I am flying.

Almost.

Or it’s at least the closest I’ve ever come to it without being seated inside a plane.

I don’t know how Brendan convinced me to bike down the Encinitas Trail with him, when I haven’t been on a bike in years. But I imagine there are a whole lot of women in the world wondering how Brendan convinced them to do one thing or another, so I probably should have expected I’d get my turn.

The Encinitas Trail is not for neophytes or people who haven’t biked in ages. It’s steep and dangerous, with hairpin turns and insane descents. It’s positively deadly, and as I fly down at breakneck speed, I don’t think I’ve ever been happier. Brendan isn’t a cautious biker, and neither am I. We don’t talk—trying to hold a conversation during a ride like this would be like trying to hold a thoughtful conversation during sex: if it’s possible, you’re not doing it right.

“I’d forgotten how much I love this,” I tell him when we reach our turnaround point. “It’s been ages since I was on a bike.”

“Let me guess; because Rob doesn’t bike?”

He grabs his water bottle and chugs, and I can’t help but watch. There’s something so unequivocally male about him, his throat, as he swallows.

I make a face. “That’s just how relationships are. It’s a process of attrition. You look for common ground, and sometimes that means shaving away at the hard edges.”

“Seems to me,” he says, “that you shaved down too much.”

I’d like to argue, but I can’t. I’ve spent so much time trying to make sure Rob is happy that maybe I forgot to ask if I am too.

* * *

Brendan’s downstairs at the stove when I get out of the shower after our ride. I didn’t realize he’d still be here, didn’t brace myself for it. And I really needed to brace for this: he’s removed his shirt and stands there in nothing but bike shorts, his broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips. My stomach tightens.

“I’m making breakfast burritos,” he says. “Are you hungry?”

“Sure,” I say weakly. “Want me to take over so you can shower?”

He turns, and his eyes flicker downward, almost unconsciously, from my wet hair to my bare legs. He swallows. “Okay.” He hands me the spatula as he leaves, his bare chest brushing my arm. There’s a millisecond in which I’m only aware of his skin, of the precise point where we meet. It seems as if the entire world stops moving forward and there is only this, a thing that is happening and should not be. Images flood my mind and leave me momentarily rooted in place, feeling robbed of air.

I crumble sausage in the pan, trying to use the most mundane actions to settle my mind. I’m not a cheater. In four years with Rob it’s never occurred to me, even in times when he was barely home, times when we hadn’t sex in so long I’d lost track. I don’t know if Brendan’s presence or Rob’s absence is at the root of this issue, but it sort of doesn’t matter: I’m engaged, and it shouldn’t be happening in either case.

“How’s it coming?” he asks when he returns, peeking over my shoulder.

I can feel his whole body pressed against my back, solid in ways the average male is not. I could bounce a quarter off that chest. I allow myself a heady moment to breathe him in, imagine how this might proceed if we were very different people.

“Almost done,” I reply. I sound breathless, and he hears it. I can tell by the way he grows absolutely still for a moment before moving away.

He starts coffee. “So if you hate your job so much, why do you stay?”

I shrug. “I’d love my job if it weren’t for my boss. But it’s not really the time to be switching jobs anyway. I gave Sean all of my savings, and if I left now, I’d have nothing to fall back on.”

He glances around the house, from the six-burner Wolff range to the custom light fixtures in the foyer. “No offense, but it doesn’t look like money is an issue around here.”

I should just agree and let the conversation end. I’m not sure why I don’t, except the truth feels like a balloon expanding inside me, and it’s such a relief to let some of the air out.

“Sean’s been to rehab too many times to count. It costs a lot, and my parents don’t have the money. My father is on his third job in five years. I’ve had to cover their mortgage twice since last August. Rob’s not going to put his income toward that, and I’d never ask him to even if he would. So I’m always going to need something of my own.”

“I don’t understand why you’re with someone who doesn’t even know you,” Brendan mutters.

“There are lots of good things about relationships. Being known doesn’t have to be one of them.”

“Are you serious right now?” he demands. “Name one thing that makes having to lie all the time worthwhile.”

I think about the aspects of a relationship that would appeal to Brendan. Sex is the big one, and I guarantee he’s getting a lot more of it outside a relationship than I am in one. He hands me a cup of coffee, and I hand him the first burrito.

“Teamwork,” I reply. “Like this. Working as a team makes everything easier, makes it more enjoyable.”

“How can that possibly be worth everything you’re giving up?”

“I don’t get you, Brendan.” I shake my head. “Your mom and Peter are blissfully happy. So are Will and Olivia. Why are you so convinced a relationship is a terrible thing? Because you can’t imagine only wanting one girl?”

“No,” he says, glancing at me before he turns away. “I can imagine only wanting one girl.”