[RECAP: Joanna is a married writer of thirty-four, mother of two boys. At her son's school play she meets Alan, a rookie teacher of twenty-seven, and the two quickly hit it off, establishing a texting-based friendship fed by off-the-cuff jokes and an interest in theatre. He becomes an outlet of sorts in the face of a stressful job and a marriage strained by infidelity. The communication with Alan grows more and more intimate until one evening it culminates in an impromptu session of phone sex. But Joanna and Alan are aware of each other's expectations. They both agree: it doesn't need to get complicated.]

***

JOANNA

I'm at the mall, shopping for a present. There's a baby shower this Saturday for Pilar, one of the layout designers at the paper. She's the sweetest girl, about to have her first. I want to get her something she'll need, not just something she'll like. And here with me is Alan, holding up everything that he finds either cute or ridiculous, or both. At one point I figure he's had his hands on over half the store's merchandise. But in the end the suggestion that wins me over comes from him: a quick-trip diaper bag with magnetic closures and a translucent wipes case. That's Alan in a nutshell: at the core of the goofball there's a bubbling cleverness that's always ready for use. I wouldn't tell him this outright, but it adds to his charm. It's one more feather in his cap. Alan's a tall, burly young guy. Bearded, with smiling blue eyes and short, curly brown hair. Thick arms that fill up a short sleeve. A laid-back buddy-type who can be attractive when he wants to.

We've mentioned our phone session from that night here and there. We talk about everything and this has been no exception. It hasn't weighed things down. He does touch me more now; he's kissed my head to punctuate a condescending joke here, taken the liberty to arrange my hair in a casual manner there. My own hands end up on his arm or his hair every so often. There's a certain implicit promise that something could happen again at some point, and at the same time a certain peace with the possibility that it might not again, ever. It's my reading of it, at least. I'm fine with where the pieces have fallen and don't dwell on it any longer than I have to. With him, I get to feel like not everything is horribly unmanageable. I feel airy. It's been a while.

We get lunch. At one we're joined by Katie, my friend and coworker. She's heard plenty about Alan, but she doesn't know everything. Alan starts out trying hard with her, clearly hoping to make a shared friend out of her early in the game, but Katie's in a mood today and gives a challenge. A weird rapport develops. They enjoy trading jabs, but they'd find it hard to stand each other for long. If the lunch is fun, it's because they communicate either with me or with one another through me.

At three Alan says goodbye, telling us he has grading to do. We don't schedule another meet-up right then. I know we'll later find an excuse for one.

"Take it easy, Katie. Smoking kills," he says on his way out, his jacket in hand.

"Bye. Have fun grading grammar or whatever," is Katie's retort.

"What's with the bitchy attitude today?" I ask in jolly tones once Alan disappears around the restaurant's corner.

"He gave me shit for smoking, he had it coming. Nice guy, though. Have you been out the whole morning?"

"Yeah, getting Pilar's present. Tough pregnant woman to shop for. But I also helped Alan pick out new shoes, first pair the guy buys in like a year. He was nearby for the farmer's market, so we met up." I get a mint candy into my mouth to stave off the cravings Katie's cigarette is giving me. "It was a fun morning. I wish you'd come earlier."

"Clingy dude?"

"Alan? Not at all, I was the one who asked."

"Huh. But he sure stayed past lunch."

"Well, that's the point of lunch. You have to finish it."

We bounce between a variety of topics, as is our usual ritual, until we land on my marriage again. She's been a constant ear on which to dump my woes, so I feel I owe her details. Henry, my husband, has not made things easy. He'll drop hints that I'm not close enough, not present enough, and he'll succeed at what he's clearly hoping for, which is to guilt me. But when I do make myself available, his mode switches to cold, distant, dismissive. Sometimes offensive, in low-key ways. I can tell he's been feeling rejected and that the distancing that has occurred between us - a natural follow-up of my decision to stay after his cheating, and an absolute necessity on my end - has taken its toll. He must feel that I'm harboring resentment still. I can't say that he's wrong. But I've given as much as I've felt capable of. Often more than that. In the past Katie has understood that I need space and she's told me before, adamantly, that I should create as much of it as I need.

