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She had lost track of Joe sometime between ordering their second round—hers a Sidecar, his a Cherry Coke—and being presented with the actual beverages. She was half-listening to Brooke and Moh as they recounted the story of their recent engagement to Kirsten with only mild interest, eyes darting casually around the bar in search of him. Although Brooke’s happiness made her heart swell, she’d heard the story easily three times in the past few weeks. She practically had it memorized.

At first she’d lost Joe to an argument with Laura over the relative merits of Elvis Costello’s marriage to Diana Krall. But after that she’d lost track of him completely. As she downed the last sip of her sidecar she was starting to worry about him. Something was up with Joe, and although she could not pinpoint the problem, she felt its presence with a sense of certainty. They’d argued twice that night and the second argument had been especially out of character for them. They’d argued before. But the intensity of their last fight and the hurtful things he’d said made it difficult for her to shake. And then there was the way he’d looked at her in the darkened stairwell, the force of his gaze on her face, her body…it had been unnerving. It was unlike any look she’d ever seen cross his face. And it would not leave her.

She did not know what to do. She’d never argued like that with a man before. Logically, she knew that pushing the issue while both slightly intoxicated and standing in a bar was probably a bad idea. It was not the right environment to deal with the underlying emotions that must have motivated his words. She was not in the right frame of mind. And yet, she could not let him think he was forgiven too easily either. Could not simply forget what he had said, and what he had meant, and how terrible he had tried to make her feel. That would just reinforce the childish behavior.

With a nod of assent to the bartender she ordered another drink, reaching out to swipe a cherry from the top of Joe’s soda while she waited. She spotted him, then, speaking with a girl who couldn’t have been much more than a few days over the legal drinking age. The girl was tossing her cheap blonde hair enough to risk throwing out her neck, and wore a tank top only halfway covered in sequins.

“What, she couldn’t afford the version with the sequins all around?” she asked Laura, who had just returned from the restroom. “Or did she just not remember to turn when she was looking in the mirror?”

“Woah. She’s 50% spangled.” Laura marveled in return. “That’s not okay.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

Joe glanced over at her then, a smile cracking across his lips. As frustrated and confused as she felt, she could not help but return the gesture. And when the cheap bottle blonde turned to follow Joe’s gaze, she felt her hand moving—entirely of its own accord—to wave sweetly at him. Then, with a sharp sweep of her eyes, she let the blonde know exactly what she was thinking.

“Trash bag,” she muttered, turning back to Laura, lips twisting into a saccharine smile.

Laura said nothing in response, just rolled her eyes and turned to Brooke, Moh and Kirsten. Reaching for the freshly poured Sidecar, she turned to face the bar once again and took a long gulp that burned its way down her throat pleasingly. Her night was not going as planned. And though the brandy and cointreau were helping to make her feel slightly better about that fact, she was still vaguely unhappy. The feeling had settled into her chest and it clung to her, misty and indistinct, like fog at the base of a lamppost.

Just as she was returning her glass to the bar, she heard the scraping of a stool across the floor behind her. With a glance over her shoulder she saw Joe and immediately returned her attention to the chipping lacquer covering the wooden surface. Joe appeared un-phased by her reaction and simply reached past her—the length of his body rubbing against her—to take his soda into his hand. She took another long, slow sip.

“Girls have been complementing me on your cologne all night,” he said, breath tickling her ear, voice dripping with innuendo, before sitting on the stool he’d dragged up.

“Glad I could help,” she said, her voice tight and her back drawing straight. She glanced at him over her shoulder again, barely seeing him through the corner of her eye.

“Does it work the same way for you?” he asked.

“Well, since I’m not after girls…” she couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice, despite her best efforts.

“You know what I mean,” he said, his voice suddenly uncharacteristically soft as he glanced down at his lap.

“Do you really want the answer? Because lately every time we talk about guys you and I end up yelling…”

She refused to turn and face him fully, keeping a shoulder between them, though her posture had softened. When she felt his fingers twist into the belt loop just over her right hip, she had to fight the instinct to react, to lean into him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, eyes still down.

“I know you are.”

“Hey Don and Debbie Downer, cut it out!” Bridge exclaimed as she approached.

“What?” she asked, looking away from Joe, thankful for the distraction from his touch.

“You two looked like you might get all teary on us again. Once is enough on a school night.”

“Nah, Joe was just complementing me on my cologne.”

Bridge cocked her head to the side, a confused expression on her face. Silently, she begged Bridget not to press the issue. Not to call her on her lie.

“Cologne?” Bridge asked. She felt a rush of relief.

“You didn’t know I wear men’s cologne?” she responded.

Bridge leaned in to smell her neck, reaching a hand out to her side for support. Her entire body tensed instantly. Joe’s hand did not move. When Bridge’s hand accidentally brushed against Joe’s, she snatched it back quickly, standing upright awkwardly. Still, Joe’s hand did not move. She was tempted to turn to gauge his reaction, but thought better of it, realizing it would only make things more awkward. Better to pretend nothing had happened.

“It smells great,” Bridge offered, acting as though she knew to play along. “What is it?”

“Cannabis Santal, by Fresh. I love how it’s sort of gender amorphous. A little bit masculine and earthy, but musky and sweet enough to be worn by a woman.” She could feel herself about to give into the urge to talk overtime, as though that would make the situation less awkward.

“Only you would use the word ‘amorphous’ after four drinks,” Bridge laughed.

When Joe’s fingers left her belt loop, trailing across the flesh just above the waist band of her jeans, her stomach clenched.

