The cats meowed at them from the other side of the door. Little paws rubbed at the wood, but Harley knew they would give up soon. She slept alone, and the cats had the run of the apartment. They’d settle down eventually. And in the meantime, she had more pressing matters.

Like the press of Marian’s flesh on hers, the press of their forms against one another. And the press of all those clothes that were just getting in the way.

Part of her wanted to just rip the ...