The knock comes at my back door.

The only person who uses that entrance is Lucy, but it can’t possibly be her. She only left twenty minutes ago for her date with the famous Giancarlo, that lucky bastard. There’s no way she’s back already.

But sure enough when I open the door, she’s standing there, a funny little grin on her face. Still wearing that little red dress that plunges in the front, still looking like a goddess.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, leaning against the frame. Maybe she hasn’t left for the date yet, I tell myself. I sure as hell don’t want to get my damned hopes up.

“Can I come in?” she asks, looking past me into my apartment.

“Of course.” When I get out of the way she strides in, lighter on her feet than I’ve seen her. “What’s going on? What happened to your dinner date?”

Lucy throws herself down on the couch, crossing one leg over the other and stretching her arms out across the back cushions. “My date, it turns out, was a little shit. So I ditched him,” she says, still with that funny, indefinable expression on her face.

A feeling of bliss courses through my system. She ditched him and she came to me. Still not getting my hopes up, but I’ve got to say, I’m feeling pretty fucking pleased with myself right about now.

“Okay, I need to hear about this. But first, you need wine, and I need beer.” I head over to the fridge and extract a bottle of white Tuscan something-or-other before pulling two glasses out of the cupboard. Moments later I’ve handed her a glass and seated myself on the armchair opposite the couch.

She sips the wine elegantly, biding her time. Damn it, she’s teasing me.

“Okay, you’re killing me,” I say. “Why did you ditch the poor guy?”

She proceeds to tell me about everything. How he ogled a young woman outside when he thought she wasn’t looking. How he called her a cougar, then ordered her food without even asking her what she likes. How he wandered away and got handsy with some young woman in front of her.

What a tool he is, and I’m so fucking glad to hear it.

“Holy shit, that sounds like some fresh hell,” I reply. “I’m not sure whether to laugh or charge down to the restaurant and beat the living crap out of the idiot.”

“He’s not worth risking your hands,” she tells me. She sets the wine glass on the coffee table and leans forward, her lips ticked up in that knowing smile of hers. “Besides, it’s not really him that made me walk out. It was you.”

“Me?” I ask, dumbfounded. “What did I do? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m delighted to have fucked up your date. Any time I can be of service…”

Her smile disappears. “You reminded me that I’m worth more than to let myself be treated like shit, Dylan.”

“Well, yeah. That goes without saying.”

“No, you don’t understand. It’s more than just that.”

“Tell me.”

She pulls her hands into her lap and looks down at them. “A few years ago, I wouldn’t have left. I would just have sat there and taken my lumps, no matter how much it hurt. My ego would have suffered for it, but I would have sat there blaming myself for some stupid man’s shitty treatment of me. It’s taken me a long time to gain the confidence that I have now. And sometimes, I have to admit that I’m still the insecure little girl that I was so long ago. But you’ve reminded me that I shouldn’t be. I just wanted to thank you for that.” She lets out a little laugh and pulls her eyes up to mine. I don’t know if I’m imagining it or if they’ve gone a little dewy, like she might cry. “I guess this is a big change from where we were that night seven years ago, when we parted ways.”

“Yes,” I reply, “it is. We were kids then, Loose. Now we see the world differently. We understand things better.”

I pull myself up and step over to the couch, seating myself next to her. I’m not sure if I’m welcome there. All I know is that I want to be closer to her.

She looks away and draws her hands deeper into her lap, but she doesn’t pull her body away. Doesn’t flinch as she has so often when I’ve come close to touching her.

“Lucy, look at me.” I speak the words low, pulling her eyes to mine. “I have to come clean about something.”

“What is it?” she asks. She’s trembling, like she’s waiting for a doctor to deliver bad news. But what I’m about to say isn’t bad. At least I hope it isn’t.

“I don’t want you going on dates with other men,” I tell her.

When she doesn’t reply, I slip my hand over her left knee, easing it up her thigh under her skirt.

This is it. This is the test. Pass or fail, I’ll know very soon if there’s any chance that we can be together.

“What do you want, then?” she asks, her voice a hoarse whisper as she watches my hand move slowly along her skin. She doesn’t stop me, though. Doesn’t protest.

“I want you, Loose. I want every part of you. I’ve wanted you for a decade.”