Chapter 8: Colm, Unclothed
January 29. Midnight approached, and the furnace in my building went on the fritz, baking all its tenants, including me. I had all the windows in the apartment open, but it didn’t help. The vents inside my place blew ninety-two-degree air out, and snow still fell outside. Philippe, the building’s handyman, worked in the boiler room with two other men, attempting to fix the furnace. To no avail, hours had passed as I broiled inside the apartment, wearing nothing more than a pair of Jack Adams Gridiron trunks, which barely covered my private parts.
Brett Carlisle did what I wanted him to, following our one-time fling of hot s*x on his Rus mat: he didn’t call me the following day and ask if I wanted to share a second date with him. If the truth be told, I planned
