Awkwardly the guys thanked Tom for the nice time. Some of them flashed the flushed and tousled Samantha a quick, almost boyish little smile, or perhaps an awkward ducking of the chin in leave-taking. As casually as he could, the cuckolded host nodded, and shook hands, and clapped a shoulder here and there, and at last finally got everyone shepherded back out the front door. He waved as the last car pulled away, and yet after that his fixed smile suddenly went slack, as if the muscles in his face simply could take no more. He licked his lips. And then, wild-eyed, he locked the door again and almost ran back into the bedroom.
“Well,” murmured Samantha, smiling faintly at his obvious agitation, “I hope you feel better now that all your poker buddies know you won’t welsh on a bet.”
Tom blink
