“This hand,” he whispers, “is the steadiest hand in all of Boston.”

He pushes on the back of my neck, bending me further over the counter. His hand meets the inside of my knee and he glides it upward. Slowly. Jesus.

He pushes my legs apart, and then his fingers are inside me. I moan and try to find something to hold on to. I grip the faucet, just as he begins to work magic.

And then, just like a magician, his hand disappears.

I hear him walking out of the kitchen. I watch as he passes the front of the counter. He winks at me, downs the rest of his glass of wine and says, “I’m gonna take a quick shower.”

What a tease.

“You asshole!” I yell after him.

“I’m not an asshole!” he yells from my bedroom. “I’m a highly trained neurosurgeon!”

I laugh and pour myself another glass of wine.

I’ll show him who the tease really is.

• • •

I’m on my third glass of wine when he walks out of my bedroom.

I’m on the phone with my mother, so I watch him from the couch as he makes his way to the kitchen and pours himself another glass.

That is some seriously good wine.

“What are you doing tonight?” my mother asks.

I have her on speakerphone. Ryle is leaning against a wall, watching me talk to her. “Not much. Helping Ryle study.”

“That sounds . . . not very interesting,” she says.

Ryle winks at me.

“It’s actually very interesting,” I say to her. “I help him study a lot. Mostly reviewing fine-motor control of the hands. In fact, we’ll probably be up all night studying.”

The three glasses of wine has made me frisky. I can’t believe I’m flirting with him while I’m on the phone with my mother. Gross.

“I gotta go,” I tell her. “We’re taking Allysa and Marshall out to dinner tomorrow night, so I’ll call you on Monday.”

“Oh, where are you taking them?”

I roll my eyes. The woman can’t take a hint. “I don’t know. Ryle, where are we taking them?”

“That place we went to that one time with your mom,” he says. “Bib’s? I made reservations for six o’clock.”

My heart feels like it slinks down my chest. My mother says, “Oh, good choice.”

“Yeah. If you like stale bread. Bye, Mom.” I hang up and look at Ryle. “I don’t want to go back there. I didn’t like it. Let’s try something new.”

I fail to tell him why I really don’t want to go back there. But how do you tell your brand-new boyfriend that you’re trying to avoid your first love?

Ryle pushes off the wall. “You’ll be fine,” he says. “Allysa’s excited to eat there, I told her all about it.”

Maybe I’ll get lucky and Atlas won’t be working.

“Speaking of food,” Ryle says. “I’m starving.”

The casserole!

“Oh shit!” I say, laughing.

Ryle rushes to the kitchen and I stand up and follow him in there. I walk in just as he pulls the oven door open and waves away the smoke. Ruined.