A text from Rémy hit my phone while I was waiting for the elevator in the lobby of his apartment building.
Door is open- come in
When the elevator doors slid apart, an older woman and two guys my age got off, all smiles. When the doors shut behind me I was the only person on it, and as it climbed up the floors I stared at my reflection in the mirrored walls and mouthed, “Be professional” over and over until the doors slid open in front of Rémy’s apartment. Then I crossed myself, though I wasn’t a believer anymore, walked across the hall and opened the door. Standing on the balcony, taking in the morning view was Rémy, wearing nothing but a towel. His back was chiseled, and he had a rectangular, multi-colored tattoo that started right under his sharp shoulder blades and extended down his
