The swing on the balcony kept swaying long after they'd finished. By the time Alan carried a drowsy Zoey back inside, the layers of blankets on the swing were damp with all kinds of fluids.
Meanwhile, Joseph was on the brink of madness.
He didn't know how long he'd been standing by his bedroom window, frozen by the cold night air like some kind of statue.
Yet the chill outside was nothing compared to the turmoil inside his mind.
'God!' He'd only opened his window to clear his head, wrestling with the thought, "Could that damn stripper actually be smarter than me?" But the instant he opened it, he'd heard the unmistakable sounds from the balcony above: muffled gasps, steady creaks of the swing, rhythmic slaps, and suppressed moans.
He was sixteen. He knew exactly what those sounds mean
