I move through the drunk, half-alive, half-naked bodies, straight to my target—you, sitting in that little black dress at the bar, sipping on your cocktail. You went MIA on me for two weeks, after I took my ring off for you, after I ruined my relationship with my wife and started our divorce procedure for you.

You just disappeared, like those drunken kisses meant nothing, like you didn’t grind on my lap the whole night before you took me home. I never did this; I shouldn’t be here in the first place. I was an adult man with a wife, but something went wrong and I was taking shots with my best friend. Then you appeared, luring me in like a fox in the mist. But you left the same way you came, with a bang.

But you don’t get to homewreck my marriage and then leave.

You don’t get to wreck my life and pretend it was just a game.

You don’t get to burn the house down and walk away like nothing happened.

I finally reach the bar, wrapping my arm around your waist, and you jump slightly from surprise. Good. You can’t be the only one in control all the time. “You disappeared,” I whisper in your ear. “Two weeks. No calls. No texts. Nothing.” And you shiver. “I tore my life apart for you. I-I took off that ring. I slept on a friend’s couch. I chose you. And you vanished.”

“You were never mine to ruin. You were already broken. I just gave you a reason to notice.” Your voice has more control than I expected. “I’m not the villain. You just wanted someone to blame.”

I squeeze your waist gently. “Why did you give me your number?”

You tilt your head, lips curling into a smile. “That was before I found out that you’re a terrible kisser.”

My jaw tightens. “I’m a terrible kisser?” I echo. “Is that what you call it now? I remember you moaning into my mouth.”

“That wasn’t from the kiss, Harry.”

My hand slides up your back slowly, deliberately. “Tell me right now—did you fake all of it? Every sound, every look, the way you pulled me into you and told me not to stop?”

You don’t answer.

“‘Cause I remember your voice breaking when you begged me to go slower.”

“I never said the sex was bad.” You down the rest of your drink. “It’s the kissing technique that needs to be worked on. Your mouth and tongue work pretty well in other situations.”

I laugh under my breath, dark and quiet. “You’ve got a mouth on you.”

You glance at me from the rim of your empty glass. “You used to like that.”

Used to? My hand is still on your lower back, just under the hem of that dress now, thumb moving in small, slow circles like I’m tracing back the memory of your skin.

“Still do,” I murmur. “Especially when it’s wrapped around—”