“I have to leave in a moment. Need a ride to work?” Adler asks as I come out of the bathroom. A ride. In an actual car. Instead of squishing myself into the metro, sweltering under my winter layers. With him. Of course I do!

“My car’s in the parking garage. I can drive you.” My heart does a little flip. He’s in a dark gray suit and a button-down white shirt. I’m wearing my emergency outfit which usually lives at the office—tight black pants and a dark gray cable-knit sweater.

He pulls his phone out, glances at the display. “We may have time to stop by my favorite breakfast spot.”

“Excellent. I’m starving!”

As we walk out of the hotel, a valet is pulling up in a sleek, black BMW. I fight to stop my jaw from dropping. “No Cadillac today? I’m a little disappointed.”

“I have to run a few errands in town so I needed something a little nippier.”

“Of course,” I say. “Being stuck in traffic in that Cadillac would’ve been a nightmare.”

I’ve never been in such a sleek, sporty car before, and it feels so luxurious. The leather seats are heated and super soft. He drives fast with a touch of recklessness, weaving expertly through the rush-hour traffic. He feels like a different person from the Adler of last night. Far more playful and laid back. Virtually everything about him is different—his mannerisms, his voice. Even the language he uses. It only strikes me now that both times we had sex, he was speaking in a very formal, precise way. I kind of liked it. It was commanding and a little cold.

Before long, we’re pulling into a drive-thru diner halfway to my office.

“It looks scruffy, but they do the best egg muffins on the planet,” he says. We get the house specials and two Americanos, and he parks up while we eat them. He’s right. They’re amazing. They’d be the best hangover food ever.

“This is awesome,” I say with a laugh.

“What is?”

“Sitting in this beautiful car, eating greasy muffins.”

“I guess I’m a fan of contradictions.” He shrugs carelessly, which makes him look extra sexy. He looks fresh in the morning light, which isn’t surprising really considering how deeply he sleeps. Every time I woke up during the night, which was about ten times, he wasn’t snoring, but he was breathing super heavy, dead to the world.

“I like quality things, but I don’t like to make a big deal about them.”

I ponder that for a moment, resisting the urge to talk with my mouth full. He has the carelessness of someone who’s always had plenty of money and doesn’t need to guard their possessions closely. But then he has this other side too. This need to control and dominate. It’s intriguing, and annoyingly sexy.

“Busy day today?” he asks.

“Yeah, working on a brand-new brief for the Sexpo guy.”

“He’s chosen to work with you again?”

“Yup.”

“That’s awesome. Well done,” he says with warmth in his voice.

“Thanks. And you?”

“Yeah. I have a few meetings, all across town.”

I look at him sideways, wondering if I can ask him about his job. This is a weird situation to be in, where I can’t just say what’s on my mind. I’ve noticed that I’m way less chatty around him than I am with most people, and I don’t like it.

A glint comes into his eye. “What are you thinking?” he demands.

“What do you really do for work?”

He laughs loudly, throwing his head back. “I can’t believe you’re only just asking me that.”

My cheeks warm. “I don’t know. I felt like I wasn’t supposed to know about you. About your real life, I mean.”

“Of course you can ask about my life. I’m an antiques dealer.”

“Cool.” I’m not sure what else to say. I have zero experience with antiques.

“I enjoy it. It means I get to travel a lot, meet interesting people. My grandmother got me interested in it when I was small. She used to take me to yard sales and pick up things that didn’t look like they were worth anything. Then she’d fix them up and sell them for a hundred times what she paid for them. She had a real good eye, and she taught me a lot. I managed to pay my way through college just through buying and selling pieces. I graduated with virtually no debt.”

“That’s awesome. I wish I had that kind of smarts.”

“It was all down to her. There’s no way I would’ve thought of it by myself.” His voice has become soft, wistful, and he gazes out of the windshield.

“She sounds like a cool person.”

“She was. The best.”

“Did you spend a lot of time together?”

“Yeah, as much as possible. She was kind of a surrogate parent to me—” He breaks off and does a kind of double take on me. “Oh, wait.”

“What is it?”

He brushes the corner of my lips with his thumb. “A renegade muffin crumb.”

“Oh. Sorry.” I giggle as I grab a napkin and wipe my lips.

“It’s okay. It was kind of cute.” He leans forward and kisses me softly. Affectionately, almost. Then he lays a hand on my shoulder and pulls me in deeper, his mouth warm and his tongue searching. It takes my breath away, and when he releases me, I stare at him, wondering what just passed between us.

