“So tell me about your friend Celia and this wedding we’re going to,” Wes says, a half hour later when we’re nestled into a small table in a bustling Korean restaurant in lower Manhattan. We’re sipping plum wine and waiting for our bulgogi to arrive. I still have a ton of work to get done tonight, but somehow when Wes showed up in front of my office, I couldn’t bring myself to say no to his invitation again.

Especially when he looked so cute, standing there and actually looking nervous about asking me to dinner. It’s moments like those that remind me so much of the Wes I used to know.

“We met in our first year of university,” I tell him, sipping the sweet plum drink in front of me. “She lived down the hall from me, and we both hated our roommates, so we used to spend as much time as possible hiding out from them in the common room. We watched a lot of Friends reruns together and then I don’t know … we eventually just became friends ourselves.”

“So she’s your version of Tyler,” he grins.

“Pretty much.” A loud sizzling noise comes from behind us, and we both watch as another table is served with a heaping platter of barbecued beef. The smell makes my stomach growl and my mouth water.

“And what about her fiance? Do you approve?”

“Oh, I love Jace. He’s a great guy, and he’s so good to her. Good for her, too, if you know what I mean. She’s more relaxed around him, more like the Celia I used to know. She went into corporate law after we graduated, but she was miserable there. Now she and Jace run a bar out in Chicago and she’s so much happier. I miss her like crazy, but I’m happy for her.”

“It’s hard when people leave,” he says knowingly. The way his eyes flicker away from mine tell me he’s not just talking about Celia.

He’s right, of course. Losing Celia to Chicago was not that different than how I felt when I lost Wes the first time. Though at least with Celia I could be happy for her, knowing that her life was moving in a positive direction and that we would still be friends even without her being in the same city.

With Wes, I lost everything, all at once. My boyfriend, my best friend, my first love. And all I got in return was a text message and a postcard.

Suddenly the smell of barbecue beef is making my stomach turn. I nudge the glass of wine in front of me, swirling the liquid around so hard that it sloshes up the sides of the glass. Every time I think I’ve moved on from that moment, something comes back and slaps me in the face again. I don’t know how Wes and I will ever be able to move forward — even as friends — without actually addressing this once and for all.

Across the table from me, Wes is quiet, as if he’s thinking the same thing. He puts his hands on the table, almost as if he’s about to reach for me, but then he hesitates. He leaves his hands palms-down on the table, bracing himself.

“Rori, I …” He licks his lips as I look up. Everything in the restaurant seems to slow and then stop.

“Rori,” he starts again. “About what happened between us …”

We’re interrupted at that exact moment by our waiter and the enormous platters of bulgogi and scallion salad. Wes takes his hands off the table so the server can set the plates down, and then busies himself with serving us the food and topping off our wine. The silence between us stretches out like a canyon.

When there’s no busywork left for him, Wes finally stops moving his hands and sets them down on the table again. His eyes meet mine and even in the dim restaurant, they burn so bright that I almost have to look away.

“Rori, I wanted to apologize for what I did to you back then. When we were in high school. Standing you up like that was despicable and not a single day has gone by since then that I haven’t regretted what I did.”

The words pierce my heart. I’ve waited so long to hear them, and somehow I thought they would be immediately healing, but they only leave me more confused than ever. I believe that Wes really is sorry — the remorse in his voice is unmistakable — but I still have more questions than answers.

“Was it … was it something I did?” I ask. It’s a question that’s haunted me for twelve years, even though I’ve always hated myself a little bit for it. I should have been angry with him, furious. Instead, part of me wondered if there was something I could have done differently, something I did that drove him away.

“Oh, God, no. Rori, please don’t ever think that. Please, Roar.” His voice sounds desperate now and I realize I believe him. For the first time in a very long time, I feel something start to loosen inside my chest.

I stab a piece of the barbecue beef in front of me and savor the tangy sweet flavor of it. I take my time chewing, partly because it tastes so good and partly because I’m trying to buy time before I say anything to Wes.

He’s still looking at me expectantly, though, so I swallow and put down my metal chopsticks.

“So why’d you do it, then?” There it is. The other question I’ve been holding on to for twelve years. Now out in open, hanging in the air with the scent of barbecue and the sizzling pans and the dull throb of voices in the crowded restaurant.

Wes shakes his head. “Because I was an idiot who didn’t realize what a good thing he had. I’m sorry, Rori, I honestly wish I had a better explanation than that. You deserved so much better, and you do now too. But that’s all I’ve got.”

Wes looks so earnest and broken that the thing in my chest loosens another inch. I realize something in that moment — that whatever happened back then hurt Wes almost as much as it hurt me. I still don’t really understand why he did what he did, but it helps knowing that he understands how hurtful it was and that it wasn’t okay.

