I’d thought the pictures on her profile — or the even riskier ones she sent me privately — were amazing, but pictures could never do Jourdan justice.

“Earth to Darren,” she says. “Unless you’re not Darren, in which case, this is awkward as fuck, my bad. You look like him, though.”

“Fuck,” I mumble. Apparently, I’ve just been staring at her for who knows how long, so awkward first impression unlocked. “Shit. Sorry. It’s my bad. You’re beautiful. Like really beautiful, and I was just wondering if you meant to message me?” I swipe a hand over my head. I hadn’t meant to say any of that. Why can’t I ever just shut the fuck up?

Jourdan’s laughter sounds like wind chimes, a gentle tinkle, almost too soft to hear without leaning forward and invading her personal space just a little bit. I want to catch every note, but I don’t want to freak her out; this is a hellish limbo I’m in, and I’m starting to wonder why the fuck I’ve put myself in this position.

“Okay, no need to ask if you’re nervous then. Cool.” Her voice is light, playful. That’s how I’ve been imagining her in my head.

“I’m terrified, actually.” I don’t have to correct her, but I get a little too honest when I’m anxious.

Jourdan steps forward, invading my space, clearly not as nervous as I am about first impressions. Why should she be, though, when she looks like she does?

My back goes rigid. So does my dick.

She tips her head back and smiles at me. “Calm down. There’s no need to be afraid of me. We’re just getting coffee and having a chat.”

I nod and take a breath, trying to get my shit together.

“Still,” she continues, “I’ll make sure you have lots of interesting things to tell your wife when you get home tonight.” She whispers this sentence like it’s a secret, and it is, kind of.

When setting up this date, I suggested something more traditional, a nice dinner somewhere, maybe in another town, where people who knew me and my wife, Nadia, were less likely to recognize me.

Jourdan, on the other hand, was adamant about a morning date. “If someone spots you having a romantic dinner with some girl who’s not your wife, the gossip mill will have a field day. But make the same date at eight in the morning in a very public place, and most people will just assume you’re doing a work thing. No one would suspect you’re looking for a girlfriend.”

It had made perfect sense at the time. But Jourdan pressing herself against me like this kind of defeats the point of getting up this damn early, doesn’t it?

My dick says no.

“You feel like you’re cheating, don’t you?”