I went over to Connor’s house last night expecting a painting.

I don’t want to analyze it. I don’t want to think about it at all, but, of course, that’s not going to be possible. I could say things I don’t mean. Telling him that last night and this morning was an isolated incident would be the smartest thing I could do.

Or I could do what I really want to do, which is jump him right now. That would be unsafe, obviously. He’s operating a vehicle. Now that I’ve done it once—okay, three times—I want it constantly. Blame it on me being parched, in the proverbial sense. Before last night I hadn’t had any water in a very long time. Connor’s water is everything water should be. Refreshing, delicious, and satisfying.

Watching him drive is a chance to study him. He has strong forearms. Hands that knew exactly what to do with me. Biceps that bunched and hardened when he lifted me and carried me to his room. He’d buried his face in my breasts while he walked, and I thought I was going to die right there on the spot.

I didn’t know last night was going to happen. Honest. When Connor refused to look at me as I sat there, exposed, my emotions boiled over. I realized how starving I was for the touch of a man. And not just any man. I wanted Connor.

Thinking about him this way makes me want to have sex with him again. And again. And again, and again, and again. Placing two fingers upright on the console, I walk them over in a sneaky but obvious way. Connor looks down at my fingers and laughs, watching them as they get closer to him. The red light turns green, and he looks up to drive. I don’t have to pay attention to the road, so I can continue my quest.

My fingers walk up his thigh and to their destination. Connor’s eyes flick to me when I brush against him. “Brynn,” he says, his voice low. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

He glances down, where my fingers brush back and forth across the front of the same sweats I found him in this morning, then back up. “You’re insatiable.”

“For you, I am.”

He turns onto my street. “It’s a good thing we’re here, then.”

I rub harder, for good measure. He groans softly. I grin. “In case you’re wondering, that was my invitation for you to come inside.”

He pulls up to my house and throws the truck in park. “You better believe I plan on coming inside.”

He laughs an evil little laugh as my mouth drops open. “Don’t do it too quickly, or I might be horrified.” I’m getting good at this rhyming game.

He shifts in his seat. I can tell he’s thinking of a retort, but I’m making it difficult.

After a moment, he says, “We better get out, before I fuck you curbside.”

“Yes!” I yell, clapping my hands. “You win. Let’s go inside, so we can both win.”

We’re halfway up the front walk, our feet pounding the pavement, when someone calls our names. “Brynn! Connor! Thank God.”

Cassidy rushes across the small length of grass that separates our driveways. “My sitter called in sick and I have nobody to watch Brooklyn. I knocked on your door twice, but nobody answered, and I thought that seemed weird because you’re always home—” Cassidy’s lips press together. Her eyes grow in size as she looks from Connor to me. Is it obvious I’m wearing yesterday’s dress? Maybe not. It’s just a sundress. “Anyway,” she fumbles, trying to get back on track. “Please say you’ll watch Brooklyn for me. I can’t call in for my shift.”

Panic swiftly replaces desire. Me, watch a child? A small child. Um, no. No no no no no.

“Sure,” Connor answers.

Instantly a thousand erratic, panicked butterflies zoom around my stomach. I want to bend over right there on the cracked sidewalk and be sick. Everyone is oblivious to the pandemonium in my stomach. Connor makes some kind of joke that I don’t register, and Cassidy presses her hands together like she’s praying.

“Thank you. I appreciate it. The next time you come in”—she points back at herself—“your Cuban is on me.”

“Sounds good,” Connor says, smiling down at me. I scowl at him.

“I’ll bring her over in twenty minutes.” Cassidy turns toward her house, but looks back over her shoulder. “Thank you, Brynn. Seriously.” She is genuine and sweet, and has no clue the turmoil I’m in.

I grunt a response and watch her hurry to her house. She dashes up the three stairs to the porch and rushes inside, the screen door smacking shut behind her.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I hiss, stomping to my front door. I pull keys from my purse and unlock it. Connor follows me inside, closing the door behind him.

“What’s your problem? I mean, I know we had other plans, but Cassidy needed help. I probably should’ve asked first, but I didn’t think it was a big deal. Brooklyn is a sweet kid.”

“You definitely should’ve asked first,” I yell. The butterflies have transformed into crazed ants, running headfirst into one another as they spin out of control. “You don’t know me, Connor. You don’t understand.”

“Then tell me more about you, Brynn. Because you’re right, I know next to nothing.”

My desire to tell him everything is strong, even when I know it’s not smart. I want to be known. To be understood. Even so, I know better. It’s better to keep people at arm’s distance for now. My personal baggage is a special type of fucked-up shit. It comes with media, mass hatred, and an irate person who might still want to punish me.

