He had to limit his drinking these days, most of the people in attendance were boring, and what he really wanted to do was go home and hide from the world. Having open-heart surgery at thirty-eight gave you a totally different perspective on life. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to a party. Or stayed out until dawn. Or even gotten laid. That was a hell of a note. Dr. Harper had told him it was okay to resume sexual activities, but Grant hadn’t found a woman yet to tempt him out of his self-imposed shell of fear. What if he had another heart attack in the middle of fucking some woman? What if he collapsed on her? What if he died in the middle of an orgasm? He could see the headline now. High-Powered CEO Dead at 38 with an Erection. Never mind that the CEO was retired, had sold out his share of the company at a huge profit— more doctor’s orders—and had been flying solo with his dick because he was scared shitless. Anyone who’d known Grant before the surgery would be laughing their collective asses off.
