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bookshelf full of board games, and by full, I mean I can count about fifty games stacked here. If these were my games, I’d have them arranged in thematic order. But it looks like he’s arranged them to maximize space. Now who’s the nerd? I think it’s me.
    I’m also pretty envious of the big bay window he has. This is what I’d have done to my front window if I had the motivation to actually do it. There’s a beautiful built-in seat with plush cushions to rest your back on. And because the house sits on top of the steep hill that leads downtown, there’s a clear view of the harbour. It’s heavenly.
    “You like?” The heat from his body sends shivers down my back as he nuzzles my neck.
    “I’d trade houses with you if there wasn’t an infestation of miniatures in your front hall.”
    “It’s not always like that.”
    God, the way he tilts his head when he’s thinking is dreamy.
    Yes. I said it. Dreamy. So, sue me. I’ve got a bad case of infatuation here.
    “On second thought, it is like that a lot around here. Still, I have sound proof walls.”
    “Are you sure about that?”
    “Pretty sure. But maybe we ought to do something to test that theory.”
    Now, I have two options. I can go for funny, like ask him if he wants to break out the Twister mat. Or I can make him an offer he can’t refuse.
    My shirt is loose and lightweight. It slides off pretty easily. And I made sure before I left the house that I was wearing a nude lace bra.
    “Don’t you want to go play Magic or something?”
    “Do I look like an idiot? Who chooses cards over this?”
    Well said, Mr. Sharp. Well said.

Two weeks later.
    I t’s two in the morning. Evan is upstairs sleeping in my bed. Somehow we’ve settled on an arrangement where he spends four or five nights at my place. And I begrudgingly spend the rest at his.
    If it were a matter of who has the better bed, we’d be at his place all the time. That man made some serious investment in a pillow top mattress that leaves me refreshed in the morning. But I just can’t handle the constant influx of guys, and sometimes disturbingly cute girls, who just waltz into his part of the house without knocking to borrow games, or play games, or take food from his always well-stocked fridge.
    Tonight we had our first argument and it’s about this very thing. He can’t see that his friends take advantage of him.
    “You just don’t understand friendship because the only friends you have are pompous intellectuals and artists who are too busy trying to seem aloof to be real friends.”
    “You haven’t even met my friends,” I yelled at him. Which is when he sat back, crossed his arms, and got an entirely too self-satisfied look on his face.
    “Exactly. I just made that up because what else am I supposed to think since you haven’t introduced me to any of them. At least you’ve met my friends.”
    “You met Ingrid.”
    “Once. In your office. And you kicked her out.”
    “I didn’t kick her out. She had to go. And if memory serves, you wanted her gone just as badly. You were the one who started making out with me the second she was out of sight.”
    “Well, I didn’t think that would be the last time I’d ever see anyone important to you.”
    “So, you want to meet my friends?”
    “Sure. And your family.”
    “Let’s start small, alright. I’ll have Ingrid and a few others over soon.”
    “Sunday.”
    “What?”
    “Have them over Sunday. We’ll play a game of Dixit and get to know each other.”
    Like hell. My friends are not game playing people. But I will have them over. It’s time for Evan to see that there’s more to life than board games. And sex. Wait. I’m not crazy. The sex is insane. No need to mess with that part of the equation.

Sunday.
    T hat’s it. I’m breaking up with Evan.
    I told him before everyone came that I didn’t think they’d want to play a game. And what did he do all through the meal? Talk about art, and subjectivity, and