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But I find myself, in this particularly out-of-character moment, struck with the realization that I haven’t found anyone desirable in years.
I’ve been a lump of stone. A hardened wall.
And in the space of a second, a crack splits its way down that wall—all my defenses, shattered.
I’m stricken. I’m speechless. I’m stupefied.
And I’m very naked under this towel.
“Are you him?” the young man asks. “Are you the photographer? … Dante …?”
The sound of my own name sobers me. I look the nervous little hottie over, sizing him up. “That would be me,” I answer, stepping aside to let him in.
To Be Continued …
