I’d been conflicted about this event, whatever it was, all week long. But I wanted to go. Was I using James a little? Perhaps. But I did have a good time with him, and maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world for us to start back up again.

“Caroline Reynolds, you heartbreaker,” I whispered to myself in the mirror. I actually cracked myself up. Clive was embarrassed for both of us and hid his nose behind his paw. I was still laughing when I heard the knock at the door. I slipped into my heels and went for the door, Clive close behind.

I took a deep breath, and opened it. “Hey, James.”

“Caroline, you look great,” he murmured, stepping inside and catching me into a hug.

As his arms went around me, I knew immediately. This was a date.

He smelled spicy. I don’t know why girls always say boys smell spicy, but some do. And it’s a good thing, warm and spicy. But not like potpourri…

I hugged him back, enjoying the way my body still fit with his. We always were good at the hugging.

“You ready to go?”

“Yep, let me grab my bag.” I knelt to give Clive a quick kiss. He tossed his tail angrily in James’s direction and wouldn’t let me kiss him.

“What’s your problem?” I asked Clive, who turned and showed me his rear end.

“You know, that’s starting to become a very rude habit, Mr. Clive,” I warned him as I picked up my purse from the table. I stuck my tongue out at Clive, grabbed James, and locked the door behind us.

“Okay, so dinner?” I asked as we stood outside my door.

“Yep, dinner,” he replied, standing very close to me. We stared at each other—for only seconds really, but it felt much longer. He stepped a little closer, and my breath caught. Of course, just then Simon decided to open his door.

“Hey, Caroline! I was just—Oh, hi. James, right?” His smile faded slightly when he saw my dinner date. Date, date, date.

“Sheldon, right?” James said, offering his hand.

“Simon, actually.” He raised his trash-bag-filled hands and declined the shake. “After you.” He nodded to the stairs, and the three of us began to troop down together.

“So, where are you two crazy kids off to tonight?” Simon asked as we walked ahead of him.

I could feel his eyes on the back of my neck, and as I hit the landing I looked back. He had a fake smile plastered across his face, and his voice was colder than I’d ever heard it before.

“Caroline and I are headed out for dinner,” James answered.

I smiled back over my shoulder. “Yes, some lovely little Vietnamese restaurant,” I cooed, pretending to be thrilled.

“You don’t like Vietnamese food,” he said, frowning.

This made me smile. “I’m going to try the soup,” I answered.

James locked eyes with Simon as he held the door for me. He let it swing right as Simon came through with his hands full of trash bags, but I caught it just in time.

“Well, have a good night,” I said as James walked me toward his car with his hand on the small of my back.

“’Night,” Simon answered, lips tight. I could tell he was irritated.

Good.

James bundled me into the car, and we were off.

The dinner was fine. I ordered fried rice off of the fusion side of the menu, and when it arrived, for a moment all I could think about was eating noodles on a houseboat in the middle of Ha Long Bay with Simon.

But as I said, dinner was fine, the conversation fine, the man I was with, fine. He was a fine-looking man with a great future ahead, his own adventures to be had, mountains to conquer. And tonight, I was the mountain. I kind of wanted to let him climb.

He walked me upstairs to my door, even though I could have stopped him from coming all the way up. As I dug for my keys, I could hear Simon’s phone ringing, and he answered.

“Nadia? Hi. Yep, ready when you are.” He laughed.

My heart clenched. Fine. I turned to say goodnight to James, devastatingly handsome and right there. Right there in front of me. O had been gone a long time, and she and James had once been close. Could he? Would he? I was going to find out. I invited him in.

As I pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge, I watched him scan the room, taking stock of everything: the Bose sound system, the Eames chair by the desk. He even checked out my crystal as I handed him his glass. He thanked me, his eyes burning into mine as our fingers slipped past each other.

Nature took over. Hands knew, skin recognized, lips teased and became reacquainted. It was new and old at the same time, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel good. His shirt came off. My skirt dropped, I kicked off my heels, and our arms wrapped and tucked in. Eventually and inevitably, we headed to the bedroom.

I bounced lightly on the bed, watching through hazy eyes as he knelt before me on the floor.

“I missed you.”

“I know.” I pulled him on top of me. Everything was fine, everything was as it should be, and as I mechanically wrapped my legs around his waist, his belt buckle digging cold into my thigh, he looked deeply into my eyes and smiled.

“I’m so glad I needed a decorator.”

And just like that, fine was not enough.

“No, James.” I sighed, pushing at his shoulders.

“What, baby?”

I hated when he called me baby.

“No, no, just no. Get up.” I sighed again as he continued to kiss my neck. Tears sprang to my eyes as I realized what used to make me feel something now made me feel nothing at all.

“You’re kidding, right?” He moaned in my ear, and I pushed him again.

“I said get up, James,” I said, a little louder this time.

He got the message. Doesn’t mean he was happy to hear it. He stood up as I smoothed my shirt, which was thankfully still mostly buttoned.

“You gotta go,” I managed, tears beginning to track down my cheeks.

“Caroline, what the—”

“Just go, okay? Just go!” I yelled. It wasn’t fair to him, but I had to be fair to myself. I couldn’t go backward, not now.

I clasped my hands to my face and heard him sigh, then stomp off, slamming the door. I couldn’t blame him. He must’ve been in blue-ball hell. I was sad and mad and a little bit tipsy, and I hated my O. My eyes landed on one of my Come Fuck Me shoes on the floor, and I threw it as hard as I could into the living room.

“Ooof!” I heard a deep voice utter, and it was not James Brown’s. It was the man I did want in my bed, and the one I was most mad at right now. Holding the shoe like some kind of late-night Prince Charming to my slutty O-less Cinderella, Simon appeared in my doorway, barefoot and in his pajama bottoms. The sight of his perfect speedbump abs crossed me over from pissed off to M. A. D.