She liked the feeling of blankets covering her, the heat and pressure of them, and how she felt like she could cocoon herself away from the shit that was going on outside her bed and her hotel room...

He wasn't sure whether to be flattered or insulted by her obvious hesitancy.

She knows it doesn’t mean as much if she has to force him to say it, but she’s feeling needy right now (and Stevie hates that so much because she doesn’t need him; she just sort of, well, depends on him, dammit)...

"I swear to God, I wouldn't touch you if you were the last man on Earth."

He backs you up against the door before your fingertips even get to his belt.

It always begins with the tangle of his fingers in her hair.

She lay unmoving on the bed, quiet and still, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to join her or leave her in peace...

She’d imagined it numerous times. At one end of the scale, his wife would overhear them having sex in the dressing room, would slam doors, scream and shout about betrayal, perhaps even throw divorce papers at his chest. Sometimes she thought it would be less dramatic. He would come over one day, suitcases in hand, asking for a place to stay. She’d say, “You always have a place with me.” And that would be it.

It was awkward. He didn’t know what to say to her. And she, the woman who had never been short of something to talk about, just stared up at him.

Her place was (or, at least, ought to be) next to him, holding his hand, but instead she was sitting next to his eldest daughter, simultaneously trying to comfort her and draw comfort from her.