Diagnosis: Love
She's not your type, bud.
At the time, I'd agreed with her. And oh, hell, let's be honest. I agreed with her still. Juliet wasn't the kind of woman who inspired thoughts of wedding bells and settling down. She was younger than me by nearly ten years. More than that, she was immature in ways that made me tired. We didn't have anything in common . . . except sex, and if I was honest with myself, even there I had this odd sense of just treading water. Sure, I enjoyed myself. Oh, yeah, I got off when she rode my dick or sucked me off or played any of her games. She was constantly trying new positions that would accommodate my knee and yet still keep things interesting-her words, not mine.
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