We woke up spooning at the forks in our roads.
“Morning,” he said.
He’d left out the good part, as in good morning, which was apt because, all too soon, the morning was anything but that.
I rolled over to kiss him, but my cell interrupted the gesture. I was getting a message. I could tell by the ring. In fact, I could tell by the ring that it was a work-related message. Personal messages played Britney; work messages played Katy.
“God, you’re gay,” mumbled Jeff into the pillow.
I bounded up. My crowbar of a c**k created a minor breeze in its swaying wake. “Lucky for you.”
He glanced up at the rearing beast. “Amen to that.”
I grabbed my phone from my jeans. I flicked through to my messages. I read the most recent one. It was a short read. It was a troubling read. I was frowning the e