“Someone’s gotta keep the tenor of the conversation up,” she said, her voice strangely distant, strangled by her sudden inability to breathe properly. “You slackers really drop the ball after a few drinks. It’s embarrassing.”

“Speaking of embarrassing. Brooke is showing her ring to the bartender and I think Moh is going to die of mortification. I’m going to try and save them both,” Bridge said, dropping a small kiss on her cheekbone as she passed.

She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to inhale evenly, suddenly alone with Joe and his nimble fingers. As Bridge parted, his fingers had begun to massage their way across her right hip and had settled down into her front pocket, applying more pressure with each passing moment. She’d managed to ignore them when they were at her side, fiddling with her belt loop. But her body would not allow her to ignore this new development. A chill running the length of her spine, she caved and leaned back into him, his knees spreading wider to accommodate her body. Unconsciously her head fell to her right shoulder.

It took her only a second to react to the feeling of his lips brushing down her neck, and this time, the reaction was conscious. She did not even bother to meet his eyes as she spun around, fixed on his lips. Without waiting for another sign she darted forward, capturing his top lip in her mouth, hands splaying across his jaw. Immediately, Joe closed his bottom lip around hers, sealing the kiss. Her mouth opened and closed again and again and again, searching his lips with increasing intensity. He responded in kind. When she found his bottom lip between hers she could not help herself, could not resist the temptation even a moment longer. Opening her mouth wider and pressing closer to him still, she trapped his bottom lip between her teeth and bit down, tugging gently as she pulled away.

For a moment, his eyes burned into her as they stood there, breathing heavily. But the moment passed quickly and when he shot forward she knew that by biting him, she’d inadvertently unleashed something in him. As their lips met over and over he continued to lean into her, forcing her back into an arch. His arm was tight around her waist but she could barely hold herself up. Seeking support, she found her right hand making its way into his hair, gripping at the back of his head tightly. Still, that was not enough, they were going to fall. Lost in the sensation of leaning over a precipice, she felt him rise from his stool, but did not realize they were moving until the edge of the bar slammed into her back and forearm. She moaned into his mouth, the pain spreading through her nerves and bringing more pleasure than he could have imagined.

The room had long since disappeared around them. She saw nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing but Joe. His mouth and tongue had begun to forge a hot, wet path down her neck and both of her hands were now clenched in the curls at the nape of his neck, urging him on. Then suddenly he stopped, baring the edges of his teeth against her clavicle, sending chills racing across her skin and raising goosebumps in their path. She gasped. He bit down.

Chest heaving, he pulled back and looked squarely into her eyes, reaching his hands up and placing them on her flushed cheeks. She could barely hold the eye contact. The intensity was unsettling, like nothing she’d ever experienced.

“You’re amazing,” he said, voice thick and low. He was sitting again.

His hands raked across her cheeks and into her hair pulling her mouth to his again, urging her lips wider, exploring her mouth hungrily with his tongue. This time it was Joe biting her lip, and again she moaned into his mouth at the sensation, an intoxicating mixture of pain and pleasure. Forcefully she broke the contact of their lips to work her way down his neck, nibbling lightly at the underside of his jawbone and dragging her teeth across his skin, replacing them with her lips and sucking softly. This time it was Joe moaning.

She couldn’t get enough of him. The feeling of his skin under her lips, the way her hair tangled in his hand, the searing sensation his fingers left on the skin just above the waistband of her pants. She fairly ached for more. But just as she fixed her lips to his Adams apple, he pulled her back, his eyes once again locking hers in the tractor beam of their gaze. She couldn’t look away, not even if she wanted to.

Again, his hands raked across her cheeks and into her hair, meeting at the nape of her neck and pulling her lips towards his. Then suddenly he paused, just as his lips brushed hers. She darted forward, desperate to taste his kiss again, but he pulled back with equal facility, maintaining only the faintest contact between their lips.

“You’re amazing,” he repeated, his lips forming the words against hers, his voice resonating to her core. Then he closed the contact between them, letting her tongue slide between his lips eagerly. She wanted to taste the words.

With each passing second the intensity of her desire grew and he seemed to feel the same way. Time ticked by in a pattern she could no longer recognize. She knew only Joe. Only his lips and his tongue and his fingers. As their tongues swirled greedily together, his hands began to slide down her hips and around her thighs. Only stopping when they met beneath her and he began to lift her body toward him.

As her toes left the floor, she felt more physically conflicted than she ever had in her life—body torn in two. Inside, competing desires raged against one another. The first: to be as close to him as physically possible, to rise with him, into him. The second: the forbidden pleasure of the sudden sensation between her legs, where his hands were pressing against her, which only heightened as she sank down and away from him.

It was in that instant—as fire shot up between her legs—that she knew they had to stop. She didn’t know how long they’d been going at it, but it felt like only moments had passed. She couldn’t believe things had escalated so quickly, but she knew if she didn’t put a stop to this, things would get even more out of control, and rapidly. The heat between her legs was becoming insistent, and she could not give into it. It was too much. Much too much for their first kiss. She pulled back.

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking at his chest, swiping at her wet, ravaged lips. She could feel how swollen they were.

“Then don’t stop,” he said, his voice so husky it was almost unrecognizable.

“We have to.” She shook her head, stepping away from him, back hitting the bar again.

Joe tried to push forward again but she refused him, pressing a hand against his chest to maintain the distance between them. She could feel his struggle to regain a normal breathing pattern under her palm. She struggled to find the right words to say.