“What’re you saying?” His voice was still soft and warm. That irked her. Made her feel as if none of this had mattered. So she provoked him.

“I’m saying that you feel as if sauntering out of here after fucking me makes you some kind of hero. You’re just like the rest, aren’t you?” Her voice was raised now. “You’re a sham, Fire. How could I have been so dumb—to get involved with a man I’d met on the street? I knew I shouldn’t let you fuck me. Now you feel you have some kind of power over me. Well lemme just tell you”—she jammed a finger in his face—“you don’t. Go ahead … I’m not about to beg you to stay. You got what you came for. You only wanted one thing.”

He allowed himself to be snide now. “Are you trying to get a rise out of me? Your ability to do that has diminished exponentially. I think you should desist.”

She began to reply, but held back when she felt tears starting. No. She would not cry in front of him. She had her pride.

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” he said. “I wanted one thing? I won’t even address that, because we both know that’s ridiculous … but let’s say for argument’s sake that is true. How many things did you want?”

“Let’s just drop it, okay? I’ll be in the living room if you need anything.”

She left him sitting on the edge of the tub, his face hard.

Fire felt a wave of resentment rise up in him. Sylvia seemed self-righteous and accusatory. Lumping this in with the fuzziness of her involvement with Lewis and her feelings for him made the prospect of getting closer to her less and less feasible—or desirable. He had planned to ask her about her relationship with Lewis. After they’d sprayed each other with their love. Not that he was calculating, but there are some things that one never risks while dangling on the brink of a great romance. As a man of experience Fire knew that nothing prevented a good fall better than firm and reasoned reflection.

As the water jets buzzed his head, he thought about how they’d met by chance, how they’d met again by greater coincidence, how he’d pursued her, how she’d resisted, how he’d charmed her, how she’d relented, how he wasn’t sure if she knew what she felt for him, how he wasn’t sure if she knew what she felt for the man, how he knew what he felt for her, and how vulnerable that had left him.

Something had to give.

She was sitting on the couch when he came out of the bathroom. He went to the kitchen for some water. Would she like some? he asked, dropping a wedge of lime in his glass. No, she wouldn’t, she said, without looking at him.

He sat next to her on the couch.

“I’m going to take a shower,” she said, staring ahead at the TV.