MY HOUSE.
SUNDAY. 12PM.
THE DAY AFTER MY BIG BIRTHDAY PARTY
“You’re awake.”
I stumble into my kitchen where Corey is typing away on his laptop. Too loud. My head aches. My mouth is dry. I manage to nod without dying. I lean against the wall and slowly turn my head to get my bearings. It’s my house, but I’m a little tired. And a lot naked. I rub my bare stomach and adjust my balls, hitting my morning wood as I reach down. I need to pee.
Shirtless in shorts, Corey sees and understands. For a 19-year-old, he’s brilliantly intuitive. He just gets people. His friend Ramsey accuses Corey of having telepathy, but really, he has empathy. Sexy, smart, and caring, I’m so happy that he’s here to help me. And not just because he’s a 5’11”, 190-lbs muscleboy. It’s because he never judges or pressures me.