But her advice is different today. She asks me about Phillip from work. Has anything happened there? She's seen us flirt and I've told her about our risqué texting, which never went past that. There was a time when that felt like something we could joke about freely, and we've done plenty of that. Now she asks me bluntly... how far would I be willing to take it? Phillip is a non-issue for me at present, but as far as Katie knows, he represents the possibility of something from which there'd be no turning back. I know that if I were to tell her that I'm contemplating having an affair of my own, Katie wouldn't judge me. But she wouldn't pretend to approve, either. She's reached the point where she's worried about my decisions and hopes that I'll do the right thing for my family. Our rapport is often fun and games, goofy or raunchy jokes of the kind that we're too old for. But for this, she's perfectly capable of sobering up and allowing honesty to take over. That's something I have to appreciate.

...

Phillip's got his eye on me. We're at the sushi bar across the street from our office, along with a dozen coworkers. The spot was picked as the site to celebrate the birthday of Walter, sports writer extraordinaire. Japanese liquor soon replaced sushi as the main course. They've now gotten to their seventh round, just as I'm about to leave. Phillip sent me his first text before I even arrived - then a few more followed during the party, with me just seats away from him. I met his gaze a couple of times to acknowledge my being aware of him. I wait until a trip to the bathroom to finally read them.

PHILLIP: I'll be seeing you at Walter's thing, yes?

PHILLIP: It's been a while. 

PHILLIP: Jo, you look gorgeous today. I know a stealth twirl for my benefit is too much to ask for. But a guy can dream? 

I brace myself for the long, serious-looking one.

PHILLIP: I'll come clean. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. Your desk is the first thing I take a look at when I arrive at the office in the morning. It seems like just yesterday that we were fantasizing together... and we both seemed game for the ride. Am I wrong about that? 

These lines shed new light on the glances and attention he's been throwing my way all evening. I feel bad about not reading them earlier... but not excessively. With Phillip it's been clear what he's after from the start. He's a "his reputation precedes him" kind of guy. He remains single by choice, he's a player, drama is not his thing. Our texted conversations have remained strictly in a certain line ever since I first started encouraging them, and he's never made the effort to steer them away from that, even when I did. Still, I'm well aware of my part in leading him on.

I come out of the ladies' room and there he is. Leaning against the wall of this tight restroom alley, pretending to text on his phone. He then looks up at me with a smile, thus acknowledging the fakeness of his pose. It's charming. Getting chuckles from people comes easy to Phillip. It's the reason he's friends with everybody, and the reason I liked him.

"Hey. You look amazing today."

"So you've said. Thanks. We had a press conference in the morning and I kept the duds for the rest of the day."

"You didn't do the twirl I requested," he says, putting his phone in his pocket and making me the sole focus of his attention. "Imagine my heartbreak."

"It's a cramped restaurant, dude. Any twirling could have knocked a tray off a passing waiter's hand, and then where would we be?"

He knows that I'll just keep defusing his lines. He goes in for a big move.

"Could you feel me looking at you from across the table?" he asks.

"Phillip. I like you, dude. But nothing's gonna happen."

"Just hear me out, you don't need to promise anything. But I admit it, I came here today hoping for something. I came hoping we'd get to finish what we started, and that we'd leave this party together. A bit drunk... but not too much. Don't laugh! Just hear me out. We'd get in my car and drive to the best hotel we could think of." He takes a step closer, lays his raised elbow against the wall and adopts a softer tone. "And as soon as we walked through the door, I'd get to do what I've been dying to for months. You know what that is, Jo? I'd get to stand behind you. Move your hair aside. And kiss your neck. Kiss your ears. And the side of your face."

"Phil..."

"Then finally turn you around, lift you up and feel you wrap your legs around me. Lay you on that bed. And peel those pants off of you, and your panties after that. Bury my face between your legs. And finally fuck you, slowly but deeply... with you still wearing that white blazer."

He finishes his speech with a tremulous sigh and a flushed face. I hear Katie's strident laughter all the way from the group's table. Even with a few drinks in her, I know she'd come in the blink of an eye if she knew what was happening.

"I get it, Phil."

"Don't say anything just yet. I know that I'm making quite the request here. I don't want to smear this by adding pressure. It has to feel perfect, Jo, both for you and for me. But I'm confident, Jo. I know you want it too, I know you see yourself in that room with me. I'm betting it all on that."

