His head was thrown back as the shower's spray washed over him, cleansing in its heat, washing away the dried sweat, and saliva, the cascading water becoming a welcomed replacement for the remnants of remembered fingers, caresses, the memory of the woman he had just left sated in her expensive home, in her rumpled bed, only to return to his own humble, empty residence...Alone.

He sighed as the water ran its rivulets of long fingers along his shoulders, down his spine to the curve of his ass, tracing its way down his thighs to the wet tiles where it pooled at his feet.

The water could wash his body clean…always, but it never penetrated his mind. His closed eyelids locked away the shadows of pain that were forever reflected in his eyes, if you only knew where to look for them. The loss of her, the loss of his hopes and his dreams; dreams that had shattered like the fragile glass of the windshield she had plummeted through. The wet street that night had echoed his cries as she lay in his arms, her body tossed to the shiny pavement, bleeding, fighting for breath, fighting for the life they were promised together.

Fighting… They had been fighting that night. Fighting about something stupid, something to do with the wedding of all things, and he had looked away from the road for just a moment, with only her terrified eyes, her frantic screams to alert him to the car that was suddenly there before them. He had fought with the wheel then, trying to turn it, to turn them away from the shining head lights of the oncoming car, but…Angela…His angel.

He forced his eyes open, the rain drenched streets becoming wet tiles…Again. Taking a deep breath he pushed down the cheap fixture to end the heated caress of the shower and slid the shower curtain aside to step from the stall.

He made his way dripping to the towel rack and grabbed a towel to run along his long frame soaking up the moisture clinging to the light hairs along his navel. When he was fairly dry he positioned the towel at his waist and moved to the foggy mirror. He could see nothing of his reflection, the image in the mirror a haze of mist.

He reached and swiped a hand along the cool, wet surface. His face and his toned upper body jumped out at him and he leaned into the reflection, his hand holding him as he stood over the sink. His eyes delved into the deep blue pools that held his secrets and then onto the hand poised against the mirror, his left hand.

By all rights there should be a wedding ring between the two whitened knuckles of his ring finger. By all rights he should have just made love to the woman he was to spend the rest of his life with. By all rights he shouldn't be heading out to bed another woman in exchange for the five hundred dollars he was promised. By all rights he shouldn't feel like his life was over at age thirty…like it had ended three years ago…The night Angela was taken from him.

His eyes misted and the tears were blinked aside as he shoved back from the mirror. He had a 'date' to get ready for and he couldn't keep a client waiting. Not if he wanted to keep his job.

He hurried through to his small bedroom and pulled open his closet door. His eyes moved over the expensive garments pressed and hanging neatly on the hangers from the dry cleaners. His wardrobe was his only indulgence and it was a job related indulgence. If he was going to be a gigolo he might as well look the part.

He selected a light blue shirt and dark trousers. He was to meet the woman at her place in…he glanced at his watch…shit he only had thirty minutes before he was supposed to be there.

He dressed quickly and went back into the bathroom to brush his teeth. His eyes met the serious orbs reflected before him and he slid on his poker face, closing himself off. He would give the client what she had ordered and be back home in an hour tops. He rinsed his mouth quickly and placed the cup aside.

He gave his reflection one last look before flipping off the light. And then he headed out the door, confident he had just enough time to make it across town.