Kelsey Padilla came out of the shower and entered the bedroom she shared with her husband Adam. He was the twenty-four year old charismatic, microphone-swinging, emo haircut having, lead singer of an up-and-coming indie band, and clearly the obsession of teenage fangirls. She was the twenty-one year old well-endowed, outgoing brunette fresh out of college, often mistaken for a student at the high school where she worked and was the obsession of the entire male student body.

Kelsey sat on their bed as Adam reclined, reading a magazine.
“Mmmm… you smell like peaches,” Kelsey said while carefully tugging at his belt buckle.
“Uhm…not tonight,” Adam said, “I have a lot on my mind. Band stuff.”
Two years ago, before they married, an interviewer asked him what he’d do if he got a fan pregnant. “Marry her,” he replied without hesitation. Now he regretted his words and hoped Kelsey wouldn’t find out that she might have to share her title as Mrs. Padilla.

“I know, but I need to be tended to,” she said.