Alexi comes swanning in around ten a.m., looking shower fresh and perky in sweats and a workout top, whistling to himself merrily, which is weird. He has on a hoody with no sleeves cut out around his shoulders in a very flattering way. It showcases the sheer size and strength of those toned, muscled biceps and how his tattoos curl down to the backs of his hands, up both arms and sneak behind them under the fabric.

I have to drag my eyes from lingering on them. He looks hot. Even I can ...