He tossed, turning under the covers, and sweating from the terror of Jacob’s figure morphing before him into a giant laughing mouth with joker lips and a finger as big as a house pointing towards him in its zeal. The Mouth laughed a bellowing noise, and the finger flicked him from his office chair out the window, peering down to the open city street below.

“Date?!” It snarled in laughter, watching him fall towards the ground at deafening speed, “Date with death, Fag!”

And suddenly, blackness.

Dave shot up from the bed, gasping for air and drenched. A dream! He nearly laughed, the pain of his terror easing, but the trouble of it surfacing with reality. What if Jacob was offended? His marathon-running, co-worker surely was paid attention to often, but by guys?

He rolled over, picking up his phone. Scrolling to his messages, he read what he’d tapped-and sent-earlier from the bar. He winced, making mental note to never touch Jager again, but then— a message!

“Impaired but adorable, how bout 7?”