The coffee was already going when they came downstairs.
Lucas went first, jeans pulled on but nothing else. Ryan followed in yesterday’s shirt, still unbuttoned. Zoe walked between them barefoot, wearing only the oversized black t-shirt Lucas had dragged out of a drawer his, soft from too many washes, hanging to mid-thigh. The rope marks on her ankles showed every time the hem swung. She didn’t try to hide them.
The living room still looked like a crime scene of a good night: red cups on every surface, a pizza box open on the coffee table with one cold slice left, someone’s jacket draped over the banister. On the couch a guy named Tyler was face-down and snoring, one arm hanging off the edge. He didn’t stir when they passed.
In the kitchen Lucas poured three mugs. Zoe took hers black. S
