“So, you’re a lightweight? I can’t wait to see this.” “I’m two hundred pounds. It’s going to take more than one glass of alcohol to get me drunk.” He stands and drapes his shirt over his shoulder. It’s absurd he walks around looking like that. “Do you need anything while I’m up?” “Nope,” I say. “I’m fine.” I’m treated to a view of his back muscles as he walks away, and I push the heels of my palms into my eyes. It’s wrong to be gawking at him.
