“But the guy sitting at the table next to me who'd been imagining killing his wife and was now imagining seducing me wasn't the problem. No, it was the guy sitting across from me, the man with the bright orange hunting cap pulled low over his eyes, the guy waiting for the right moment to rob the cafe...he was the one who worried me.”

“The man sitting across from me at the cafe was thinking about murdering his wife. He imagined stabbing her and pretending like it was a robbery. Or perhaps, he thought, he'd take her hiking, push her off a cliff and say it was an accident; that she'd slipped. I wanted to tell him it wouldn't work, that in those CSI shows on T.V. they always suspected the husband first.”

“The man who pulled my winning raffle ticket out of the hat said I was one lucky guy. I guess he didn’t see me standing next to my clone, so I replied, “I am two lucky guys.”

“Why don't you write a story for me?”“Really?” I squeaked. “Um, what about?”“Well, something with a good guy and a bad guy and a hot chick.”…”Okay, anything else?”“The hot chick has to have pretty blonde hair and kickass blue eyes,”….”And the good guy is a musically talented man who is incredibly sexy...?”He grinned and kissed me. “Not at all – that's the bad guy. And I don't care if he wins or loses – that doesn't make a difference.” He shifted and hovered over me, kissing me again – and again and again and again...His lips lingered over mine as he whispered: “I just want the bad guy to get the girl.”

“He sits next to me, the veins on his neck and arms seeming more prominent than they did earlier. His mouth compresses, igniting his eyes with esoteric light, pulling me into the magnetic undertow.”

“So now I'm thinking about it. I'm imagining sitting down with my parents and actually saying, "I'm gay." And you know what? It makes me a little mad. I mean, straight guys don't have to sit their parents down and tell them they like girls.”