When I dare to raise my chin and look at him, I expect to find him smirking, gleeful of his triumphant conquest. Instead, he’s wearing a heavy frown, the corners of his lips tugging down, down, down. His brow is furrowed and pinched. His eyes look mystified and quizzical, unasked questions hiding behind those dark doors of devastation.

“May I sit?” Henry asks, cautiously approaching the chair. I nod once, jerking my head and averting my gaze, studying the rings on the weathered table that were left behind by old beverages. He slides into the seat across from me, his knees knocking against mine. I don’t bother pulling away. He clears his throat once. Twice. Three times.

“This is unexpected.”

“Are you joking? You must have planned this.”

“Planned this?” Henry lobs back, having the gall to sound aghast. “I didn’t plan anything, Emma. I’m as surprised as you are, if my sweaty palms are any indication of how freaking mind blown I currently am.” He rubs his hands on his distressed, worn jeans—which look unfairly good on him—and offers me a feeble chuckle.

He’s so… timorous. Bashful and lacking his typical confidence. He argues in courtrooms and represents some of the most powerful multi-million-dollar athletes, but I catch him fidgeting. Adjusting the bill of his hat. Scrubbing his hand over his cheeks, grazing the faint stubble lining his face. Shifting in his chair, his foot kicking mine.

“You’re lying,” I deadpan, half-heartedly tossing the accusation his way. It doesn’t hold a lot of weight. If it did, I would have left long ago.

Somehow, I’m motionless.

Somehow, I’m not walking away.

Somehow, I’m staying.

It’s baffling to consider the man before me is the same one who made me laugh until my sides hurt and comforted me on the bad days, offering words of encouragement. It’s almost implausible I fell asleep talking to Henry and dreamed about what his mouth would feel like against mine, tongue running over the crease of my lips as he coaxed another round of pleasure out of me, telling me to let go and he’s got me and again and again and again.

“I’m not lying, I swear,” he says firmly. The conviction and despair behind his declaration makes me pause. Consider. Reassess and reevaluate. This is a surprise to him, too. “I was out to lunch with Noah last month and told him I lied to my mom about having a date. He has a friend, Jamal, who used RB’s—your services. I had no clue you were on the other end of the phone. Noah didn’t either, obviously, unless he thought this would be a hilarious joke, which I’m not finding funny.”

I digest his story, fact-checking every line, every exhale, looking for a hole or flaw. It adds up. It all adds up.