"What are you betting exactly?"

"I might well be wrong, but I'm ready to eat crow."

"You don't have to eat anything. I know we flirted, Phil. I know I gave you hopes. This is on me as well. Believe me, at one point... I think I might have wanted it too." I let a deep breath inflate me with patience, the exact same thing I do when I have to lay hard truths on my kids. "It was hard not to be attracted to you. Look at you. You're one tall drink of water. That huge smile, that salt-and-pepper mane. You've got it going on, man. But Phil... I can't. I need to reign myself in while I'm able to. And I don't mean just with you."

"What, are there other candidates?"

"No. No. What I mean is, it's not because of you. I just have to take the high road on this one."

Phillip steps away, takes a quick look behind him and then looks back at me.

"Tell you what. Stay until after they bring Walter's cake, stay until he blows his candles. I'm gonna go wait at the paper's reception hall until 8. If I see you walking past me on your way to the parking lot, just head to my car and we'll leave together. It's OK. Just stay a little longer. Long enough to make up your mind."

He throws me a last smile before turning around and making his way back to the table. He barely stays any extra time at all. He picks up his jacket and says his goodbyes to the group. He doesn't look at me. Katie puts her arm around me and talks really close to my face, letting me smell the Sake on her breath. I'm happy that she's having fun, and glad that she remains clueless regarding my conversation with Phillip. I wait long enough to be sure that I won't run into him in the restaurant's parking lot. Then I get in my car and start heading home.

...

ALAN

I'm sure that Joanna's here tonight, her face one among dozens in the audience. Jack, her ten-year-old, is once again performing in a play, this time for the December talent show. The auditorium is fuller than I've ever seen it. Tonight's show is "Laika", about the dog sent to space by the Russians in 1957. Sally and I wrote the plot; the kids pitched in with their own ideas for the dialogue, adorned with thick Russian accents. Laika is played by little Lillian in a dog costume. Jack is one of the evil scientists. The play is poignant and funny, and the kids are all good in their roles. I'm very excited for the parents' response - but not as much as I am for Joanna's. I've invited her to come backstage after the show. I'm eager for it to be over so that I can see her. I haven't in a while.

While the crowd takes their seats, a squad of fellow teachers and I move in and out of the stage for last-minute prepping. I feel at times certain that her eyes are on me, just like mine would be on her if our roles were reversed. I know she'll be coming with her husband. I don't mind, as long as she's here. I find myself searching the crowd with my eyes without meaning to... until I find him. The husband. There's no trace of his Facebook smile tonight. He's by himself; Joanna hasn't arrived yet. I notice later that he's saving her a seat to his left. But by the time the play starts, she's still a no-show. I swallow my disappointment and focus on my job.

It's not until the last third of the play that I see her come in. Her outline was recognizable enough, but I'm sure it's her once she takes the empty seat next to her husband. I smile to myself. Some five minutes before the end of the play, Joanna's husband gets up from his seat and leaves the auditorium. He doesn't come back by the time the lights go up and the audience erupts in raucous applause. This was the last feature of the evening. An army of kids spills out onto the aisles to be congratulated by their parents while the other teachers and I pat each other on the back for a job well done. A set of parents comes up to me with effusive praise for the evening. They keep me occupied for a while... even while my eyes are on Joanna, who's hugging Jack with a broad smile on her face. She never looks at me. I soon lose her from sight.

...

I'm washing the post-dinner dishes when my phone buzzes in my pocket. To my right, Sergio does the drying while Hiranur, roommate number two, types relentlessly on his laptop over the kitchen counter. He says he'll do his vacuuming of the living room when he's finished. That he allows work to follow him home to this degree annoys the shit out of me. I take my gloves off and pull my phone out, my hopes set on whose message I want it to be. I get my wish.

JOANNA: I'm so sorry.

Below that first line is the icon that shows she's typing more. It takes her a while. I put my phone away and continue with the dishes. I've waited for Joanna long enough today.

JOANNA: Don't think I forgot you were waiting for me, I didn't. I so wanted to go up to you and congratulate you for the play, which was absolutely fantastic... what I got to see of it. You should have seen Jack, he was so proud. I hope you are too. This sounds stupid, Alan, but I was proud of you myself. I think you're one talented guy. Everyone in that school ought to know how lucky they are to have you there. You deserved a tight, clingy, uncomfortably long hug from me, and it breaks my heart that I couldn't give it to you.

