Ian’s one-bedroom apartment, on the second floor of a prewar walk-up, appeared to have been renovated recently, and the masculine furniture was in good taste relative to his fashion sense. The black frames of the enormous uncovered windows contrasted with the crisp white walls, as did the polished dark wood on the back of his white bookshelves. The surfaces were bare, except for a few carefully selected items, probably purchased on his travels, like a Balinese wooden sculpture.

Ian disappeared into his kitchen and returned with two glasses of red wine, which he placed on the coffee table in front of the sofa. I took several sips, deposited my wine on the table, and turned to him. I saw no point in wasting time. I leaned in toward him and we kissed. He smelled like aftershave and garlic. My hand on his crotch. Then my legs around his waist. We crossed to his bed, and then I allowed him to take the lead.

I let him undress me and then we screwed. I enjoyed having sex with Ian and liked the fact that he was smitten with me. But if I were to measure the gravitational pull that I felt toward the Straubs versus Ian, there was no comparison.

After, I suggested another glass of wine. Sex and wine were both helpful in getting the information I needed. Ian pulled his boxers on. He left the room and returned with the half-empty bottle of red wine and our two glasses. He poured us each a glass. I pulled the sheet up over my chest, and positioned two pillows behind me so that I could sit up in bed and drink.

Ian ran his fingers through my hair. “God, you’re beautiful, Delta.”

I looked down, as though embarrassed by the compliment.

“Each time I see you, you’re more beautiful.” He laughed. “I don’t know exactly how that works.”

I looked into Ian’s eyes and saw a generosity of spirit and kindness. But I also saw mediocrity. I didn’t see someone who planned to succeed at the highest level. I saw someone who was content to lead an average life.

“Maybe because I’m trying to impress you,” I said.

Under the sheet, Ian placed a warm hand on my thigh. I kissed his neck.

When finished with my wine, I climbed on top of him and rested my head next to his on his pillow. “Is it OK with you if I spend the night?”

Ian looked more relaxed than he had several hours earlier, with far less tension in his face. “I wouldn’t let you go home now. It’s two in the morning.”

“I want to be close to you,” I whispered in his ear.

He wrapped his arms tightly around my body.