She'd propped herself up with a few pillows, the duvet over her legs. She was smoking, even though he'd asked her not to, not in the bedroom. She was using the glass from the bedside table, the one he used for his teeth, as a makeshift ashtray.
She watched him come back into the room, the towel around his waist.
"I like your belly," she said, kicking the duvet away.
He stopped, and looked down. Breathed in.
He could have said the same about her. Could have said much worse, but he didn't. He didn't want her to leave, not yet.