I wake up at six-thirty after a measly three hours of sleep and resume pacing at the foot of my bed. Who is this guy? He is not like my mother's usual conquests.
He's got a job, for one.
Two, he's a cop.
Three, he owns property.
Damien actually has his life together. My mother tends to date or marry men who are in the same financial straits as her. One of them hits the number or gets a lucrative gig, they tie the knot, then everything goes to pot when they inevitably party too hard and hit a downswing.
I've known Damien for less than a day and already I know this man doesn't know the definition of downswing. Case in point, he's already awake and exercising downstairs, as evidenced by the clanking of weights and hum of the treadmill. The fact that he's working out doesn't surprise me.
