At one point, he asks if I plan to go back to school.

“I’m not sure. But I’m moving back to New Haven.”

“For good?”

“For the foreseeable future, yeah.”

Before long, I’m depleted. Standing up, I clutch my bag. “I have to go.”

Lawrence watches me. “I keep telling myself that’s where I am.”

“Where?”

“Home. At the Valmont. Instead of a hotel. That what’s happening isn’t happening.” He offers a sad smile. “You know me, Cass. I’ve always been good at fantasy.”

“Does it work?”

“Not really. Not the way it used to, at any rate. I’m in a hotel downtown. I am going to prison eventually. My life, the life I had, is over.” But even as he speaks, his eyes flicker in and out of focus, as if he doesn’t quite believe this. “The life we had,” he adds.

Lawrence is baiting me, I can see him doing it, and yet I feel the old familiar pull, the flutter and flush, the need to make things right. I begin to waver, weaker still.

He tracks my face. “Do you ever think about us?” His voice is coy. “About me? About what we have?”

I take my time replying. The clock ticks. Nate waits. But I have to be accurate. I shift my bag to my other arm. I want and don’t want to go. I could lean over and kiss him. I remember the wetness of his mouth, the weight of his body. His fingers trailing down my thigh.

“Cassandra.” Lawrence is urgent; he has to hear yes.

“I don’t think about it or not think about it, Lawrence.” My voice is grave. “It’s what I am.”

He doesn’t disagree. And in the long silence that follows, we both acknowledge one truth. If, in fact, a crime was committed, then this is by far my worst injury. I do not belong to myself. I belong to Lawrence Quinn.

For him, though, maybe this isn’t a crime. Maybe it’s his due. Still, he asks, “Can you forgive me?”

For a second time stops. We breathe together. I give us this moment, a gift. He was my whole world, once.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he says. “Whatever you want.”

I won’t lie. I love hearing this. Deep in my bones, I need it. And in two hours or two months or two years or two decades, when the cravings for Lawrence hit and I’m undone by my feelings, I’ll need to hear it again and again and again.

“We’ll see,” I tell him because I can’t yet say no.

There’s a glint in his eyes, that same cocky smile. “I’ll wait,” he promises then pushes his gift across the table. “This is for you, Cassie. Please take it.”