We polish off the charcuterie and most of the wine, then go for a walk. My hand slides along the banisters as we stroll. There’s a thin layer of ice on them.

“Are you cold?” Dom asks.

“No,” I say, which is a lie. I don’t know why I’m lying to him. I guess my default is to say what I think should be said in a specific moment. It’s not like with Joe, where I said whatever was on my mind.

Stop thinking about Joe.

“Your lips are blue. Here, take my jacket.” Dom slips out of his stylish pilot jacket and drapes it on my shoulders. He smells of an expensive aftershave and male. I notice he doesn’t remove his hand from my back after putting it on me. Smooth.

“Thanks.”

“Sure thing. I like to keep my victims nice and cozy.”

“So you are an axe murderer.”

“Depends on how tonight progresses. So be nice.” He winks.

Dom is right for me. Even if I don’t feel this insane, overpowering need to pounce on him. And who wants to be consumed by the man they date, anyway? My problem is lack of motivation and direction. He has enough of both to fuel an entire army.

“Do you know”—Dom leans against the banisters, letting go of my back and staring onto the black vastness of the water—“the Atlantic Ocean makes up roughly twenty percent of the entire world? It kisses Morocco, Brazil, Iceland, London, and Florida. But no matter how big it is, I cannot help but think it makes the world seem so small. You are always a ship’s journey away from anywhere.”

Licking my lips, which are starting to crack from the cold, I add, “My geography teacher once told us that the deepest part of the Atlantic is near Puerto Rico. It’s over twenty-seven thousand feet deep over there.”

“Have you ever been?” he asks.

I shake my head. “It’s on my bucket list, though. You?”

“No. But it’s on my bucket list to take you, as of two seconds ago.”

And then, before I can answer him, he leans forward and kisses me. It’s a surprising kiss. Ardent without being too aggressive. I feel that a wall has been broken between us. Just like when I fed Dom the other night, and he realized how hungry he was. I find myself surprisingly ravenous. For this kiss. For his touch. I’ve missed this. The skin, the heat, the scent of someone else’s body pressing against mine. And so, for the first time in six years, I forget about Joe.

I forget about Joe as Dom plunges his tongue deep into my mouth, grabs me by the waist, and pulls me into him.

I forget about Joe when I realize that I like Dom’s roughness. When I moan into Dom’s mouth, clutching the lapels of his dress shirt, tasting the bitterness of his cologne when my lips drag across his neck.

I forget all about Joe when Dom rolls his groin against mine with a grunt, letting me feel what I do to him, then grabs the back of my neck and kisses me even more passionately. When our teeth crash together and there’s an explosion of fireworks in the back of my eyelids.