I stare at him, memorizing every minute detail—every line, every curve, every eyelash. There’s nothing extraordinarily special about this moment, nothing significant and earth-shattering, yet I know instinctually that I’ll remember it and how Max makes me feel for the rest of my life. I must have drifted off again. When I stretch my arm out to touch Max and feel nothing but cool linen, my eyes pop open and glance toward my attached bathroom to find the door wide open and the lights off. I incoherently mutter my disappointment into my pillow before I climb out of bed and check the rest of the apartment with no sign of him. I check my phone to ensure there aren’t any messages before going to take a shower, deciding that Max must have gone with Jameson to work out. My mom’s right; our generation has missed out since pen and paper is archaic. I finish rinsing the shampoo from my hair as the shower curtain slowly opens, making me scream and flail in a maneuver that I’m sure is anything but sexy.
