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  • A Penthouse Letter by A.D., California

While attending a work conference, I bumped into an old flame. It had been years since we’d last spoken. But as we chatted, it seemed just like old times.

We agreed to get drinks at the hotel bar later that night, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I counted down every minute until we would meet again. I even ducked out of my last panel a bit early, so I could freshen up first.

When I arrived at the bar, Eric was already there. Initially, his back was to me, giving me an opportunity to admire him before he was aware of my presence. The sleeves of his striped button-down shirt were rolled up to his elbows, exposing his muscular forearms. His thick, capable fingers were curved around a cut crystal tumbler holding dark liquid over ice — bourbon, if memory served.

I let myself briefly...

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