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She laughed then, a genuine sound that broke the suffocating 'sexy' atmosphere. She reached over, grabbed the remote, and turned on a nature documentary about deep-sea squids.

'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.'" She laughed then, a genuine sound that broke

'Is it the pressure?' she asked, her voice surprisingly soft. 'If it’s not happening, it’s not happening

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. Despite her best efforts and the expensive bottle

'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.'