Wes’s hands are still on the table and I surprise myself by reaching across the black lacquer and stroking his thumb with mine. As soon as I touch him, my own skin starts to sizzle. The heat starts low in my chest and then burns both ways, up to my face and down between my legs. Our history might be complicated but the attraction between us is simple. It’s physical. Chemical. Primal. Call it what you want, but Wes has a hold on me that I’ve never been able to break.

Maybe I don’t want to.

We finish the rest of our meal in relative silence, but an unspoken desire shimmers between us.

“I’ll have my car brought around,” Wes says, after we’ve eaten and paid the bill.

His car arrives at the restaurant in record time, which is good, because it gives me no time to rethink my decision.

The car slides to a stop right in front of us. I can’t see inside, thanks to the tinted glass, but Wes opens the back door and gestures for me to get inside.

A tiny part of my brain is telling me not to do this, that despite the physical pull, this is still all a horribly misguided idea. But the part of me that wants Wes is winning right now. That’s the part of me that climbs into that SUV.

Wes slides in after me and slams the door behind him. The driver is separated from us by a privacy partition, and even though Wes gives him no signal, he begins driving as soon as Wes is inside the car.

I don’t have time to wonder where we’re going, because then Wes is leaning over and kissing me, covering my mouth with his. In that backseat, his body feels even bigger, more imposing, as he covers me. My hands glide over his massive shoulders, his thick biceps, covered in the expensive fabric of his suit jacket.

“You know, this outfit you’re wearing reminds me of the first time we had dinner together, at Jasmine Thai.”

I look down and sure enough, it’s the same suit I wore to our dinner meeting.

“Though I think you have fewer buttons done up this time,” he grins.

“Oh, you noticed all my buttons last time?” I laugh, but my cheeks are flushing with embarrassment at the way I had tried to cover myself up in the hopes that it wouldn’t ignite anything between us. Apparently that hadn’t exactly worked out.

“Of course I did,” he says, nuzzling my neck with his teeth. “But you should know that all the buttons in the world couldn’t stop me.”

The hungry look in his eyes tells me that’s true. I lick my lips as he deftly undoes the top button on my shirt and then continues to work his way down.

“God, Rori,” he says, pausing to admire his handiwork. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

He leans his head over and then he’s kissing a line down from my throat to my belly button, one kiss for every button that no longer stands in his way.

My skin sears with each place his lips touch down, his kiss branding me as sure as a hot iron. I squirm underneath him, greedy for more of his touch.

His big hands move back to my shoulders, pushing off my jacket and now un-buttoned shirt, leaving me in just my bra. Wes looks hungrily at my chest, and under his gaze I can feel my nipples hardening and poking at the thin lace.

Wes palms one of my breasts, running his thumb over my stiff nipple. My breath catches in my throat as desire pulses through me.

I reach instinctively for him, pulling him as close to me as I can. My hands go to his tie, loosening it, and then I work the buttons on his shirt the same way he did mine. I need to feel the heat of his chest pressed to mine. I need to lose myself in his body.

Our hands move frantically against each other, both of us desperate for as much of the other as we can cram in. I yank at his shirt, tugging it out of his pants and pushing it off his shoulders. There isn’t much room in the back of the SUV, but I lean back to take in his sculpted muscles, his perfect chest. The dark nipples that are already puckered and stiff. I scrape a nail over one tight bud and then the other, making Wes groan, deep in his throat.

He moves in towards me again, more urgent now. Somehow his apology, finally acknowledging the thing that happened before, has broken down another wall between us. In this moment, I feel like I can’t get close enough to him. I want to give him my body, and take his in return.

Wes roughly yanks down the cups of my bra, exposing my breasts entirely. He takes a moment to admire them before dipping his head down and taking one rosy nipple between his teeth.

My head falls back as he swirls his tongue around my bud. God, that feels good. He uses his thumb and finger to stroke and twist the other one while he works this ungodly magic with his tongue. My hands go to his hair, pulling him closer to my body, telling him more. More.

Wes moves his mouth to my other breast as his hands trail down my body, stroking my stomach and making my muscles flutter. He fumbles with the button of my pants before managing to pop it open, and then he tugs down the zipper. He wrestles with the fabric for a minute before he sits up straight.

“Up,” he commands.

I lift my hips just enough to let Wes tug the pants down off my hips, and then I windmill my legs, trying to kick them off the rest of the way.

“Next time wear a dress, would you, Holloway?” he teases.

I’m still trying to catch my breath and all I can do is nod. Then Wes is pulling me onto his lap. I can feel his erection pressing into me, and I’m so wild with desire that I grind my crotch into his, not caring that I’m so wet that I’m probably soaking the front of his pants.

Wes groans again, reaching for my hair and tugging at the elastic that’s holding my now very messy bun in place. My hair tumbles down around my shoulders, and Wes brings his head forward, burying his face in my locks and inhaling deeply.

“You haven’t changed, Rori. God, you even still smell the same.”

