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“It can’t backfire,” he insists. “Those messages are too damning.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we were just going to the city to hang out, though? Without any of this other crap?” I ask.

“It’d be nice if we were going to the city without having to see your ex-boyfriend,” he grumbles.

Ah, yes, Ryan. The other less-than-ideal part of this trip.

It seemed serendipitous - the fact that Ryan and Tommy McPhee would be in the city at the same time. Tommy might be washed-up, but he still has tons of contacts that could help Ryan. So naturally I set it up. And naturally James is unhappy.

“You know you can come to dinner with us,” I tell him for the millionth time.

He sighs. “It would just be awkward. Me and your ex-boyfriend meeting your mom at the same time? And this isn’t really how I want to introduce her to the idea that we’re dating.”

I laugh. “Oh my God, James. Are you still under the impression that the age difference matters?”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Elle, but it might matter to your mom.”

I roll my eyes. “My mother wouldn’t think a thing of it.”

“You keep saying that, but a lot of people don’t see it the way you do. Which I know for a fact because my parents went through the roof.”

“You told your parents?” I ask.

“No,” he says. “Ginny did. And they haven’t seen you in a few years, which I’m sure didn’t help, but their basic reaction was complete disgust. I felt like I belonged on a pedophile watch list by the end of the conversation.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You had enough shit going on with Ginny and then the Edward thing,” he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “So did Ginny tell them that I ‘lured’ you in with sex?”

“I’m sure they figured it out,” he says, nudging me. “You are the ‘teen temptress’ after all.”

“Funny,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him.

We put the Ryan thing to the side for a while, but James’s tension begins anew as we approach the city. He is silent and brooding by the time we get our bags into the elevator, his worry a weight I feel dragging us both down. I tug him toward me the second we’re in the apartment.

“Stop,” I demand.

“Stop what?” he asks.

“Stop fretting.”

“I’m not fretting. Men don’t ‘fret’.”

“Fine,” I laugh. “Stop doing whatever it is you’re doing that’s just like fretting but sounds more manly.”

“I can think of several things we could do right now to take my mind off it,” he says into my hair.

The mere suggestion is enough to send a jolt to my abdomen, but I look at my watch and sigh. “I have to get ready. Ryan will be here in less than an hour.” I wish I’d planned this better, given the two of us a little time alone first. Instead I’ll be with Ryan while James is meeting friends in Battery Park. “How late will you be out?”

“The only reason I’m going out at all is so I don’t put a hole in the wall waiting for you to get home,” he says. “Just text when you’re wrapping up and I’ll be here.”

I shower and then go check out the dress my mother left for me in the hall closet. A simple slip dress with spaghetti straps, the fabric insubstantial, ending at mid-thigh. There was a time when I’d have been horrified by the amount of skin it shows. But I’m not scared of that anymore. And I can’t wait to see James’s face when I walk out in this.

I dry my hair and do my makeup and finally slide the dress on, bouncing into the living room to show James, who’s been waiting on the couch.

Silly me. Expecting a compliment.