“I’m telling you, I’m okay. It’s taking some effort to come to terms with everything, but with time and scotch and porn, I’m getting there.”

He laughed and tipped up his glass. “Maybe you need to get laid.”

“You’re fucking telling me.”

“So go get laid.”

“It’s not that easy.”

He gave me a look of disbelief. “It’s not? I mean, it’s been a while since I’ve been out there, but I can’t imagine you would have trouble.”

“Maybe not if I just wanted to fuck the next willing woman.” I stared into my glass. “But I don’t.”

Lucas was quiet a moment. “Is there someone you have in mind who’s . . . not willing?”

“It’s complicated.”

He crossed an ankle over his knee. “Complicated is my favorite word. Go on.”

I took another sip, debating the wisdom of talking about Sylvia with Lucas. On one hand, it felt dangerous—like I was making my attraction to her more real or giving it more strength by speaking of it. On the other, Lucas was a good friend, he was smart about this stuff, and it might feel good to just say shit out loud. “It’s Sylvia Sawyer.”

“Ah.” Lucas took a drink. “Remind me. John’s oldest daughter, right? Married? Lives in California?”

“Right. She was married, for fifteen years. She’s recently divorced and is moving back here with her two kids. Her husband was a real dickhead. Left her for someone else, who’s already pregnant.”

“Fuck, that is shitty. She must have been devastated.”

“Yeah.” I finished what was in my glass. “She was really hurt, and coming home again is part of her effort to start over. I never knew her all that well before, but since she got home, we’ve been talking kind of a lot.”

“You guys probably have a lot to talk about.” Lucas reached for the bottle of scotch and poured me a couple more fingers.

“We do. That’s part of the problem. She’s really easy to talk to, and I find myself telling her things I don’t tell anybody. Talking about my marriage and the breakup and how I feel.” I shook my head. “She’s been home less than a week. It’s fucking ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous. You’re comfortable with her, because you know she understands. You’re going through a similar—and difficult—life experience.”

“But it’s not just that.” I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “She’s so damn beautiful. And sweet. And vulnerable. I always thought she was nice, but now I can’t stop thinking about her in ways that are . . . not nice. They are not nice at all. They’re downright filthy.”

Lucas chuckled. “It’s okay. You’re entitled to your own dirty thoughts.”

“Yeah, except last night I did more than just think.”

He paused. “What did you do?”

“I kissed her.”