Or perhaps it’s because in the shadowy corners of my heart, I know I’m the sort of person you romp with for one wild night and then you climb out the window before I wake. The sort of person no one wants to be around unless there’s some kind of reward involved, preferably of a sexual nature. Not the sort you bet all your chips on a life with. How long before he realizes that? And how much longer before he regrets wasting his first time on me?
