He told me to sneak over after the kids went to bed," Johnny said, and there was something almost apologetic in the way he said it, like he couldn't quite believe he was standing here either. "Said you'd be expecting me."

She wasn't. That was the thing. She'd mentioned Johnny to Terry in text, a throwaway comment about a cute guy who made a comment to her in passing, and Terry had just smiled that knowing smile and said "oh yeah?" and she'd thought nothing of it. Now her husband was across the country and the cute guy from the gym was on her porch at 10:30 at night.

"You're really here," she said. It came out breathier than she meant it to.

"I'm really here." Johnny's grin softened into something more genuine. "Look, if this is weird, I can go. Terry just—he made it sound like you'd be into it."

Cassie bit her lower lip. The taste of her lip balm, vanilla and faintly sweet, spread across her tongue. She glanced back over her shoulder, to her now empty, dark house except the glow of a snall nightlight . The ceiling fan in the living room clicked its slow rhythm, the house was still, everything was still, except for her heart.

They'd be out until morning. They always were.

She looked back at Johnny. His blue eyes caught the porch light again, bright and waiting, and there was a dusting of freckles across his nose that made him look younger than twenty-six, softer than the lean muscle of his frame suggested. He shifted his weight, and she noticed his hands were trembling slightly as he clasoed them together.

Not nervous, exactly. Excited.

The same way she felt, if she was honest with herself. Which she wasn't, not quite yet.

"Terry told you to come," she said slowly, testing the words. "He told you to sneak in after the kids were down."

"Yeah." Johnny shrugged. "He said you'd know what that meant."

She didn't. Not really. But she knew Terry—knew the way his texts got shorter when he was excited, the way he loved setting things in motion and watching them play out. This was his idea. His game. And she was standing in the doorway in her sleep shorts and loose tank top, her hair in a messy ponytail, her heart hammering against her ribs like it wanted out.

The porch light buzzed again. A moth threw itself against the glass, a soft thump that made her flinch.

"Are you gonna let me in?" Johnny asked. His voice was low, easy, like he was asking her to dance instead of asking to be let into her house in the middle of the night.

Cassie stepped aside.

The pressure of the house shifted as he stepped inside, and she caught the smell of him as he passed—he smelled clean and warm, something that made her stomach tighten. He paused in the living room, looking around at the dark shapes of the couch and the TV, the kids' toys scattered in a corner.

"Nice place," he said quietly.

"Thanks." She closed the door behind him, the lock clicking into place with a sound that felt louder than it should have. "This way."

She led him down the short hallway, pushing their bedroom door open slowly, unsurely, the TV flickering low on the wall, the sheets twisted damp against the mattress from where she'd been lying before the text came. The room smelled like warm laundry and stale perfume, a combination she'd never noticed until now, until someone else was standing in it.

Johnny stopped in the doorway. "This is your room?"

"Yeah." She crossed to the dresser, where her phone sat face-up, the screen still glowing with Terry's text. She picked it up, thumb hovering over the screen, and looked at Johnny.

"It's weird," she said, but her voice came out thin, and she knew he heard it. "It's so weird. He's my husband. He's supposed to be jealous, not—" She gestured at the phone, at the room, at the whole impossible situation. "Not this."

"Not setting you up with someone else?" Johnny moved into the room, his footsteps slow, deliberate. "Not giving me the address to his house and telling me to come fuck his wife while he's gone?"

The word fuck hung in the air between them, heavy and electric. Cassie's breath caught.

"He didn't say—" she started.

"What did he say?" Johnny stopped at the foot of the bed. "What did he tell you, exactly?"

She thought about the text. go open the front door. That was all. No explanation, no context. Just the command, and she'd obeyed it without thinking, because that was what she did with Terry. She obeyed. She followed. She trusted that he had a plan, even when she couldn't see it.

"He told me to open the door," she said. "That's it."

Johnny laughed, a low sound that rumbled through his chest. He sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, and looked up at her. "So what do you want to do?"

Cassie's mouth went dry. She was standing in the middle of her bedroom in her sleep clothes with the cute guy from the gym sitting on her bed looking at her like she was the answer to a question he hadn't asked yet.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "I've never done anything like this before."

"Me neither." Johnny's voice was softer now, the easy charm stripped away to something real. "But I like you, Cassie. I liked you at the gym, before I even knew who you were. And when Terry texted me, told me what he had in mind—" He shook his head. "I couldn't say no."

"What did he say?" she asked. "In the text."

Johnny pulled out his phone, scrolled for a moment, then turned the screen toward her. She read the message over his shoulder—she wants you. come over tonight, ill let ypu know when, itll be late, 242 roberts pond rd.

Her stomach flipped. She wants you. Terry had written that. Terry had told a stranger that she wanted him, and she hadn't even known she wanted him until this moment, until he was sitting wt the edge of her bed , lit up by the glow of some show she didn't even care about anymore.

"I didn't know he was going to do this," she said. "I mentioned you. I said you were cute. That's all."

"You said I was cute?" Johnny grinned.

Cassie felt her face flush. "That's not the point."

"Kind of feels like the point." He set his phone aside and leaned back on his elbows, looking up at her. "You said I was cute, Terry set this up, and here we are. The only question is what you want to do about it."

She looked at the phone in the corner. The red light blinked, patient, watching. Somewhere in the house, the kids' ceiling fan clicked its slow rhythm. The porch light buzzed through the window, casting a pale rectangle on the floor.

And Johnny sat on her bed, waiting.

Cassie made a decision.

She crossed the room in three steps, her sleep shorts riding up her thighs as she climbed onto the bed and pushed Johnny down onto the mattress. He went easily, a surprised laugh escaping his lips, his hands coming up to catch her hips as she straddled him.

"There she is," he murmured.

Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. She reached for the hem of her tank top, her fingers brushing the bare skin of her stomach, and Johnny's breath caught.

His hands were warm on her hips, his thumbs tracing slow circles against the thin fabric of her sleep shorts, and his grin had softened into something hungrier.

Johnny's grin widened. His hands tightened on her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh just enough to make her gasp.