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'Forget it,' she said, pulling the duvet up. 'If it’s not happening, it’s not happening. But I’m not wasting a five-star room. Pass me a glass of that wine; let’s just see if these squids find love instead.'"

'I think it’s the everything,' I muttered, staring at the ceiling. 'The work week, the expectations, the fact that I’ve been staring at a spreadsheet for twelve hours a day. My brain hasn’t left the office even if I have.' 'Forget it,' she said, pulling the duvet up

"...The lighting in the hotel room was a warm, amber glow—the kind specifically designed to make everything look better than it is. And she did look good. She had that poise you only get with experience, a 'intellectual beauty' as the profile said, with a confidence that made the air feel thick. But my body wasn't getting the memo. Pass me a glass of that wine; let’s

Despite her best efforts and the expensive bottle of wine breathing on the nightstand, I was a complete no-show. It’s a special kind of ego death when the spirit is willing but the flesh is basically a cooked noodle. She eventually sat back, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and looked at me—not with anger, but with a sort of clinical pity that felt even worse. And she did look good