I called into the office late, stared at Mo, and told the gator everything was going to be fine, not that I think he believed me. My nerves got the best of me and I began to pace from one end of the living room to the other. Neither Mo nor I was happy, but we were trying to deal with the situation as best we could.
Approximately forty minutes later the Gator Guy arrived. He pulled up in his flaming red Dodge Ram truck, which hauled a massive gator cage behind it. The chico parked in the seashell-covered drive, climbed out and—
My God, I had never melded my intoxicated stare on such a handsome man in all my twenty-seven years. The Ecuadorian stood at six-two, weighed one hundred and ninety pounds, had cocoa bean-colored eyes and matching spiked hair. His biceps gleamed olive-colored persp
