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An image of being huddled up in our family car that first night after being thrown out of our apartment comes into my head, but I push it away.

“Not enjoying my job anymore,” I say, and then immediately wish I hadn’t.

Luckily, before she can ask me for more details, we’re interrupted by the speeches, and in what feels like seconds, the evening is wrapping up.

I’m not ready for it to be over.

“So what’s the plan now? Are people heading to a bar?” I ask Avril. All I want to know is what she’s doing now.

“I’m not,” she says. “Neither are you.”

My stomach flips. Does she have other plans for us both?

She folds her napkin and places it on the table. “You’re taking me back to your place and we’re going to have sex.”

I cover my shocked chuckle with a cough. I don’t think any woman has been so…direct. Certainly no woman I’ve ever been interested in has ever been this direct. No woman who’s ever given me her martini and divulged her deepest fear. No woman who’s ever guessed I lived in a car. And definitely no woman who finds me less than charming has told me that we’re going back to my place to have sex. But Avril’s proposition sounds like an after-party I can get behind.

TWO

Ben

A woman with a smart mouth always gives me a hard-on. But honestly, it’s been a while since a woman as beautiful as Avril did anything but smile, flirt, and be nice to me. Granted, a lot of the women I meet these days are wives and girlfriends of my friends and business partners. Though that doesn’t stop them flirting. Avril’s barrage of insults tonight took me a little aback. She was so obviously exasperated by me—or men like me.

Being able to read people has been key to my success, but Avril is still murky to me. She’s young, but already world-weary. She’s confident but shows real vulnerability at times. I like to be able to figure someone out in the first five minutes of meeting them, but Avril and I have spent the evening talking and she’s still surprising me.

“Do you want a drink?” I ask, as I toss my keys into the brass bowl on my hallway table. Avril and I managed to ignore everyone else at the table and spent the entire evening talking.

“You promised me an orgasm, not a Dr Pepper.”

“Jesus Christ, you Americans have disgusting taste in drinks. You won’t find Dr Pepper in this apartment.” I lead her through to the living room. I don’t know why, but I feel kind of nervous. I don’t usually bring women to my place. There are far too many nice hotels in Manhattan. I like my space and my privacy. Somehow, letting someone scuff my black walnut floors feels more intimate than fucking them.

But Avril specifically asked me to bring her back to my place. And for whatever reason, I didn’t want to say no, no matter the damage to my floors.

“Drinks?” She laughs. “You sound so British. And if you don’t like it, I’m sure you can find your way back to London or Edinburgh or wherever you come from.”

I chuckle. She doesn’t give me an inch. Not even half an inch.

She folds her arms and glances around my space. “And anyway, does everyone in England only drink the finest mountain water from Tibet? I’m sure you guys have Dr Pepper.”

“I only drink the tears of virgins,” I say and keep walking to the kitchen. We’re going to need water tonight, and although my housekeeper will have put a fresh carafe by my bed, it’s not enough for two.

“Sounds about right. I hate to break it to you, but I’m not a virgin and you’re not going to make me cry, so you’ll have to turn on a faucet if you want to hydrate.”

I chuckle and push through the door to the kitchen. The place where I feel most comfortable.

“Oh, this is fancy,” she says, as she follows me through. I like to cook, and the kitchen isn’t what Manhattan real estate agents call a “chef’s kitchen”, it’s a proper chef’s kitchen. Stainless-steel worktops, industrial ovens, two six-burner induction hobs. “Did a chef live here? It looks like a hotel kitchen.”

“A bet the kitchen at Hotel on Ninth Street isn’t as nice as this one.”

She frowns. “Hey, ours is pretty nice. It hasn’t been in long.”

I laugh. How can she take offense at me insulting her hotel’s kitchen when she’s been dishing out blows like she has? So much about her is unexpected. I definitely want to fuck Avril, but I want to talk, to know her a little better too. I’m not ready for everything to turn physical yet.

Which is unusual for me at this point in the evening. But then, nothing about tonight has been usual.

“You want an omelet?” I ask her, as I pull out a water bottle from the drinks fridge. I’m not sure why I’m offering to cook for her, but cooking is where I feel most comfortable. Most like myself.

She doesn’t answer, and when I turn around, she’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. “I came here expecting sex and you want an omelet?” she asks.