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One

JAIME

I was in the closet

That’s not a metaphor, by the way—I was literally, physically trapped in a closet It wasn’t even uy-closet sne up front, base notes of sweat and testosterone lingering beneath It wasn’t entirely unpleasant Actually, it was kind of hot in its uniquely masculine way, but I was in no mood and certainly no position to be turned on, crouched like a frog on top of so the hinged bi-fold doors all the way shut so I was totally visible through the crack, and I had the hiccups

Did I mention I was drunk?

Oh, Jesus I’d set lass down so? And why on earth had I gone for the fucking closet instead of the back door when he came in? I could have easily climbed the back steps to my balcony by now or even snuck around and co ho He didn’t know I took the day off

God, I was so dumb

And it’s not like I’d learned anything that interesting for allfrom the twelve-count box of Trojans (size XL, if you’re interested) in his nightstand drawer I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d used those since he’d o I lived in the upper flat, so ht above his, and I hadn’t heard any sex noises co and soht type

He looked like that type A s in a blanket from The Pancake House

Jealousy surged in eous blonde’s blanket, whispering dirty things in her ear, rown-ups of the world, the ones with real jobs, were hard at work

Stop it You have way bigger problems than who he fucks while you’re at the office Like how you’re going to get out of here