She stopped and thought about that. About other times he’d done that. He’d been looking down, not at her, but now he looked up.

“You were mad at me,” she said. “Weren’t you? That night I told you about my plan for all of this. You were mad that I was going to trick you into this.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Answer me!” she finally yelled.

“Yes! Fine!” he yelled back. “Yes, I was pissed about that, okay? It felt pretty shitty, that you had a whole plan to lie to me and manipulate me, like I was just some cog in the Anna Gardiner wheel. Are you happy now? I’m not mad anymore, I got over it. What was even the point of being mad at you about it? It wasn’t going to get me anywhere or do anything good. If I remember correctly, and I think I do, you did your fair share of trying to distract me with sex that night.”

That was why he’d started all of that wildly hot dirty talk in the bar that night. And maybe it was why they’d had sex all night after getting back from the bar and hadn’t stopped to talk about anything else.

She put her hand on his and waited until he looked her in the eye.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re right. You were right to be mad. That was fucked up. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you. I’m sorry that I almost went through with a plan that treated you and your feelings like they didn’t matter.”

His eyes fell. He didn’t turn away from her, but he looked down for a while. She let the silence between them grow.

“I’m not . . . great about conflict,” he finally said. “It’s something I’m . . . supposed to be working on. You know. In therapy. But it’s hard. And I don’t like it. And it always feels easier to smile or joke or fuck it away, I guess.”

She put her hand on his face and then leaned forward and kissed his cheek. He put his arm around her and pulled her close to him.

“It’s a lot easier,” she said. “But sometimes it’s also a lot more rewarding to share your feelings and your hurt with someone else. That’s, um, something I’ve had to work on, too.”

He brushed her hair back from her forehead and kissed her softly there, but he didn’t say anything else. Okay, she would let this go. He was obviously done with this conversation now—not that he’d even wanted to have it in the first place.

She felt like a jerk for pushing him about his dad, and then pushing him on this, and making him have this conversation he clearly hadn’t wanted to have. Why had she even done it? Because she’d been anxious and wanted to pick at a scab? Because they’d been pretending to be in a relationship to the outside world, so she felt like she had to start a fight to make it feel real? Because she really wanted to know more about him and was frustrated that he held her at arm’s length—emotionally, at least—that he only shared so much, then no more, and she thought if she hammered away at him, he might crack?

Probably all of the above.

“Thanks for the apology,” he said, as they pulled into her driveway. “For that night. For what you almost did.” He smiled down at her, meeting her eyes for the first time in a while. “And you didn’t do it.”

The driver opened her door, and Anna nodded her thanks as she got out.

No, she hadn’t done it. She was more and more grateful for that every day.

* * *

—

Ben followed Anna into her house. He’d been worried, when he first came here, that it would be some big, fancy, expensive glass house, where he’d be afraid of breaking things and wouldn’t want to sit on the furniture. And it did look imposing from the outside, with big hedges and a gate and a long driveway to keep people out. But the inside just felt like Anna—expensive, yes, but also relaxed, fun, joyful. It was colorful and spacious and felt like a home, and he was already sad he’d only get to visit a few times more.

“Do you want a drink?” Anna asked him when he followed her to the kitchen. “I could use one.”

He nodded and watched her drop ice cubes into two glasses and then pour bourbon on top. She handed him a glass, and their fingers touched. It still felt so electric between them. He wanted to ask her if it was this way for her with other people. It probably was—she was just like this.

It wasn’t this way for him with other people. Yeah, sure, he’d had great sex before, lots of times. But he’d never felt this way, this hunger to be with someone, around them, in their bed and out of it, touching them and talking to them. And the more they were together, the better the sex was. The better everything was.

He wanted to kiss her, to touch her, but after what she’d said in the car—and what he’d said—he felt hesitant. He didn’t want her to think he was just doing it to brush off their fight.

Despite the fight, though, he was glad he’d told her he’d been mad she was going to trick him into this. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed to get that off his chest.

She took a sip of her bourbon and licked the tiny drop off her bottom lip. He looked away. Damn it, this woman was fucking him up. He was glad when she walked toward the living room.

“Coming?” she said over her shoulder.

He followed her. Of course he did.

When they sat down on the couch, he sat a respectful distance from her, but somehow, once they’d turned the TV on and found their way to the sixth episode of the show they’d started watching together, first in San Francisco at his apartment, then here last week, he was right next to her. Or she was right next to him? He didn’t know exactly how it happened.

After they’d watched one episode, he looked down at her.

“Do you want . . .”

“In the car . . .” she said at the same time, and then they both laughed.

“You first,” he said.

She smiled.

“Thanks. I was just going to say . . . I’m sorry about starting all of that. In the car, I mean. I shouldn’t have pushed you. I’ve just been on edge all week, about this role, and if I’m going to get it, and the damn movie premiere, and what my role in Vigilantes will end up being like, and . . . everything.”

He looked down at her. He started to put his arm around her, but stopped himself.

“Are you afraid that the premiere and everything around it will bring up bad memories of last year?”

She nodded.

“A little, I guess. And with that coming and all of the uncertainty around the Varon film, it’s just . . . a lot right now.” She sighed and leaned her head back on the couch. “She called me this week. Varon did. We chatted about the part. We’re going to have lunch next week.”