"You should be at dinner," I said. "She's waiting."
"I like your apartment," he told me. "Very clean. Very you."
He poured me wine like he belonged here. I held it up to the light, squinting as the glass splintered into burgundy prisms. "I'm not thirsty."
"But I am," he said, and took it from me. He drank it slowly, never taking his eyes from mine. He swallowed too loudly.
I took a deep breath. Make love to me, I thought. Seduce me.
He set the glass down empty and put his hands on my shoulders. "I'm going to fuck you," he said.
It was utterly unromantic.
"All right," I said.