Dana lay next to him, panting, and momentarily come-dumb. It didn’t take long for the fog to lift, and she scrambled for her phone. Tyler groaned; she lay draped over him as she quickly navigated her phone’s menus. Suddenly the sex-thickened air was pierced with tinny music.

“Seriously, Dana?”

“Uh, yeah, I just scored.”

Tyler stared at her, unable to compute what was going through her head.

“I scored. We just had sex.”
“Yes, I get that. You scored. I scored. We all scored. What’s with the cell phone and the music?” By now it sounded like some guys were chanting nonsensically and Dana rolled off of him and bounced to it.

“It’s Chelsea Dagger.”

“Chelsea Dagger?”

“It’s the scoring song. You know the song they play when the Blackhawks make a goal on home ice.”

Well, you must be a girl with shoes like that.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“She said you know me well,” Dana sang at him and he groaned. She grinned. “Would you rather I play The Lonely Island?”

“What the hell ever happened to post-coital smokes, or cuddling, or heaven forbid – pillow talk!?”

“Boring.”

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