On the drive home from the little get-together at Louis and Anais’ place, Gilbert’s girlfriend Giselle realized she’d forgot her cellphone. “You’re sure you don’t have it?” Gilbert asked.

“I’m positive. I was showing Anais some pictures and we were laughing and she was looking and Louis came in with more wine and that’s the last I remember.”

Gilbert pulled over and called Louis. “Yeah, we have it. I’m off to that conference tomorrow, but you can pop over and pick it up anytime.”

Giselle decided that anytime meant right now.

“But what if they’re sleeping?” Gilbert asked. “I don’t think he meant tonight.”

“Anytime means anytime and I need my phone now,” Giselle said. “Anais would understand.”

“What, are you expecting an important call?”

Giselle gave him that look.

So Gilbert turned around and drove back and twenty minutes later they were in front of the apartment. “I’ll just wait here,” Giselle said. “You pop up.”

“Like a piece of toast,” Gilbert said.

“When you get back, I might have to spread you with strawberry jam and eat you all up. Now go!”

Through the door, Gilbert could hear the music, that smooth and steamy jazz Louis loved, so he wasn’t worried he’d wake them. He tapped on the door. No answer. Probably in the kitchen doing dishes, Gilbert thought. He tried the door and it opened. They weren’t in the living room, but Giselle’s phone was right there on the arm of the sofa. Gilbert picked it up and stepped to the kitchen. They weren’t there either. I’ll just call tomorrow to let them know I’ve got the phone, Gilbert was thinking as he made his way back to the front door, when the music stopped and he heard the unmistakable sound of bodies slapping together, the repetitive smack smack smack of slippery skin, and Anais keening as she strove toward climax. The bedroom door was open more than a crack, and standing near, Gilbert could see quite clearly—a view from behind. Anais was above, Louis below, as they thrust together, smack, smack, smack, smack, smack, and then with Louis fully penetrated, a long pause, and Anais’ feet locked around Louis’ legs, and her asshole gave that welcoming wink. Surely they were coming together, Gilbert understood. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. But then the quick hard thrusting resumed, more vigorous than before. Smack, smack, smack, smack, smack. The sound was juicier, too, and Anais’ cries more poignant and plaintive and urgent, and then again the long pause, and more winks, and from the sight alone Gilbert could all but feel the constriction, the surge of Louis’ seed, the contractions of Anais’ cunt. But no, they weren’t finished. More thrusting, more keening cries, more winks. It seemed they would go on this way all night.

And maybe they would have, and maybe Gilbert would have gotten more than just one picture if Giselle’s phone had not at that moment chosen to ring.