“I wish we had more time this morning,” he says.

“Why?” I ask. It’s a genuine question. I have a fleeting sense that he needs me.

“I’d take you back to the hotel, spend the day in bed with you.”

“That would be so great,” I say, immediately imagining the two of us in bed together on a rainy day, snuggling and eating ice cream while he tells me more about his grandma. “It’s a shame we have to be grown-ups.”

“It sure is.” He starts up the car again, and before he puts it into drive, he gives me a long look that makes my heart flutter.

Too soon, we arrive at Koln & Mathers. I catch sight of a couple of my colleagues entering the building, and I get a ridiculous burst of pride at being in this man’s car. This man who fucked me senseless last night, who has a way of making me feel like a princess, and whose hand has left my ass burning many hours later.

“Thanks for the ride. And the muffin.” I turn to him, wanting to kiss him goodbye, but scared that he’ll reject me.

He touches my jaw, gives me a peck on the cheek. “Thank you for spending the evening with me. I’ll be in touch.”

I climb out of the car and close the door, and just like that, my balloon bursts. There was no warmth in his voice, no hint of the moment that we just shared. He could’ve been dismissing a business contact. Or a call girl.

I trudge up the emergency stairs at the back of the building, desperate for a moment to myself. He’s not my boyfriend. I was stupid to let myself enjoy his company this morning, to warm to him. I let him do all those things to me, and I’m nothing to him.

Last night was incredibly hot. So hot that I’m still tingling at the recollection of it. I’ve never done things like that before with anyone, let alone a stranger. And they’ve left me feeling so goddamn vulnerable. Like my darkest urges have been dragged up to the surface and exposed for everyone to see. I hated the way I felt last night, alone in the bed, needing to be held, knowing that there was no way I could shuffle over to the person I’d just had sex with and lie in his arms.

I like him. I like him more every time I see him, and it scares me a lot. I never get involved with guys so quickly. It usually takes weeks of dating before I see them as any more than sexy friends. And I know exactly why I feel differently toward Adler— because he has power over me.

He’s not an asshole or a jerk. He’s kind. But in some ways, that makes it worse. He presents an image of a perfect boyfriend and dangles it just out of reach.

I’m pretty sure I know how this story ends—me falling hard, him being shocked that I thought he was interested in me romantically. Then he’ll walk off into the sunset with the kind of woman who looks good cruising with him in his Cadillac. I’ll be left with a broken heart. And I’ll only have myself to blame.

I’m almost in tears by the time I get to my floor. I hate feeling like this. I’m not that kind of girl.

I work hard on a brief all morning, but I’m intermittently distracted by thoughts of Adler. Then, just before lunch, my phone beeps with a message from Hugo, asking what the plan is for tomorrow evening. Shit. I’ve been so preoccupied with Adler that I forgot he’s coming this weekend. I haven’t even asked Dom if it’s okay if he stays at our place. I’m sure it is though. She always has people crashing on the couch. I send her a message, then I grin stupidly as I reply to Hugo, discussing when and where to meet. It’ll be so good to spend the weekend with someone I know well, who knows me well. Hell, I’m even looking forward to helping him find an apartment.

Then Dominique replies:

Of course it’s ok, girl. You don’t have to ask!! I was just about to text you actually to say that my sister is coming for her birthday weekend with a couple of friends, so the apartment is going to be a little lively! I have a blow-up bed though so that’s all ok. And you all are welcome to enjoy the celebrations!

Okay, so the couch is out. Awesome. That means one thing. Hugo is going to have to share my bed. That’s no big deal. We’re just friends now. I have a spare comforter, so we won’t actually be in bed together. We’ll go out for beers too, so we’ll just get home and pass out. No big deal.

My mood lifts a little in the afternoon, but when I get home, a wave of exhaustion hits me. I go to bed early, and I’m dozing to Netflix when Adler messages me: Saturday night? I have something special planned.

I groan and put the phone down. I can’t do Saturday, and actually, I don’t think I can do any day ever. By the time the TV show has finished, I haven’t made up my mind what to reply to him, and somehow I end up falling asleep instead.

The next morning I send a reply saying that I have a friend staying all weekend, and I don’t suggest anything. He doesn’t reply all day, and I’m kind of relieved, happy to put him out of my mind. I finish up the brief I’ve been working on and send it to Jenny for approval. Then I spend the rest of the afternoon researching places to take Hugo, my stomach fluttering with excitement.

