quotidian

volition

His glance kept straying to the lifeguards. So did Amanda’s. How could they not? There was a metaphor less tiresome—what would stand between you and death at the hands of nature but beautiful youth, flat stomachs, nipples the size of quarters, swollen biceps, hairless legs, browned skin,

idiosyncrasy

tepidity

odalisques

army of them, alternate versions of the children they already had, pink and clean and healthy and strong, a new world order because the old world was so out of order. Amanda propped herself up on her elbows. The stuff slid down her like a snail on a sedge, onto that beautiful white duvet. Clay was out of breath. Fucking her like that was like infla

sated)

tumescent.