He doesn’t know I’ve been watching him back. I feel badly about it most days; I watch him get shoved out of the way, I watch his books get smacked out of his hand, and I watch his underwear get pulled so far out of his pants it’s a wonder the fabric doesn’t rip. Part of me wants to interfere and consequences be damned, but the other part of me gets irritated. Why does he have to be such a pushover? It’s not as though he’s...

"I'm gonna throw up," I moaned, rubbing my temples. David set a cup of coffee in front of me. "Yet another night of debauchery?" I nodded and pull the mug close. Bitter life-giving brew. "I had to take a fucking bus downtown to get my car. Again. And my shirt smells like sandalwood." "Ah, so the mystery masseuse is back," David joked. "Got essential oil on your dick?" "No, dumbass. And I told you that I don't remember any...