The Wig on the Nightstand

Claire's hand drifts to the nightstand, fingers brushing the blonde wig, and she lifts it with a puzzled frown, asking whose it is. Warren's stomach drops, the cage locked tight between his thighs, and he forces a laugh, saying it's a gag gift for a coworker's party. She holds it up to the light, the blonde strands catching the morning sun, and her gaze flicks to his face, searching for the lie. He reaches for it, but she steps back, the wig still in her hand, and asks why he's sweating over a joke.