When I open the door and walk in, he’s sitting in a chair, fingers linked behind his head, tee-shirt stretched out and clinging onto his muscles, which oddly makes me a little jealous, and he’s all sorts of man-spread in gray sweats. I shut the door behind me. “Hey.” He cocks his head as he reads my face. I should be embarrassed at how much I want him, like all the time, but I’m not. When I lock the door behind me, his lips turn up into a smug smile. To me, that says, “Come and get it.”
