“My mother used to bring me here once a year,” Wil said. “It’s more of a ladies’ place.”

“Speaking of ladies, I’ve heard that you have lots of girlfriends.”

“Who told you that? Naughty Nettie? She fancied you,” he said. “We can make her bon voyage party extra special if you’ve a mind.”

“Yes to the party, but no to the extra-special activities. Girls are pretty, but I’m at the other end of the sexuality scale.”

He shrugged. “I’m happy to swing whichever way the wind blows, but I don’t like to be tied down. Actually, I do,” he said, and we laughed.

He didn’t go to the theater with me that night, but I loved sitting in the dark and watching a harrowing Othello. During the intermission, as I waited in line for the ladies’ room, an older woman asked, “Are you enjoying the performance?”

“Very much, even though I always want to warn Othello not to listen to Iago.”

“But he must,” she said with a smile. “There’s synergy between Othello and Iago. Iago must tell the lie as surely as Othello wants to hear it. His insecurity and violent nature must out.”

“Do you think that some people want to be around those who encourage their darkest desires?”

“Most certainly! Who could be more seductive than someone who knows our secrets, yet loves us anyway?” she said, and I was reminded of Ian’s claim that we choose our partners because of what we need.

I saw the woman after the play and waved good night, wishing I could discuss the play with her, but Wil was waiting for me at a nearby pub.

We went to Nettie’s farewell party. The houseboat was both run-down and lavish, two stories tall with battered antiques, primitive paintings of cows, massive silver candelabras, a kick-ass sound system, and a badass DJ.

We danced, talked, flirted, and there was a lot of booze, smoke, and friendly blood play. Nettie was the center of attention, dancing atop a table in a short silver dress, and I noticed Wil staring at her wistfully.

The main lounge became packed and airless, so Wil and I went to the deck. The noise from the crowd was muffled there, and I could hear water lapping at the houseboat and against the shore. A trio shrieked at the other end of the deck and I heard splashing and laughing.

“What are you thinking?” Wil asked.

“I’m thinking about Dickens and fishing bodies out of the river.”

“That really turns me on,” he said in a sexy growl. Then he started laughing. “You believed me!”

“I did not!”

“You wondered if I’m a necrophiliac. I tell you in dead earnest that I am not a necrophiliac.”

I laughed and said, “I wondered if you’re a nitwit.”

He wrapped his arms around me. “Come to my place and I’ll show you what I am.”