I was a stoic child—self-sufficient, blunt, rule-bound, and above all, a selfish bastard. My parents were not affectionate beyond their own great marriage, and the best I learned from them was that love could suddenly mutate into all-consuming monomania, a mutant of madness, so I avoided it the hell out.
I'd grown up with no girlfriends, no boyfriends, nothing that amounted to closeness. I'd had s*x. Lots of s*x. But I'd always been upfront about what I'd been able to offer—a good time, a great date (if you could afford my rate)—nothing in between, nothing more.
Her stomach rumbled between us. She'd not eaten. Where on earth had she been for seven, almost eight hours?
I untangled myself from her, waltzing into the state-of-the-art kitchen. "You need a tall glass of whatever the f**k has
