Gray
My evening had been occupied by the delivery of a new mattress and obsessively checking my phone for texts.
I’d just spent three years cooped up in a place I couldn’t leave—without women and eating shitty food. And here I was, alone on a Saturday night eating crappy Chinese food in my apartment all by my lonesome self.
After checking my phone yet again, I tossed it on the couch and blew out a sigh of frustration.
I should be out at some dive bar, meeting a woman who wanted no more than a hard c**k between her legs. But instead I was home being loyal to a woman who was most likely out on a f*****g date.
Layla Hutton.
A part of me thought maybe my obsession would wear off once I’d gotten to see her again and say my piece after a year of having to remember what she looked like, wha
