It feels like a truck load of dirt has been dumped under each of my eye lids. Groaning, I slide my glasses off and rub at them, which only makes them feel worse.

To my left, the Tucson sun is starting to work its way over the horizon, bringing with it the promise of yet another hot day to Arizona. That’s fine with me. After spending my childhood in Canada where the winters are long and frigid, I’ve yet to take Tuscan’s heat and sunshine for granted.

Yawning, I shut down my computer and look around the room. A few beer cans adorn the side of the desk and a low coffee table. Several books are scattered around the room, torn bits of paper I used as bookmarks sticking out of them at odd angles. Loose sheets of paper covered with my scrawling handwriting lay on the floor. A large pizza box from the all-night place that delivers lies next to a small plastic trash can, surrounded by a few napkins that failed to make it into the can when I threw them.

I roll my shoulders and yawn a second time. I should tidy the place up, at the very least take the time to throw away the trash and beer cans, but I’m too tired. Hannah, my housekeeper, will be here in a few hours and since cleaning up after me is what I pay her for … guilt gnaws on the edge of my brain and I actually lift one of the beer cans before I remember that Hannah is having all sorts of trouble with her fourteen-year-old son who managed to get himself suspended from school for the week. Hannah was so angry with him, she was making him go to work with her and help out. She wouldn’t be cleaning up the mess, her teenage son would.

Sammy, the battered, three-legged gray and white cat I adopted from the local animal shelter shortly after Maddie’s death, jumps up on my lap. He presses his scarred head against my chin and meows demandingly. His message is clear. He’s patiently waited all night while I looked over the profile Erin posted on a few online dating sites as well as the profiles she expressed interest in. Now that it is morning, his patience has snapped. His stomach and his food bowl are empty, a problem he feels I should have handled several hours ago.

We go through the same ritual every single morning. Even though Sammy’s lack of patience irritates me from time to time, it’s also one of the main reasons I got a cat. After Maddie’s death, I was so depressed I realized that if I didn’t have something else living with me, something that depended on me, I’d probably stay in bed until I simply faded away.

For a long time, filling Sammy’s feed bowl was the only thing that kept me going. Gradually, that morphed into me taking an interest in other things. I haven’t forgotten Maddie—not a single day goes by when I don’t miss her like crazy—but with Sammy’s help, I learned how to keep living.

I rub my eyes and struggle to wrap my brain around the idea that it’s morning all ready. “Okay, big guy, let’s see what we can find for breakfast.”

Recognizing the word breakfast, Sammy jumps off my lap and stalks out of my study, his tail twitching with excitement as I follow at a slower, groggier pace.

Sammy jumps up on the counter. He head butts the container containing his kitty kibble and meows plaintively.

I roll my eyes. “If someone didn’t know better, they’d think I only feed you once or twice a week. They’d never believe that you get two good meals every single day.”

Sammy looks at me with his big yellow eyes, blinks twice, and goes back to lavishing love on the container.

Deciding that it won’t hurt for him to learn that, contrary to what he thinks, he doesn’t rule the place, that I’m occasionally allowed to put my own needs first, I ignore him, make my way to the coffee pot and start measuring out my favorite blend of French roast.

Grumbling, Sammy stalks across the counter and glares at the coffee maker.

“Don’t even think about it,” I warn in a low tone. I swear he is debating using his paw to swipe the glass carafe off the appliance and onto the floor. “If you do, I promise that your supply of cat nip and crinkle tunnels will get thrown out the window, and that you’ll never sleep in my bed again. Understand?”

Sammy doesn’t look like he believes it, but he sits back on his haunches and stares at me.

I tug his yellow bowl out of the dishwasher and start filling it with his morning kibble ration.

“You know, considering that I saved you from a life on the mean streets, put a roof over your head and make sure that you’re always well fed,” I tell him, “the least you could do is be a little nicer to me this morning. I’ve had a long night.”

He ignores me.

“You’re a crappy roommate. You expect me to feed you, clean your shit out of the litter box, and keep you supplied in catnip.” I close the container and slide the bowl across the countertop toward him. “Considering all that, it wouldn’t kill you to pretend to take an interest in my life.”

Sammy ignores me and buries his head in the bowl of kibble, all of his considerable focus concentrated on the act of attempting to fill his seemingly bottomless appetite.

Hannah has a fit whenever she catches Sammy on the counter. I’ve lost count of the number of times she’s read me the riot act because she feels I’m a derelict pet parent. She swears that if I’d just spend some time working with him, Sammy would learn to stay off the counters and tables. I don’t understand her problem. Both Sammy and I are perfectly happy with the arrangement.

Watching him triggers a familiar pang of envy. He eats and eats and eats and still has a rangy, borderline starved appearance. I’m in good shape, but only because I make a concentrated effort to work out and only indulge in pizza one or two nights a week.

