"sightlessly at the television. Was this what he truly wanted out of life? Endless nights like this one? Alone, bored. "But free," he muttered, and lifted his can in a mocking toast to freedom. It was that damned Jessi, making him feel restless and frustrated and itchy. Her and all her suggestive glances. Her and her hot kisses. Her and her talk about the clinic and the house and the family she'd have there one day. He didn't want that, dammit. But he did want her. His shower that night was a cool one. He dived into bed still wet, hoping the dampness would keep the oppressive heat from smothering him. And after a third beer, he fell into a jerky, restless sleep. But she didn't leave him alone then, either. She was there, haunting his dreams, touching him, kissing him, teasing him, as he lay there paralyzed and unable to reciprocate. He thrashed in agony, his"