We met fresh out of college, when we both worked at a law firm. All the ladies in the office chirped about his thick hair, cooed over his broad-shouldered frame, whispered about his posh upbringing and slick pedigree. I found him arrogant and self-consumed.
I took an interest in him only after he started bringing a lacrosse stick to work. My crush deepened the first time I heard him speak with passion about his gun. This was not a euphemism — he actually had a gun. More specifically, he had a shotgun he kept in pieces in a bedroom that was, I later learned, cluttered with various trophies, medals, sticks, muscle balms, beaten running shoes, and athletic tape. Keep reading »