I had made peace with going to bed tonight without hearing from her, much less any of these things. Yet here they all are.

JOANNA: I arrived late because I was stuck at the office trying to meet a deadline. Then I arrived at the play and something unpleasant happened. I won't get into the details of it if you don't want me to. But it forced me to leave early to try to fix it, or at least contain it, to the extent that I could. I can say with certainty that it ruined my night... and many more nights to come. I'm not sure about what I can do. Or if anything I did would make any real difference. I'm not even sure I'm willing to do much more at this point.

I hesitate. I don't want to pass up an opportunity to know more. It's not my business and this might be all that she's comfortable sharing... but I make a move regardless.

ALAN: I saw your husband leave before the show was over.

JOANNA: Yeah, that was him. He left because he'd said all that he'd been waiting to say.

ALAN: How do you mean?

JOANNA: He was eager to vent. I could tell, it was all pent-up. He made me feel like trash for arriving later than I said I would and for making work a priority... even though I had told him that tonight I might need to. He knew why. It didn't matter. He saw the excuse to attack and he pounced on it. Then in the parking lot, while the kids waited in the car, it got truly shitty. I said stuff, but he said worse. One thing in particular. And those are details that I definitely won't bother you with.

In between exchanging these lines I leave the sink and move onto the living room couch, having left some of the cutlery unwashed. But it's fine, as neither Sergio nor Hiranur would feel obligated to touch them on a night when it's not their turn.

JOANNA: He's apologized now. But it's been happening for a while. Me having to walk on eggshells around his insecurity. His pettiness at times. Not only am I tired of it... I can't believe I'm the one who has to be this apologetic and this fucking accommodating. It should be him.

We've never been here before. Her married life was something that I always expected to remain forever unwrapped and unvisited. I'm not sure what to do with this sudden barrage of information... other than to keep listening.

Joanna tells me the story. He had an affair with a business partner for several months. She found out about it, he didn't tell her. The woman was someone he'd had over at their house several times, someone Joanna had even become friends with. She found the woman's earring in the master bathroom that she shares with her husband, and she later confirmed the suspicions by checking his phone. It broke her heart. She came all too close to leaving him. He begged her not to, he owned up to everything and ended it immediately. He had his reasoning for the affair but didn't try to justify himself. He was sincerely sorry, Joanna says. She knows that for a fact. He didn't want to completely kill what they had - and after some time she figured that, for the sake of the kids, neither did she. So she stayed.

JOANNA: But I don't know where I am anymore. This has messed me up big time. It's made me reassess everything. Absolutely everything. If he wasn't willing to make what we had the center of his world... why should I? I said I'd forgive him, but in all honesty, I haven't been able to do so completely. He's noticed and his response has been to punish me for it. He doesn't seem to realize that he's simply made it harder.

JOANNA: We had something good. But he ruined it, not me.

ALAN: You haven't given up, though. Otherwise, you would've left already.

JOANNA: I haven't. I go back and forth with it. But I don't feel I can just yet.

ALAN. Good. I hope it pays off. And that things work out for the best. Really, I do.

ALAN: But I've missed you. Even if I understand why you've been pulling away. Or I think I do, at least.

JOANNA: I think that if you were to tell me your reading of it, you'd be pretty much on the money.

JOANNA: It's crazy how well we know each other by now.

JOANNA: I've missed you too. More than you know.

I let some time pass before my next line. I think of only one thing to say.

ALAN: When you're done figuring things out, send me a line. I'd like to hang out again at some point. As friends. I'd like that a lot, actually.

JOANNA: I'd love that. And I will.

JOANNA: Thank you, Alan. For understanding.

...

JOANNA

This feels like an empty day still.

It's Friday. I spent the entire day covering a cocktail event thrown by city hall. By request from my editor I stayed until the end, only to quickly grow bored of it and fall behind on work that I could've gotten a head start on. Now here I am, in fancy wear and back at the paper because I needed to come back for my big purse. Katie's convinced me, by way of non-stop pestering, to hit a club for drinks before heading home. I'm spinning on a revolving chair while waiting for her to shut down the glitchy laptop that's the target of her constant cussing... when Alan's text arrives.

