He offered to walk me home, but I refused. He couldn’t know I lived in a four-story walk-up in the East Village and didn’t own a couch or a lamp. If I could help it—and I could—he’d never come over. We’d date at his place, we’d sleep at his place, we’d live at his place. My life before would be a perfect mystery.

“Let me at least get you a cab,” he insisted. “It’s late.”

He wasn’t insisting on bringing me home, which meant he wasn’t interested in sleeping with me tonight, which meant that there was a chance this would turn into last time and I wouldn’t hear from him for months. That could not happen again. I refused to keep waiting.

I watched him move onto the street and look down the block, waiting for a lit-up medallion to speed our way before sticking his hand into traffic.

“So are you going to respond to my texts or do I have to accompany Lena to another bougie event just to see you again?”

His shoulders rose with a laugh, and he turned around. “Can I make it up to you?”

“You can try.”

He walked to me, stopping just an inch or two away, and I craned my neck to look him in the eye. He smelled good. I hated it.

“Can I make you dinner?” he asked. “Friday, maybe?”

Two dates in one week was a good sign. A very good sign.

“I think I can make that work.”

He got closer. “Yeah? You can pencil that in?”

Closer. “Probably.”

Closer. A half smile. “Good.”

Then he kissed me. It wasn’t a stuff-your-face kiss, where our hands roam and people pass on the sidewalk and think get a room. It was a long-term kiss. The kind of kiss that comes after love. The kind of casual kiss reserved for people you’re sharing a life with. Or those you plan to.

My anxiety didn’t set in until I was in the cab. Until I was in the back seat, riding the few blocks home, listening to too-loud club music coming in staticky from the radio. I closed my eyes and tried to ride the waves, let myself ebb and flow until the current took me away completely and I either drowned or could peacefully float on my back.

I took some deep breaths. I could see the cab driver’s license taped to the back of his seat, the leather glasses case someone forgot at my feet, the stoplight turning red in front of us. I could hear the music, people laughing outside, the wind. I could feel my toes throbbing in my shoes, my forehead itchy as my hair blew into my face, my butt squished against the leather seat.