I don’t like the idea, but I know eventually it’s going to happen. Heaven knows he has enough girls hanging out at the store hoping the hot owner will notice them. I know it’s only a matter of time before Oliver’s stress about opening the store lessens and he can focus on other areas of his life. Admittedly, I’m being supercreepy, staring at him while he’s still asleep-and I’ll make every effort to feel bad about it later-but right now I just love seeing him first thing in the morning. London is already up and gone-surfing, most likely-and I’ve never had the joy of waking up and finding him here, alone. But that time, it had been the whole tangle of us, with random bodies crashing on any available soft surface. Another night we’d gone out after the store closed, and had too many drinks for any of us to operate a moving vehicle. In the eight months I’ve known him, he’s slept here twice: One night he worked so late before the store’s grand opening he could barely walk to our place, let alone drive home.

It isn’t the first time he’s crashed at my place the loft is only a few blocks from the store so we gave Oliver a key in case he ever needed to let one of us in, fix a leaky faucet, or make a quick sandwich on a break. Limp-legged, arms askew, and with his neck at an angle that will be sore when he wakes. His shirt rides up to his ribs, exposing a flat stomach cut down the middle with a dark line of hair. One of his feet is flat on the floor the other hangs over the end of the couch. He’s sprawled awkwardly, so long and angled.

I don’t even remember walking home from the bar, so I don’t fully believe my eyes when I find Oliver asleep on my couch at 7 a.m. I’M A ZOMBIE before coffee, especially after a night of shots and celebration and who knows what else.

Dark wild night