The bar is small, all leather sofas and dark wood. Intimate and cozy, with only a few other patrons dotted around. We settle into an alcove and without asking me he orders two measures of Lagavulin. I am about to say that I don’t drink whisky, until I remember Leah’s goddam profile. Of course, Leah would love whisky. Every one of “those girls” likes whisky. In the glow of the small lamp on the table, and with the heat of Tom pressed against me, the fire of it at the back of my throat is almost sensuous. Maybe I do like whisky after all, especially after Tom explains that a splash of water helps release the flavor. We have another. His hand brushes my shoulder. We have one more and his hand grazes my thigh. When he leans in to kiss me, his breath is warm and sweet. I close my eyes and kiss him back.

We share a taxi. Nice girls don’t take men home the first night they meet, even if they have been pretending it’s a third date. I keep telling myself that. But is Leah a nice girl? I doubt she cares what people think, or about propriety and properness. She never did in the past anyway. The air is heavy with anticipation, his woody cologne still strong, mingling with the heat coming from his hand on my leg. We both know where the evening could end, we buzz with the possibility of it all.

The taxi pulls up outside Leah’s house.

But I am not Leah. Our doorstep goodnight kiss is almost chaste before I close the front door and sink to the floor with my back to the wall. I can see his shadow moving away and I fight with every ounce not to call him back.

I have never ever cheated on Chris. I am not the kind of girl to look at another man and think what if? To wonder how things might be with this one, instead of the man I promised to love forever in front of his family and our friends.

I shouldn’t have kissed Tom, I know that. Hell, I shouldn’t have even gone on that date. I should have just canceled and hoped that he would think no more about it and leave me alone. Then I should have shut down the dating sites that Leah used and made sure that I couldn’t be in this position again. It’s not like anyone would have cared if Leah wasn’t seen on a date for a while. And then it hits me. What if Chris finds out about Tom? What if some fan I didn’t even notice tagged Leah in a photo or something? What if he realizes it’s not her and figures out it was me kissing another man?

He won’t, the rational headmistress voice in my head tells me. He will never know it was me.