I want to tell him that I have changed, that I’m not the same naive girl I was then. I want to tell him that he’s changed too, or maybe that he never really was the person I thought he was.

Instead I lean forward. “Stop talking,” I say, before I kiss him again.

We move together, grinding as close together as we can. Desperate to feel every inch of each other.

“I want to be inside you,” he groans. I told him to stop talking, but I’ll let that one slide. I reach for his belt, clawing at it, never letting his lips leave mine.

He reaches down to help me with his pants, lifting his hips so I can shove the layers of fabric down over them. He keeps one hand wrapped on the base of his cock, and he rubs the tip against my lace-covered pussy. The sensation makes me squirm, an ache filling me. God, I want him so badly.

“Move your panties aside,” he whispers huskily. I can only nod and do as he says. I push the gusset of my panties aside, letting him see how wet I am for him.

Wes doesn’t say anything else. He presses the head of his cock against my seam, running it along the length of me, coating himself in my wetness.

I bite my lip as my hips arch towards him. He strokes his cock over my clit, and each time the ridge rubs against me, I shudder. With his free hand, he reaches for his pants and pulls a small foil packet out of the pocket. I bite my lip in anticipation, until he reaches down and lifts my hips slightly, positioning me so that I’m right over his cock now. He looks up at me, his deep cobalt eyes meeting mine. There’s a question there, but I’m not sure exactly what it is. He’s not wondering if I’m ready, because that much is clear to both of us. But perhaps he’s asking if I want this, if this is good, if this is the right thing for us to be doing.

For a moment I consider his unasked questions. I do want this, that much I know, but I have no idea if it’s good or if it’s the right thing to do. Actually, scratch that. I know it’s probably the wrong thing to do. And yet, somehow, hearing Wes apologize and absorbing the regret that seemed to emanate from him — I don’t know. It makes me think maybe this could be okay. Maybe this might not be the worst idea in the world.

Maybe Wes is one of the good guys after all. Maybe all I need to do is give this a real chance. No contracts, no bullshit, no more walls between us.

I let my body provide the answer. I sink down over his cock, sliding over him inch by exquisite inch. It’s torture, of the best kind. His cock stretches me completely, filling me. And even though I’m on top, and I’m setting the pace, it still feels like he’s claiming me somehow, like he’s marking me as his.

When he’s deep inside me, we pause. There’s a beat. A moment where all we do is look at each other. Those steely blue eyes are the same ones I’d gazed into all those times before. Everything is still the same.

Only nothing is the same.

I kiss him again, welcoming the excuse to close my eyes. It feels safer that way. We rock together as we kiss, and I wrap my arms around his neck, using his hard body as leverage as I move my hips up and down.

Wes and I find a perfect rhythm, and it scares me how easy and natural it is. We still fit together. After all these years, it still just works. Wes touches a place inside me that no one else has ever reached.

I chase the climax with my body, rocking faster now and grinding into his lap. I almost lose my mind when he reaches down and starts thumbing my clit. He still knows the exact rhythm I like, how to tug at the hood in just the right way.

There’s a loud moaning noise filling the backseat of the car, and it takes a minute for me to realize it’s me. I don’t have time to be embarrassed though, or to worry about whether or not his driver can hear us. The climax is coming on like a freight train now, barreling through my body at a speed that almost breaks me. I clench my pussy around Wes’s cock, hugging him as I bounce up and down in his lap.

“Fuck, Rori,” he groans, his nose in my hair again. “Fuck.”

I squeeze him one more time before it’s all over for me, before I’m breaking into a thousand pieces, before I’m melting into pure liquid crystal. It takes Wes only another few thrusts before he grunts and then he’s coming too, his cock pulsing inside me as he spills everything into the thin layer of rubber that separates us.

He doesn’t let me go, not even when it’s over. His arms stay wrapped around me, his cock nestled inside me, until both of us have stopped shaking and our breathing is closer to normal.

Finally, he kisses my neck and leans back.

“Can I take you home with me?” he asks. It kills me how polite he always is. And it kills me even more that I have to say no to a request like that.

“I’m really sorry,” I say. “I have so much work to do tonight. As you might recall, I have a very important presentation in a couple of days. And then the day after that, I’m leaving for Connecticut, for the wedding. I have a bajillion things to get done before then and I just …”

Wes kisses my lips. “Rori, it’s okay. I respect your workload. After all, I’m responsible for at least half of it.” He grins again. “I’ll drop you off at your place.”

“Thanks Wes,” I say in relief. And though it’s not a lie — I actually do have a bajillion things to do — I also feel like I need a little bit of time to myself to process everything. Every time I see Wes, our relationship seems to twist and morph, so fast that I can barely keep track of my own feelings. And even though, in moments like this, it feels like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, I can’t shake the nagging thought that lurks at the back of my mind.

The one that whispers be careful over and over and over.