I’m an organized guy I like things a certain way-my way. Not that Stanton was a slob, but he’s a former frat boy. Having the apartment to myself has been fantastic. Stanton’s a hell of a guy, Sofia’s a kick-ass woman, and though they started out as banging buddies only, I could see them going domesticated from a mile away. Stanton, my roommate from law school, moved out last year to live with Sofia-a fellow attorney at my firm. While it brews, I switch on the small flat-screen perched on the counter the early-morning anchors drone on about the latest world horrors, sports stats, and weather. I press the button on the ready coffeemaker-forget dogs a good coffeemaker is man’s real best friend. I walk to my closet for a T-shirt and sweatpants, then silently head out to the kitchen. The sweaty foreplay, the hot, tight fucking, the long legs over my shoulders. The thrill of a new hookup, the verbal gamesmanship-saying just the right thing in just the right way. With a groan, I crack my neck and stretch my arms.īut then I remember the finer details of the evening’s second act. After a satisfying piss, I brush the foul residue from my teeth and splash cold water on my face, slicking back my unruly black hair.

I kick back the covers and climb out of bed, still naked, and walk past the head of soft blond hair that peeks out from under the blankets, to the bathroom. and from the strenuous workout after we got home from the bar. I stretch out the sore stiffness in my complaining muscles, caused by lack of sleep. Which explains why, even though it’s Sunday, my eyelids crack open at five a.m.

The kind who makes you beg for just a few more minutes of rest before you eventually lay down the law that no one’s allowed out of bed before the sun shows up. I was that kid-you mothers know the type I mean. I’m one of those people with an internal timepiece that wakes me up at the same time every morning, regardless of how tired I am or how late I was up the night before.

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