I wrote to him earlier today. We haven't communicated at all since the December talent show early in the month. We're now just days away from New Year's. He stayed all too true to his promise of giving me space. I decided on a whim, during a free moment at the cocktail party, that it was as good a time as any to renew friendly communications. I wrote, simply, that I hoped he'd had a good Christmas.

ALAN: I sure did. A very t-shirt themed Christmas, though. I probably look like someone who's short on polo t-shirts, because I got no less than five of those. No joke.

An Alan text in my inbox. I forgot how easily that could make me smile.

JOANNA: Ooh. Wear 'em with a popped collar!

ALAN: Hehe. I'd pull it off.

JOANNA: Let me guess what you actually wanted. Music. And more music.

ALAN: I would've loved some. But I'm joking, I like my new shirts.

JOANNA: See, music and books is all I get nowadays. It's all people think I'll enjoy. They're worried about getting me the wrong size, so they stay clear from getting me something to wear. You know not how lucky you are.

ALAN: Whatever, I'm spoiled. Let's trade stuff.

Katie goes for a last trip to the bathroom. While still spinning on my chair, I ask Alan conversationally what he's up to tonight, in teasing tones that assume he has nothing going on. But he mentions a party.

ALAN: It's the theatre guys behind the 'Gramping Amaze' musical, they're celebrating the super-successful year they had. They're inviting a talent manager, who's inviting a college buddy, who's inviting a bunch of us. It's supposed to be a wild one. I did not wanna go, I'll tell you that much. Sergio heard about it and got obsessed with me taking him. But I'll be seeing a lot of old friends, so that's fun.

JOANNA: Well, you sound super excited.

ALAN: OMG, I AM SO EXCITED. Not.

JOANNA: Hehe. Dork. You're such an old man already.

ALAN: Hey, why don't you come?

Katie's back. I'm not in the mood for a loud party at all. I actually understand completely why Alan wouldn't want to go. And yet.

"Hey."

"Almost done," Katie says. "Count till fifteen and we're out of here."

"Do you want to hit a party?"

"Are you serious? Whose is it?"

I ask Alan for directions and whether it's OK for Katie to come with. He writes: Sure. Every party needs a sourpuss.

Then...

I can't believe I got you to consider it.

...

The neighborhood's leafy and posh, with pretty houses left and right. I've been here before for a birthday that Jack was invited to. With Katie's car driving in front of me, I slowly make my way around the corner, where attractive grunge-styled partygoers have spilled out from the sidewalk and now occupy the street at large. The house, full to the brim, is impossible to miss. This is the last place I'd expect to find Alan if I didn't know better.

On the left side of the house there's a driveway that leads to where everyone is leaving their cars, a spacious backyard about four times the area of the residence. There's a casually-dressed pair of valets helping to coordinate the parking. Katie gets sent to the right, beyond the nice oak they've got planted right at the center. I'm told to go to the far left corner, right next to the shrub fence that surrounds the property - where some tricky parallel parking is required. As soon as I shut off the engine I pull out my phone to send Alan a line, but the signal is weak. I try to call him, but nothing.

"This looks fucking perfect," Katie tells me, looking up at the house as we make our way towards the crowded back porch.

"I know, right? You wanted booze and music and they look like they've got plenty." I keep throwing frustrated swipes at my phone screen. "Alan doesn't know we're here yet, I can't get a text out."

"Whatever, you'll meet him inside. Do you think someone will have pot?"

"Pretty likely."

"Fingers crossed," she says with a jittery chuckle.

Inside the house I find to my relief that we're nowhere close to being the oldest people here. The only thing we may stand out for is my formal pantsuit - white blazer and pants, black sleeveless blouse underneath - but I'm likely the only one who'd care. The vibe is uninhibited, loud and sweaty, with laughter ringing from all sides and two full dance floors in two separate parlors. The front hall is lined with two tables set with every liquor in the book. Not a minute has gone by when we see our first bong. I feel Katie excitedly clenching my shoulder.

Before I'm able to find Alan, I realize that Katie has started talking to two guys. Handsome, clean-cut, mid-twenties. It takes my ears a while to acclimate to the loudness.

