morning.” She somehow felt the need to remind before cutting me off.
I looked at the clock and whimpered when I saw it was only ten thirty. Curse you, Gabby . I rolled over and settled back down into the bed. “Repressed indeed. I'm not repressed; I'm just sexually challenged,” I mumbled. I wrapped my legs and arms around my body pillow, and giving it a squeeze, I looked at the pillow. You're the only man I need . I closed my eyes and began to drift off.
* * * * *
I finally drug my ass out of bed around one thirty with no sign of a headache but with a fierce case of I'm-so-hungry-I-want-to-eat-everything. As I perused the cabinets and refrigerator, laziness prevailed, and I settled for a bowl of Honeycombs.
I picked up the bowl with one hand, and I shoved the spoon into my mouth with the other, then grabbed my cell off the counter and made my way to the sofa. I snatched up the remote, clicked on the television, took a bite of cereal, and began checking the phone for any missed calls. Now, that's what I call multitasking. I'd turned my phone off after Gabby's call, and there were three missed calls. The first name and number that popped up was the one I was hoping would be there. I moved the remote from my lap to the coffee table and shoveled in another spoonful of cereal as I hit Redial.
It rang several times before I heard a click and, “Hello, gorgeous.”
“Good morning.” I smiled as I stabbed my spoon into the bowl of cereal. “Are you psychic, or do you have me programmed already?”
I listened as Andy chuckled. “Oh, you're programmed, baby. And I hate to break it to you, but it's hardly morning.”
“Did you sleep okay?” I asked. I was trying my best not to crunch too loudly, but I was too hungry to stop eating like a polite person should.
“Alas, no,” he said. “I tossed and turned all night. I went on this really great date last night, but the guy—well, he got me all worked up and then sent me on my way.”
“Sounds like a keeper to me!” I was grinning through another bite. “Who was this pillar of strength and respectability?” I asked, mumbling through a mouthful of Honeycombs.
“Oh, just some bartender I tried to pick up one night. I thought all gay bartenders were supposed to be ecstasy-popping, Crown Royal-guzzling nymphos who were always ready to par-tay.”
“Dude, I must've been absent that day during bartender orientation. My bad.” I crossed my legs and pulled them up under me. “What time did you get up?”
“Seven thirty. I had to show some clients a couple of houses this morning.”
“How'd it go?”
“Going,” he corrected, “and thus far, no sale. It's a young couple, just married—very sweet first-time home buyers. They're following me in their car. Your basic subdivision nightmare, clad in khaki. They're like my sisters' paper dolls—which I always wanted to play with when I was a little boy. They have this sort of painted-on-happy look.”
“Stepford heteros.” I nodded.
“Something like that. I've been showing them houses for weeks. The only thing I can imagine to be more difficult than selling them a house is getting you to trust me. What the hell are you eating?”
“Sorry,” I said through my crunching. “Cereal. And as with all things worth having, if you're persistent and you put your whole heart into it, you'll end up getting everything you desire.” I started to laugh over my own cheesiness, and Andy seemed to agree, laughing as well. “Of course, divulging things such as your paper-doll fetish certainly makes you seem all the more attractive.”
“Cute. I will not be ridiculed. I have to go… Pulling up to another house to show. I know you're working tonight, but I wanted to see if you'd come to my house Sunday night. I thought I could order us some dinner and rent a couple of movies?”
“Sounds good, but I already have plans on Sunday. Monday?” I asked.
“Hmm, Monday one of my business networking groups is having a
I looked at the clock and whimpered when I saw it was only ten thirty. Curse you, Gabby . I rolled over and settled back down into the bed. “Repressed indeed. I'm not repressed; I'm just sexually challenged,” I mumbled. I wrapped my legs and arms around my body pillow, and giving it a squeeze, I looked at the pillow. You're the only man I need . I closed my eyes and began to drift off.
* * * * *
I finally drug my ass out of bed around one thirty with no sign of a headache but with a fierce case of I'm-so-hungry-I-want-to-eat-everything. As I perused the cabinets and refrigerator, laziness prevailed, and I settled for a bowl of Honeycombs.
I picked up the bowl with one hand, and I shoved the spoon into my mouth with the other, then grabbed my cell off the counter and made my way to the sofa. I snatched up the remote, clicked on the television, took a bite of cereal, and began checking the phone for any missed calls. Now, that's what I call multitasking. I'd turned my phone off after Gabby's call, and there were three missed calls. The first name and number that popped up was the one I was hoping would be there. I moved the remote from my lap to the coffee table and shoveled in another spoonful of cereal as I hit Redial.
It rang several times before I heard a click and, “Hello, gorgeous.”
“Good morning.” I smiled as I stabbed my spoon into the bowl of cereal. “Are you psychic, or do you have me programmed already?”
I listened as Andy chuckled. “Oh, you're programmed, baby. And I hate to break it to you, but it's hardly morning.”
“Did you sleep okay?” I asked. I was trying my best not to crunch too loudly, but I was too hungry to stop eating like a polite person should.
“Alas, no,” he said. “I tossed and turned all night. I went on this really great date last night, but the guy—well, he got me all worked up and then sent me on my way.”
“Sounds like a keeper to me!” I was grinning through another bite. “Who was this pillar of strength and respectability?” I asked, mumbling through a mouthful of Honeycombs.
“Oh, just some bartender I tried to pick up one night. I thought all gay bartenders were supposed to be ecstasy-popping, Crown Royal-guzzling nymphos who were always ready to par-tay.”
“Dude, I must've been absent that day during bartender orientation. My bad.” I crossed my legs and pulled them up under me. “What time did you get up?”
“Seven thirty. I had to show some clients a couple of houses this morning.”
“How'd it go?”
“Going,” he corrected, “and thus far, no sale. It's a young couple, just married—very sweet first-time home buyers. They're following me in their car. Your basic subdivision nightmare, clad in khaki. They're like my sisters' paper dolls—which I always wanted to play with when I was a little boy. They have this sort of painted-on-happy look.”
“Stepford heteros.” I nodded.
“Something like that. I've been showing them houses for weeks. The only thing I can imagine to be more difficult than selling them a house is getting you to trust me. What the hell are you eating?”
“Sorry,” I said through my crunching. “Cereal. And as with all things worth having, if you're persistent and you put your whole heart into it, you'll end up getting everything you desire.” I started to laugh over my own cheesiness, and Andy seemed to agree, laughing as well. “Of course, divulging things such as your paper-doll fetish certainly makes you seem all the more attractive.”
“Cute. I will not be ridiculed. I have to go… Pulling up to another house to show. I know you're working tonight, but I wanted to see if you'd come to my house Sunday night. I thought I could order us some dinner and rent a couple of movies?”
“Sounds good, but I already have plans on Sunday. Monday?” I asked.
“Hmm, Monday one of my business networking groups is having a
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