I’d known that from the first moment I saw him—looking half dead, bags under his eyes and hair a mess, wearing clothes that he probably hadn’t changed in a week. Lori always joked that my taste in guys was “grumpy cat disaster gay,” and while God only knows what that means, it vibed pretty well with Mael’s whole general presence. Not to mention the tattoos, and the way his tummy looked like my fingers would squish into it if I grabbed him by the hips.
