We chat, it’s earnest and, in a way, disarming. He admits to being a bit of a ‘closet gamer’ and spends a lot of time online when he’s not gaming. I think about the profile of the Tinder Strangler who suffocated his date at his apartment in Wellington – he spent a lot of time gaming, meeting other toxic men in online fitness forums where he discussed his conquests. I shake all negative thoughts from my head like a dog shaking water off. Daniel is different, I have control over the situation. I wonder how many other women have had these exact same thoughts until the night takes a turn for the worse? It helps that I plan to give this man what he wants.

When I first met Cain, I saw a certain charm in his seriousness and occasionally he would say something genuinely funny. He found in me a laugh I’d never even heard myself. Something deep, a sort of guffaw of which I was almost embarrassed. Stop thinking about Cain, I tell myself. For a few hours, I needed to forget about him, forget about my marriage and just do what I really wanted to.

‘A twenty-nine-year-old bad boy, my mother would blush.’

‘I’m not bad.’

‘That’s a shame.’ I’m beginning to relax a little. It’s easier for me now to play the part.

‘Is that what you’re into?’ his voice is already wet with the booze. ‘You normally go for arseholes?’

I tip the last of my soda water back, then lick my lips. ‘Don’t most women?’ I hate myself for saying it, but it has the desired effect. A hungry smile spreads across his face, the shyness draining as fast as the alcohol.

‘Well,’ he says, pausing, summoning enough courage to deliver what is likely to be an appallingly awful line. ‘I can be bad, I can be very bad if you want.’

It’s happening so easily now. I feel like I can almost have some fun with this. ‘Yeah?’

‘If only you knew,’ he says, with a wink and a smile that’s morphed from self-conscious to suggestive.

‘Well, why don’t we cut this date short and head back to the house?’

‘Is that a test, make sure I’m keen on you?’

‘Maybe.’

‘I want to get to know you a little better first, Anna.’ He reaches for my hand now, rolling his thumb over my knuckles where my wedding band would be had I not strung it through my necklace before arriving. ‘Slow down, no rush,’ he says, his brow slightly creasing and his wet lips pulling up at the corners. It’s so smooth, so natural that I think maybe he really is a nice guy.

‘What do you want to know about me?’

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