Hugo pulls up outside my apartment just as I arrive home, and my eyes tear up when he climbs out of his car, flashing his good-natured, American-boy grin. He looks good, his dark hair cut in a short, simple style and his bright blue eyes sparkling as usual. He flings his arms around me and hugs me like one of the guys, and I hug him back until I can hardly breathe.

“It’s so good to see you, Reagan!” he says, holding me at arms’ length. Then his forehead gets that big crease in it that always makes him look like a studious puppy dog. “What’s up? Are you okay?”

“Never better.” I wipe my eyes. “Just got a little overexcited to see a familiar face.”

“Okay. I’ll bring my stuff in, then you’re going to show me around, right?”

“Course!”

We go to an Irish bar first, all dark wood and funny slogans, that Hugo loves as much as I expected. I could’ve stayed there all night, but he’s keen to see the town, so we go on a mini-crawl with the help of a handy app. Halfway through the night, we stop for a burger, then onto a sports bar where I get talked into shooting pool. Hugo is very gentle with me, as always, but I still lose badly, and I happily retreat to a bar stool.

“Is everything okay, Rea? You seem a little… I don’t know…subdued?” Hugo lays his arm on my shoulder, his deep blue eyes boring into my own.

“Oh, I’m good,” I say, waving my hand. “Too much work, but what’s new?”

“But you’re happy, right? You’re living your dream. This is what you wanted all along.” I bite my lip, hesitating. It feels like a betrayal to him to tell him that my dream of life in the big city—the reason why I left him behind in Springfield—isn’t working out as planned.

He takes my hand. “Come on, Rea. You used to say you felt like you could tell me anything.” He calls to the bartender, and then there’s a shot of Tuaca beside me. I down the shot, and it all comes out—how tough work is, how lonely I feel. Of course, I avoid mentioning Adler, who I’m now very aware is at the epicenter of that loneliness.

Hugo looks at me kindly. “You know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think you need to cheer up. This town is amazing. It’s a hundred times better than Springfield. When I think of people back home, everyone seems so bored. Drinking at the same old bars, year after year. Celebrating birthdays at Sorrento’s. Watching the same lame New Year’s Eve celebration. Every single year. Look at what you’ve got here. You could go to a different bar every night. Go see a big-name gig most weekends probably. And the sports. Man, I think that’s what decided it for me.”

I grin. “Bars, gigs, and sports. I love your priorities.”

He clips me on the back of the head. “It’s all the important stuff for being happy, when you’re our age anyway. Ten years’ time, you’ll probably be going crazy for the latest lawnmower on the market and seeing if you can suffocate yourself with an even bigger mortgage than the one you’ve already got. But now, it’s all about having fun, right?”

“I guess.”

“Rea, I know you’ve always been so ambitious that you’ve never stopped to think about these things, and I know your new job is hard. But, come on. You’ve arrived, you’ve got what you wanted. Now try to be happy with it.”

I grin, full of affection for him. “I’m really glad you’re moving here, Hugo. I’ve missed you.”

He stiffens, then looks deep into my eyes. “I’ve missed you too, girl.”

I can see in his eyes how much I hurt him, and it cuts me. “I did love you, you know. I never would’ve broken up with you if I wasn’t leaving.”

He sighs. “But I never really felt that Reagan. I felt like I was trying to tame a wild horse. You were too big for Springfield. And I knew you’d leave me. I loved you, deep inside, but I also knew it’d hurt me if I acknowledged it to myself.”

“And now you’re here.” I didn’t mean to say that. It was the beer talking, and I hide my face in my drink.

“Yes, I am,” he says.

* * *

I was too embarrassed to mention the sleeping situation earlier. And now we’re back home, in my small bedroom, staring at my bed. I pull the extra comforter out of the closet.

“Thanks. Don’t worry, I won’t hog the bed.” He strips down to a T-shirt and loose boxers and climbs in. The sight of his big, stocky body gives me a twinge of wistfulness. I get ready and slide into the other side, thinking what a freaky repeat it is of the previous night. Hugo and I used to play-fight a lot in bed. He used to get into bed, just like this, and I’d launch myself at him, and we’d wrestle until we were both breathless. And then we’d have sex. Nice, vigorous, vanilla sex, which I used to think was the only kind of sex there was. Could I go back to that? Date someone like Hugo and put the two crazy nights I’ve just had with Adler in the back drawer of my mind, never to be thought of again? Hugo beats the pillow a few times, turns from side to side, his bulk making the bed lurch like a boat in a storm, and he’s asleep. It takes me a little longer as I think things over, resisting the urge to crawl across the bed into his arms. I don’t think he’d even try to fuck me. He’s always been such a gentleman. He’d just hold me tight like a huge teddy bear. But I can’t. That wouldn’t be fair.

