I lie in bed wondering what the fuck is happening here. Need a lot more therapy before crossing that bridge. I can hear Billy going to the elevator to start his day. A little about my background: I come from a very nice, proper, conservative family. This is all very textbook for someone who doesn’t have the skills to get close to others. I knew this would happen: Billy slips a note under my door. They live in the midwest, and we talk once a week without a lot of closeness. I get home from work and take a shower before dinner. It’s a little odd because our vibe feels sort of warm and boyfriendly — but we haven’t had sex, we’re not dating, he is still married, and I’m not particularly interested.
This week, a marketing executive entangled with her newly separated neighbor: 32, straight, single, Tribeca.
They show me Facebook pictures, and he’s cute, with a really unique, humanitarian job.
where I could predict exactly what Billy would text, do, wear, and eat, I find this guy original and refreshing.
She’s pretty, but Billy is hot as fuck — I’ve always crushed on him.
The fun part about the Billy thing is that I don’t have his phone number and he doesn’t have mine.
I want to fuck this guy, or start fucking him on a regular basis. He leaves his phone number and suggests I text him if I’m in the mood for company.