I stare straight ahead at the peeling paint on the wall . . . until I hear the bathroom door slam. Lex is naked. I pretend to be asleep, but I peek at the cords of muscles in his arms. He has a prisoner’s body—the type of physique a convict attains when there is nothing else to do but work out. His damp hair is brushed back. His taut back muscles connect to one of the most perfect asses I’ve ever seen on a man. I wish I had gotten to see how a body that perfect would have merged with mine. Perfect versus the most imperfect. Regret at that longing immediately fills me.
