The cottage was too stuffy. He heard the air through the vent, but it wasn’t enough. Nick stumbled out the sliding door to the patio, still clutching his empty tumbler. The maritime breeze cooled his flushed face, and he gasped for air, hoping it would clear his head. It didn’t. Not much. Nick was beginning to fear that nothing would ever clear his head again. He would just drift through life in a fog of frustrated arousal, constantly searching for somebody that he’d never be able to find. In the day’s harsh light, he wouldn’t be so overdramatic. But in the middle of the night, he couldn’t shake that sense of doom.