* * *

The next day we have a busy schedule, going from one apartment to another. Luckily they’re all in the same neighborhood. Ashford is an up-and-coming suburb, made famous in a bunch of Hunter Jackson movies and only recently gentrified, and Hugo is psyched about it. It’s a weird experience. All the home owners assume we’re together, and it feels uncomfortably couply. I used to dream about Hugo moving here with me, us getting our first apartment together, and this is like a sad enactment of it. At one point I almost take his hand as we’re saying goodbye to a real estate agent, but snatch it away just in time.

By the end of the day, Hugo has found an apartment. It turns out that portfolio execs earn quite a lot more than ad execs, and he can afford his own place. It’s a cute one-bed with high ceilings and a lot of light. I feel a tug of something as he signs a contract and pays the bond. Something spiky and hard to swallow.

When we get back to my place, Dominique and her sister and friends have already gotten the party started. They’re drinking sparkling wine and dancing to Rihanna and Beyoncé. Hugo joins in right away with his trademark lumbering, ironically camp moves. I roll my eyes and let him pull me in, too. I’d forgotten this side to him. No matter how cheesy the music, he’d always get in on the action, making a big clown of himself and getting lots of laughs. The girls love him too, and soon he’s got one of them grinding on each thigh.

“Your boy is dope!” Dom says when we’re in the kitchen together. “Why did you let him go?”

“Just because I was moving away from home.”

“And now he’s moving heee-rrre!” she says in a sing-song voice, eyes full of mischief.

“Yeah. I–I don’t know. It’s a lot of fun seeing him again, but I don’t know if that spark has gone now. He started dating somebody else. I dated somebody else. Maybe there’s too much water under the bridge.”

“You’ll find out soon enough. If you’re meant to be together, it’ll happen.”

After we get warmed up with a few drinks, we head out to one of Dominique’s favorite underground clubs. It involves a long, sobering walk along the waterfront, and the wind is bitingly cold. Putting any tensions aside, I cling to Hugo, and he wraps his arm around me, enveloping me in his warmth. And then I see Adler. He’s coming toward us in a tan wool coat, jeans with ripped knees and his glasses, and he’s walking beside a girl who I’m pretty sure was tied up in knots at the Sexpo. Something passes across his face as our eyes lock. Perhaps anger, but it’s gone too fast for me to tell. My heartbeat speeds up as I start to say something about the weird coincidence.

“Hello, Reagan,” he says, cutting me off, and continues walking. Fuck.

“Who’s that?” Hugo demands.

“No-one important. Why?”

“Uh, he just gave me a filthy look. Like he wanted to kill me.”

I startle. “We dated for a little while, but it didn’t work out.”

“Good. Because he looks like a goddamn hipster.”

I laugh. “That’s what I said.”

There’s only a short line outside the club. Hugo’s a little quiet, and although my stomach is lurching with thoughts of Adler, I force myself to act upbeat. By the time we reach the ticket booth, he’s perked up again. And then we’re inside. It’s crazy. I’ve never been in a place like this before. There’s a kind of alien Lolita theme that makes me wonder if we’ve gone through a time warp and ended up in Tokyo. As we put our coats away, I wish I’d taken Dom’s advice to dress up a little. The girls all look great in different kooky costumes. Hugo and I are wearing black at least, so we kind of fade into the background instead of looking like a pair of squares. The club is vast, with different rooms and art installations that form tunnels and caves, and the music varies from one place to another, from minimal techno, to drum & bass, to high-energy sugar pop. We all keep losing and finding each other again. I keep thinking about Adler, trying to interpret his reaction when he saw me, but I’m determined for Hugo to have a good night, so I put it to the back of my mind. He’s being a good sport as usual, acting like he likes nothing better than to spend the night in a Japanese alien wonderland. I’m so lucky to have him as friend. I always knew that he was the best of my boyfriends.

We drink a lot and dance like maniacs, and Hugo pulls out his party trick, picking me up and spinning me around like we’re rejects from the Dirty Dancing musical until we collapse in a heap, laughing.

At one point, I’m by myself in the minimal techno room. Hugo has joined a giant bathroom line, and I’m leaning against a pillar, letting the stuttering beat resonate through me.