"I said I'm Tim! And this is Derrick!"

"I'm Katie! Hey, Joanna, I think these guys think we're pretty!"

"We had our eye on you guys for a while! Since the moment you stepped through the door!" says Derrick.

"That's not even five minutes, is it?" I say.

"You guys look fancy!" says Derrick, eyeing my pantsuit. "Let me guess, talent agents? Or at least YOU are!"

Katie and I share a laugh. "Totally."

Tim and Derrick ask us who we're with, how we know the party throwers, what we do for jobs. Katie asks them offhandedly if they know Alan, but they say they don't. Just as Tim starts gravitating towards Katie's side, Derrick does the same in my direction, and I take it as my cue to leave. I tell Katie something in private and excuse myself as smoothly as I can.

Only once I start looking for Alan do I realize how inappropriate it might be. He came here to hang out with his friends, not me. Still, he did invite me, and flirting with single men alongside Katie is not what I came here to do. I'll limit it to a hello and a quick drink before heading home, which is looking more and more tempting. The non-stop dancing of dozens of people is having the effect of a dialed-up heater, which compels me to linger by the open doors or windows whenever I pass them. I'm in the middle of taking off my white blazer when my eyes are drawn to a group of friends occupying two couches in the corner, right by the sliding back doors that lead to the porch. I get the sudden certainty that I'm about to recognize him. They're singing to the tune of two guitars. Alan's right in the middle, his cheeks a little reddened. They hold their tune earnestly, heaving and huffing, almost overpowering the loudness of the dance music. Until one of them screws up and they break down laughing. So endearing. This is the best possible way in which I could've found him.

He sees me. His eyes go wide, as does his smile, and he immediately stands up to come greet me. His friends stare after him.

"You came!"

"Look at you!" I say, admiring his party duds. Black shirt with short sleeves, fancy dress shoes. "You really mean business. No polo shirt, though. I'm disappointed."

"Were you marveling at my singing? Be honest."

"Yes. But fortunately I couldn't hear anything."

He laughs. "Eff you. I'm going for another drink, you want one?"

"Of course. Because it's right by the open door, where oxygen is still a thing."

We open our beers and drink them standing by the table... and we just dive into talking, moving only when people let us know we're blocking their access. We talk about everything, allowing ourselves long detailed tangents, like we used to. He tells me about his class, I tell him about my kids and work, and somehow everything feels like a worthy and fascinating anecdote. He takes my jacket, which I'm carrying in my hand, and asks an acquaintance on a different couch to keep an eye on it. I tell him I don't want to keep him from his friends for long, but he shrugs it off and insists that I let him introduce me. We go back to their corner, and as I hear their names I'm engulfed by the sense of mystique that I've always felt for Alan's college years. His theatre exploits, the plays where he performed, the girlfriends, the goofs. I get to hear about the time he got comically angry at everyone during a hungover-heavy rehearsal. The time his wig fell off while he was up on stage and someone slipped on it. His friends are as laid-back and unassuming as he is. The girls seem particularly comfortable with him, like he's a big brother whose neck they can casually wrap an arm around while smoking a cigarette.

When they start setting up a drinking game, Alan excuses himself and comes to my side.

"Are you not gonna play?" I ask. "Come on, let's do this!"

"No way. You can't get too drunk, you still have to drive home."

"Oh, whatever! What are you, my dad?"

He laughs hard at that one. "Fine. Get super hammered, see if I care."

"I don't want to anymore. Not a fan of Vodka."

"You're a pain in the ass. You know what? Let's dance. Like the cool kids we are."

I require no convincing. I haven't danced in a while, but I'm not allergic to it. I'm left completely taken aback by how smooth Alan is on the dance floor. Confident, sexy, capable of drawing fluid semi-circles with his hips and feet to the tune of his own finger snapping. His black shirt and thick arms do the rest of the work for him. He very easily stands out from the bunch. I also give it my best shot, and once I start enjoying myself I simply go with the flow. Every so often Alan spices up his act with goofy disco moves just to make me laugh. It takes me a long time to remember that Katie's here with me, somewhere in the crowd. But my phone hasn't rung. Surely she's fine.

