By: Kayti McGee

Apparently I’d mentioned it often enough that she was wise to my tricks.

Liquor store and Redbox it was, then, because I was not going to waste this night not drinking and watching stupid movies.

A few moments of wandering through the first fine establishment I could find, cleverly named BOOZE4LESS by some classy gentleman, told me that I had not been drinking enough.

When did so many glorious new flavors of vodka become available? Bubblegum? Cake Batter? Skittle? It was an alcoholic twelve year-old’s dream in there.

For a socially awkward ADD graphic artist? Eek.

See, when I get overwhelmed by too many choices, I tend to make a panic decision and choose something that was never actually on my radar. That’s totally how I ended up with the bourbon. I don’t even like bourbon.

And then, lo and behold, when I drove into the driveway I could see Marc through the window, lounging on the couch where I had mentally staked my claim. Dang. I didn’t have a TV in my room, so where was I going to watch the newest-ish superhero movie on my free night?

Anyway, wasn’t he supposed to be out partying it up on his own? So much for assuming that he had a more active social life than I did. Or, at least, less-lame friends. Apparently his friends called it quits before dinner, even, so I guessed he won that not-prize. Gosh, I really knew next to nothing about the guy I’d lived with for almost a year.

This was bad. I was not going to drink alone in my room. I wanted to drink alone in the living room! Wait. That sounded bad.

Actually, this didn’t have to be bad. Marc was totally a bourbon guy. Bourbon was a manly drink. Marc was a manly man. Maybe he’d be impressed with my choice. Maybe we could finally live out Couch Night, the fantasy I’d carried for the past ten months.

Ten whole months since the first time I touched his peen. With my chin.

Not that I thought about that. Much. In I went, bourbon at the ready.


“You’re home,” Marc exclaimed when I walked in with the bagged liquor in my arms. His expression seemed to be a cross between shocked and mortified. The shock was understandable since I’d never come home unexpectedly on a Friday night, but the mortification did seem to be a little bit of overkill.

Until I really looked at him. And then I myself was a bit mortified because, was he not wearing pants?

Nope, those were totally just boxer-briefs. Red boxer-briefs. Tight red boxer-briefs.

Oh my. Who knew boxer-briefs were so...revealing? Maybe mortified wasn’t quite the word I was looking for. Astonished was more like it. Bewildered and amazed worked in a pinch as well.

“Um. Sorry. This is awkward,” Marc said, reaching for a blanket to cover his legs.

No! No, don’t cover them, I silently screamed. I’d seen him in his jogging shorts, but that hadn’t given the full effect. This was the full effect, and I needed to bask in it a little longer. Because those were some excellent legs. Superhero legs, if you will. And you will.

And then I had a stroke of utter brilliance. I removed my own pants without a word, leaving them in a pile by the door. The undies stayed on; I’m not a floozy. Just a fan of being Roman in Rome. Besides, if I were going to have something to look at, he should too. I also had fairly nice legs, if I say so myself, and, thank goodness, I’d shaved that afternoon.

Also, my boyshorts were printed all over like Spiderman’s suit. Excellent, right? And no one had ever seen them but me. Time to rectify that.

“There! Now it’s not awkward.” I put my hands on my hips, posed, and waited for Marc’s impressed noises.

No impressed noises were forthcoming.

Then I remembered. Marc wasn’t a normal guy. He was a fancy guy. Professors are always fancy, right? That was why I had originally thought he probably liked bourbon, even though I’d never actually seen any laying around. I figured he had the good stuff hidden away in his bedroom or something. He didn’t really know me, after all, and liquor is a valuable commodity. I’d hide it too.

Anyway, it was pretty safe to assume that fancy guys were not Spidey guys. Watchmen, maybe…? But for sure not Spidey.

In fact, he was visibly weirded out. Well, bro, you de-pantsed first.

Though, now that I thought about it, maybe stripping down had been a bit of a weird move on my part.