That's how cops die or slide into a bottle. That's where I was until one of those chance intersections of lives pulled me out; one of those pitches life throws at you that you can decide to turn away from, or allow it to change you forever.A loss of that perspective, a loss of my ability to remember the magic in life and the accumulated weight of too many arrows and too much caring about them had led me to that hotel room in Seattle. I hadn't felt this bad in years and while I was in town to deliver a paper at a conference and had been well received, I didn't make much of a difference. I was at the point where I was counting days 'till retirement, a practice I'd always abhorred among public servants. That night I had showered, downed a vodka and tonic and was looking out the curtains of my room across the hotel's atrium. Years ago I would have looked out of that atrium and felt the hum of life: laughter, debate, pain, lust, love, joy and confusion, but in some kind of context that. ’ He shrugged out of the shirt and reached for the buckle on his pants. ‘Now, I don’t know about you, but in my world, spending the night in a man’s bed means something.’ I rolled my eyes. The man was obviously delusional. ‘Look, Gabe. I told you, I don’t do relationships. Personal attachments just aren’t worth the time and emotional effort needed to sustain them.’ I lost my train of thought momentarily as the waist of his pants headed south. Oh, my. He may have been angry with me, but certain portions of his anatomy were certainly happy to see me. I gulped for air and tried again. ‘Besides, one night of great sex doesn’t give you the right to…’ He stepped out of his jeans and placed his knee on the edge of my bed, just between my thighs. ‘One night of great sex, huh? Try fourteen hours and at least that many orgasms, baby. The wedding was at 11:00 and I had you for lunch.’ He slid a warm palm up my thigh. ‘And dinner.’ His other hand shifted to my breast, stroking my nipple firmly.
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