“I don’t like being lied to, Reagan,” comes a familiar voice very close to my ear. I spin around. Adler towers over me. He’s wearing what I can only describe as an evil lizard-man costume. He looks freaky, but kind of sexy. His face is tight with anger, enough to make me quake. But I don’t like being accused of lying, and I’m drunk enough to be belligerent.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I yell over the music.

“You know what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the fact that you said you couldn’t meet because you were spending the weekend with a friend.”

“Which I am.”

“You’re clearly together.”

“What? How would you know that?” I’m aware that I’m waving my arms about like a lunatic, but I don’t care.

“He was walking with his arm around you, and in here you’ve both been acting like no-one else exists.”

“We’re old friends. We used to date, as it happens, but not anymore. And who are you to question what I’m doing when I’m not with you?”

He looks madder than ever. “Come with me, someplace quieter so we can hear each other.”

I raise my hands in exasperation and follow him. He takes my hand and leads me to a small, cave-like area with dim, purple lighting. “We had an arrangement, Reagan.”

“What’s the big deal? It’s not like we’re exclusive. You can do whatever you want.”

He shakes his head, as if mystified by my words. “Why don’t you think we’re exclusive?”

“Because we’re only meeting for sex. You don’t want me to know anything about you. We don’t even meet at your place.”

“I’ve answered every question you’ve asked me about myself. And we don’t meet at my place because, as you said, we don’t know each other very well and I want you to be comfortable and feel safe with me. I thought meeting you in a hotel would help your desires to blossom. I don’t want you to think that because our relationship is primarily sexual, you don’t matter to me. I take these things very seriously. And I expect my submissive to have sex with me exclusively.”

I blink hard. “And what about you? Are you telling me you’re not hooking up with that girl I saw you with earlier?”

“Of course, I’m not. I can promise my exclusivity to you too, Reagan.”

“Really?” I’m frowning a lot, I know. It seems crazy that someone so elusive would make such a promise.

“It’s important to me for my own participation in this relationship,” he says. Then he dips his head and gives me such a tender kiss that endorphins surge through my body. I wrap my arms around him, craving the press of his body against my own. In a second, he’s hard. I want him to take me in one of the room’s dark corners, yank my jeans down, and push himself into me with no preamble.

“What the fuck, Reagan?” I tear myself away from Adler and turn to face Hugo’s anger.

“I’m sorry, Hugo. I thought you’d be gone longer.”

“What the hell are you doing? We’ve been getting on so well this weekend. Everything’s perfect between us. I thought we were going to get back together.”

“I–I–” I stammer like a stuck record. “I was thinking the same thing, too–”

“What?” Adler butts in. “After what we did on Thursday, you were thinking of getting back with your ex-boyfriend a day later?”

“I–I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“But why?”

“Because I’m just not comfortable with this whole thing. It’s not me.”

“You were really going to end it? Why couldn’t you have spoken to me if you weren’t feeling comfortable?”

“Because I felt way out of my depth, that’s why.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you still have a boyfriend so I didn’t make a giant fool of myself?” Hugo interrupts.

Somehow my anger turns up a couple more notches. “Why would you assume we were going to be together again? I let you stay with me because we’ve become friends.”

“You let me sleep in your bed!”

“What? This guy was in your bed?” Adler demands.

“Because there was nowhere else for him to sleep.”

“I’m leaving, Reagan. I’ll go stay in a hotel.”

“No, wait!”

“Don’t worry. I’m leaving,” Adler snaps. Then he turns on his heel and stalks away. I stand stock still, watching him go, my mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.

“What the fuck? Seriously, what the fuck?” There’s real pain in Hugo’s voice. Is it really my fault? Did I lead him on in any way? Everything feels fuzzy right now. He’s ranting at me, but I drown it out as I stare at him through my eyelashes, at his big, handsome body. I don’t know how I feel about him right now. But one thing I do know is the whole time we were dating, Hugo never turned me on as much as Adler did from that one kiss.

“I’ll see you later.”

Realizing that he’s leaving, I snap back to reality. “It’s fine, stay in my room. I can crash with the others in the living room.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He stalks off, too.

It would be funny if it wasn’t so tragic, abandoned by two angry men in a single night. I stare into space for a while. What now? I don’t know, but I don’t want to go home yet. I decide to find the girls. They’re still in the club, dancing in a pink, fluffy room to a series of high-pitched bleeps and squeaks, eyes huge and wild. Dominique greets me like a long-lost friend.

“Have a dab.” She passes me a small bag of white powder. I don’t usually, but right now I want to forget. I reach into the bag with my pinkie and tap a little dose of euphoria onto my tongue.