Zach’s leaning against the doorjamb with his arms folded across his chest, his eyes on me. He’s sweaty and the only article of clothing on his body is a pair of track pants. They hang so low that they show more than they hide. Namely, that deep V of his sculpted pelvis. But the worst and most disturbing thing is a hint of the dark tuft of hair that disappears under the waistband. I don’t want to think where it leads and how long he’s been standing there or if he heard any of the conversation Tina and I had.
