That evening as I lay across my couch with a glass of fine red hanging from my fingers, I thought about our brief encounter, and how inevitable it all was.
It wasn't really a matter of if my phone would ring, but when. I already had him, just as he already had me. I was suddenly hungry, but not for food. Starving. I couldn't keep my mind on anything but his blue eyes and his tan neck . . . and that f*****g mouth.
I sipped from the crystal glass and felt the dry merlot slide down the back of my throat. Even that reminded me of what we might do. Eventually . . . suddenly . . . passionately.
I rubbed my feet together as I listened to my favorite internet jazz station broadcasting from my phone through the overhead sound system, knowing full well that the horn section of classic jazz may as
