He trailed his fingers through my hair and kissed me one last time on the neck before grabbing his keys and heading to his car. The gate leading to the sidewalk banged closed behind him and then I heard the distinctive metal-on-metal slam of his car door and the engine revving up.

I smiled again to myself, thinking how great he was. The Dodger game was fun. It was thoughtful and special. I rolled over and pulled the sheets up to my neck. I could still feel the warmth next to me where he’d been a few minutes earlier. There’d been no AM sex; he’d been in a hurry to leave. I counted on my fingers how many days had gone by since we last did it. The softy incident two nights ago didn’t count. With no action since I’d been back from Quantico, we last did it the night before I left. That was eight days ago. That was a long time. I knew we’d never gone a week without doing it. Don’t guys count the days? Don’t guys always want sex? It just seemed weird that he was fine not waking up a few minutes early to give me a good shag before he left. Dave owed me after the Mr. Softy incident; the baseball game didn’t make up for that disappointment.

My eyes drifted around the room at his stacks of comic books, framed movie posters on the walls, and the clothes on the floor that he’d worn last night. Even though work had been going great for Dave, he’d lived in this small bungalow for three years, a miniature log cabin with a small bedroom and attached office. It was one of those great finds you had to hear about from a friend; you’d never read an ad for a place like this on craigslist. The pizza man always had a tough time delivering because the house was off a small street up Beachwood Canyon, partially hidden by a giant oak tree. Dave’s house was cozy in the winter, when we’d light a fire and snuggle in to watch a good movie. Dave always said that when he moved again, it would be into the house that he would live in for the rest of his life. His place was an okay bachelor pad, but it was definitely an interim living arrangement. On the far wall he’d put an old wooden table he used as a desk, where he kept the whole setup he called his “command center”: computer, fax, printer, plus a million different chargers for his cell phones and various other junk.

As sleepy as I’d been kissing Dave good-bye, suddenly I felt very awake. I blinked and stared at his computer. Dave had left his PowerBook out.

Big mistake.