Zach answers the door, and all thoughts of jogging bottoms and trouser anacondas go plain out of my head, because he is in a tux. Holy Fucking Christ Almighty. His brand of sharp, nerdy, conservative dressing does it for me at work, I have to admit. Even if my type is usually more overtly playboy. I’m a sucker for a hot European in Gucci loafers and no socks. What can I say? I’m deeply fucked up.