Connor throws up his hands at my silence. “Continue to tell me nothing. I’ll continue to not know you. I’ll pretend like your responses to situations are normal, like you’re not harboring something heavy, and you keep being an ice queen.” He walks back to the front door and turns the handle.

“Wait,” I shout. “Where are you going?”

“Home, Brynn. I think we need to cool off.”

“Uh, no. You’re not going home.” I point through the walls, to Cassidy’s house. “I cannot watch that child by myself.”

“Have you seriously never babysat a kid? It’s not hard.”

I picture Brooklyn’s face. In my head, I hear her little voice yelling and talking, the way she does every day in her backyard. Maybe it’s not hard to take care of a kid, but there is no way in hell I’m doing it alone. My hands begin to shake. I curl them into fists to hide them from Connor.

“Please,” I whisper, my voice pleading. “Don’t go. I need you.”

The fight leaves me. My shoulders slump as the panic retreats to hidden spots within me.

Connor crosses the room, arms folding me into his strong, solid chest. “Brynn,” he whispers against my hair. “What the hell happened to you?” His question isn’t a request for information but a statement of wonder. He knows I won’t answer. “I won’t go, okay? I’m here. As long as you need me.”

I cry into his chest, and I have no way to explain why. I’m living on borrowed time. At some point, I’ll have to be honest with him, and with myself.

“See?” Connor inclines his head my way. “It’s not hard.”

We’re sitting on the couch. Below us, Brooklyn sits cross-legged on the ground. Her backpack lies on the coffee table and she’s digging through it. Cassidy sent her with plenty to keep her occupied. She has coloring books and crayons, picture books and Play-Doh. Apparently none of that interests her. She sets it all off to the side and reaches in again. This time she pulls out a plastic square with teeth on all four sides, like a comb. She reaches into the bag once more and out comes a plastic baggy filled with colorful bands.

“A loom!” I sit up, looking closer.

Brooklyn looks back at me. “Yes, but it’s too hard for me. I get it wrong.”

I reach forward, grabbing a band from the bag and holding it up. I stretch it out a couple times. “I had these. I loved playing with it.”

Connor nudges my legs and nods at Brooklyn.

Right. That’s what a normal person would do.

“Brooklyn, do you mind if I help you?”

She doesn’t respond, but she scoots aside. I lower myself from the couch to the floor below and stick my legs out under the coffee table, trying not to let her proximity send me over the edge into hysteria. I loop the band I’m holding around one peg on each end and reach for another. “I had a trick for making this work. Like this…”

Soon we’re working together. Brooklyn gets it wrong a handful of times, weaving the wrong section or forgetting some entirely, but she’s happy and pleased with the outcome.

After that’s over, we have a snack and go outside to water Ginger’s flowers. Connor is good with her. They seem like they know each other, and when I ask about that, he tells me he knew Cassidy back when she first got pregnant. When Brooklyn is across the yard, he tells me what happened with the dad. I feel bad. Here is Cassidy, this single mom trying to be nice to her new neighbor, and I shut her out.

Cassidy arrives mid-afternoon with food in take-out boxes. “It’s the Sunday Special,” she says, setting it on my kitchen counter. “I hope you like turkey breast and mashed potatoes. Kind of like Thanksgiving in June.”

She gathers Brooklyn’s things and hurries her out the door, thanking Connor and me again. “You guys are cute together, by the way.”

I glance at Connor. He’s standing at the door, poised to close it. “Bye, Cassidy.”

Her laughter floats through before the door shuts.

Connor turns to me, his eyes dark and carnal. “Since you climbed out of my bed this morning, I have been waiting to get you back into one.” He stalks toward me.

I shriek and run to the hallway. He chases me down, catching me at the foot of the bed.

“Right where I want you.” He pushes aside my hair and kisses my shoulder. He bites the skin, the tiniest bit of pain mixed with so much pleasure.

“Mmmm,” I moan, my voice thick.

Connor drags his lips across my skin, to the hollow of my neck. His tongue darts out, tasting, and his hand slips down to the front of the shorts I changed into before Brooklyn arrived. I groan again, my knees weakening, and cling to his arms to keep me upright.

“Turnabout is fair play.” His voice vibrates over my skin. He pushes me back gently until I’m lying on the bed. In minutes I’m reaching for a pillow to cover my face. The homes on the street are close together, the walls are thin, and Connor makes me loud. We figured that out last night.

Tomorrow, I’ll tell him everything. He deserves to know why I am the way I am. For tonight, I want to pretend to be normal.