“Could you please type normally,” he said, irritated. “I have an angry client and an even angrier fiancée.” “Oh,” I said. I glanced over and saw him staring blankly at the screen with an expression I knew well. It was what I called the Monday Horror Show™ face, a combo of constipation, existential horror, and resignation. With some hesitation, I got up, went over, and gave him the chastest, most scholarly of shoulder pats. Suresh’s shoulders were dangerous territory: they were taut with muscles that invited lingering caresses. I quickly brought up mental images of hairy men in tight
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