Chapter 6: Hormones, Gym Rats, and Unwanted Dreams

After dinner, with nothing else to do, I went to the doctor. She told me I had a hormonal imbalance. “Honestly, stress can mess with your hormones. Maybe you need to blow off some steam—with someone you trust.”

Lauren, hearing this, joked she could set me up with one of her gym-rat coworkers or a guy from her dog park group.

At the time, I was sitting under the air conditioning, sketching comic outlines, my mind whirring with how to perfect my characters.

I refused immediately.

Lauren nudged me, “Have you been breaking out lately?”

I groaned. “Don’t even start.” I cursed Jake in my head—two pimples, right on my chin.

“Homegrown flowers can’t compare to wild ones,” Lauren teased. “Besides, you two are getting divorced soon, why not give it a try?”

I set my pen down, thought for a second, and since I had no inspiration for my side character’s face, decided maybe I could use a reference. “Just looking, no touching.”

It’s just high androgen levels. After the divorce, I’ll find a hundred of them. But not now. That isn’t cowardice—just a high moral bottom line. I don’t easily lust after men’s bodies.

Lauren laughed, clearly doubting my self-control.

I was confident, but while finishing my drawing and heading to bed, I was proven wrong.

I had a very steamy, erotic dream. The sheets tangled around my legs, my skin hot and slick, as if the dream had left fingerprints on me. In the dream, I kissed someone with wild abandon—breaths mingled, the man’s heat and the sound of wetness pulling me into endless waves. I was lost in that teasing, immersed in a world of mutual pleasure. Desire to live, desire to die. Until—I saw Jake’s face right in front of me.

I woke up with a start. My heart was racing, I was drenched in cold sweat, and hadn’t recovered from the aftertaste of the dream.

With shaky legs, I went downstairs for water. The fridge light glared as I grabbed a bottle of Pellegrino and took a long, shaky sip, trying to calm my nerves. Suddenly, I heard several lazy, teasing voices in the living room.

“Some people clearly want it bad, but because they’re afraid of freaking out their wife, they just keep it bottled up. Not naming names.”