The rich scent of coffee fills the spacious kitchen. It’s enough to give my synapses a good strong kick, making me feel slightly more human.

I reach out and stroke Sammy’s boney back. “It’s been a long time since I’ve lost sleep over a woman. Even longer since I’ve pulled an all-nighter.” I roll my neck from side to side, trying to work some of the exhaustion and soreness from my muscles. “I’d forgotten how painful both can be.”

The coffee maker falls silent and I shuffle across the kitchen to fill my favorite Superman mug with the life-giving elixir.

“I don’t know what to think about Erin.” I continue talking to my cat and do so without feeling the least bit silly. It’s the result of spending too many years holed up in this apartment with nothing but Sammy for company. “I know I don’t know her, but she seems like a nice enough woman. The kind that has everything going for her. Looks, brains, even money. Hard to believe her life isn’t as perfect as expected.”

The first few swallows of coffee hit my stomach, warming me while also giving me a much needed surge of energy. I drag a plastic bag full of bread out of the fridge and pop two slices into the toaster.

“Erin says she hasn’t ever had an orgasm. She’s not sleeping with every guy she goes out with, but like she says, surely along the way she’s met up with at least a few guys who knew what they were doing. I would.”

The thought of having sex with Erin sends a sharp, hot stab of heat through my lower belly. My cock swells, the intense pressure against my fly startling me.

I suck in a deep breath. God, it’s been a long time since my body has reacted so strongly to the mere thought of being with a woman. Not since Maddie passed away. I never want them. In my mind, I’ve always been a one-woman man.

Down, boy, I silently order my hopeful member. This is a job, a distraction from the daily grind. You won’t be coming out to play.

I think Erin is an incredibly sexy woman, from the moment I first saw her, she’s intrigued me. The way she smiles and her bright eyes melts some of the ice that enveloped my heart after my Maddie died. There’s something about her that makes me want to edge closer, to step away from the relative solitude I shrouded myself in. And as good as that feels, it also makes me feel guilty. Maddie has only been gone for a few years. Surely it’s too soon for me to be taking an interest in other women, on any level.

The sound of Sammy’s sharp teeth shattering bits of kibble is the only sound in the room. I lean against the counter and try to puzzle out my sudden and intense reaction to Erin. The fact that I noticed her wasn’t a surprise. She’s a beautiful woman, and I do notice attractive women, I’m not dead, but usually once they’re out of my range of vision, I forget all about them. But not Erin. There’s something about her that pulls at me. I’ve tried to ignore it, but I’ve never had much luck.

I’ve never admitted this, not even to myself, but somehow I’ve managed to make note of her routine and frequently find myself hanging out in the building’s lobby or near the elevators whenever I know she’ll be around.

When she walked into me in the lobby the other day, it represented the longest we’d ever been near each other. It was also the first time in a long time that I took an active interest in another person’s life.

There’s something about the warmth of her smile that helps soothe my bruised heart, and whatever that something is, I’m steadily becoming addicted to it. That’s probably why I so impulsively sent her that text after learning she’d been poking around the No O website.

Sammy finishes eating and sits back on his haunches. His large yellow eyes study me as his long pink tongue lashes out, removing a few stray crumbs from his whiskers.

“I’ve gone through Maddie’s notes.” It’s something I haven’t done … ever. When I lost her, I’d been too shocked to do anything except go through the motions of trying to survive. After that, the idea of going through her notes, even the ones that pertained to joint ventures like No O, had felt too intrusive.

But last night, reading through her stuff, seeing the quirky comments she’d made to herself, recalling the phrases that only she used, and learning from her observations, had felt good. The experience had reminded me about how much she’d loved nearly all the aspects of her work, how committed she was to genuinely helping people improve the quality of their lives.

Of course, it also reminded me of how much I missed her.

The toast pops out of the toaster, and I fetch it, juggling the slices as the hot bread burns my fingertips until they’re safely on the countertop.

Sammy, his tail held high, the tip twitching in an expression of pure feline arrogance, walks across the counter as if he owns it, stopping a few inches from my toast. He leans close, his nose twitching as I slather the bread with peanut butter and raspberry jam.

“Don’t even think about it,” I warn him. I’ve lost more than one piece of toast to the damn cat. He doesn’t like eating it, but he loves shoving it off the counter and onto the floor. I haven’t figured out if he likes watching it fall over the side or just enjoys my reaction.

Glaring at him, I pick up a slice and bite into it, savoring the taste before swallowing.

“As far as I can figure,” I tell the cat, who is still eyeballing my second piece, “the most likely reason that Erin is having so much trouble sexually is that she’s not relaxed. I’m betting that she’s allowed herself to get so worked up about having an orgasm, that she gets too tense. She can’t just lay back and enjoy herself. So, I just have to figure out a way to loosen her up. How hard can that be?”

Sammy stares at me with gleaming yellow eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he’s laughing at me.