“I am an Android girl!”“Well shit”, I said. “Use the hotel landline then.”“I don’t remember her number! It’s programmed in my phone....Who remembers the actual number?”, she whined.We sat there for a minute, the flickering of the muted TV in the background. She kept glancing back at the dead phone, as if willing it back to life would somehow recharge the battery.Then I had a naughty thought.“Well, I guess we’ll have to go get your charger then”, I said.“It’s upstairs”, she replied. She would get everything ready, and then wouldn’t open that back door until necessary.Even inside, she was sweating in a tank top and the hot pink lace bikini briefs that hubby loves. She clicked on Spotify, and as Jason Mraz sang through the airwaves, she started cutting up zucchini.She was in her own world singing along when suddenly, a calloused hand came around her neck, squeezed tightly, and dry lips crashed on the back of her neck. It was supposed to be a kiss but was more like cat claws. More

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