A Bit of Rough
When I met Andrew (“call me Drew”), I instantly pegged him as a bit of a moron. He had a captive audience of people laughing as he recounted the many mishaps in his love life. Despite the fact he was mocking himself, it sounded like he was desperate for people to know just how many women had been in his life, for however brief an interlude. He was one of those guys you love to hate. And yet, I still fancied him rotten. It was totally bizarre. He was not my type at all.
He was just a little taller than me, slim and had several tattoos on his arms. His facial hair was somewhere between stubble and a beard, his hair had no discernible style, and he smoked. I like my men tall, muscular and clean shaven. And I hate smoking. Therefore, it took me a while to put my finger on the
