TUESDAY AFTERNOON. MY ROOF DECK. LOS ANGELES CA.
“Fuck, Cody. That’s him. It’s really him.”
I laugh at my boyfriend Jae’s awe as we take a seat on the far end of our roof deck watching our surprise houseguest sun himself just 40 feet away. When I reached out with a vague request asking if an old acquaintance of mine could stay with us for a week, Jae was cool with it. Now that he sees the thickly muscular and chiseled Korean American pro wrestler lying on our roof deck in his speedo, he’s more than okay.