A Salsa song starts playing. Following the lead of couples around us, Alan requests permission to put his hand on my waist, which I grant with a nod, and proceeds to show how well-versed he is in this, too. Pushing me away, pulling me back close, spinning me, all while putting his own feet through these complex back-and-forths. I tell him I underestimated him; he replies with a joke I can't quite hear. I feel myself melding completely into the crowd. I'm now like any other guest, someone who found here their own way to have fun.

We finish out of breath and sweatier than I was prepared to get. If not for the heat, I could've kept at it a while longer. We crash on the couch where we had laid my white blazer and I finish the rest of my beer with two long swigs.

"See how everyone's looking at us?" he asks.

I chuckle. "They are not."

"They are. We looked good up there."

"Am I wrong or did I step on you?" I ask.

"You did a couple of times. But it's OK, I stepped on the guy behind me a couple times. Why do you think he changed spots? What goes around comes around. Are you glad you came?"

"I am. And no one's stolen my abandoned jacket yet, so that's good."

We continue catching our breaths in silence. I could use another beer to cool down, but for various reasons I don't want him to see me drinking anymore. We chitchat at odd intervals, comfortable with the silences, me suppressing the urge to push him towards his friends again. My internal clock is set on going home in a few more minutes anyway.

"Hey, I'm gonna check up on Aurora," he says, suddenly getting up. "She'd said she might need a ride at nine, maybe she still does. Are you planning on staying longer?"

"I need to ask Katie first. I've totally abandoned her."

"Gotcha. Well, see you later? If you stay."

"I mean, I might not. But If I do, I'll bother you for sure."

I stay on the couch an extra minute or two, enjoying the bits of breeze that reach me from the open front door. Later, I find Katie in the other lounge, dancing closely with Tim, her guy from earlier. He lays a long kiss on her, which she returns in eager fashion. It's certainly not their first of the night. I'm about to turn around, but Tim sees me and lets her know I'm there. She comes up to me laughing, as if I've caught her doing a shamefully hilarious thing, like talking to herself in the mirror.

"Good for you!" I say. "He looks friendly."

"What have you been doing?" she yells excitedly. She signals Tim to give her a minute. "I'm sorry, I feel that I abandoned you!"

"You didn't at all, I'm glad you're having all the fun. I actually felt the same."

"Did you find Alan?" she asks as we move to the nearest couch. She's not drunk, but she's definitely buzzed. Tim signals at her again. He leaves the dance floor and heads for the stairs.

"I did, we said hi and everything. I was thinking of heading home now, but I'm worried about you. How much longer are you gonna stay?"

"I'm not sure... but it's OK, they say that the guys who rented the house are fine with people leaving their cars here overnight as long as they don't have to drink and drive. I was thinking of you as my ride, but if you're about to leave it's no problem, Jo, I'll just call a cab."

"No, it's OK. I can wait for you. I was just worried you'd get too hammered. Really cool of them to let people do that."

"Yup. And that's not the only thing they're OK with people doing. Why do you think most of the rooms upstairs are locked? Locked from the inside, baby."

"Shut up."

"True story."

"Is that's why Tim ran upstairs just now?"

"Nah, we were just gonna smoke a bit in privacy." She then adds with a grin, "But I shouldn't waste a party, should I?"

...

I know why he left my side. Even if the "she needs a ride" story was true, Alan's doing what Alan does. Giving me space. Making sure he's wanted before he covers his own half of the distance. Despite the fact that I contacted him first, came to his party and danced myself out of breath with him, he still sees a need for it. I settle on the same couch where we spoke last - my legs crossed, one arm spread along the backrest, my head tilted back - and I'm suddenly overcome by a very filling sense of comfort. It's not quite sleepiness, even if it could become that if given some time. It's just a nice sense of ease, an acquired lack of rush. I've been having my second beer of the night while I wait. Every swig is a cold delight. Also enjoyable: the cool air on my bare arms, courtesy of the open windows.

"You a dancer?" someone says, making me open my eyes. A handsome guy, older than me, his hand outstretched. I shake my head with a smile and he goes back to his spot on the floor, well aware that he flattered me. Then I see Alan. Way in the back, emerging from the kitchen, talking to his gang. I look away and return to my lull... but I can't suppress my relief at seeing him back.

I wait calmly for his eye contact. When he finally sees me, he starts making his way towards me in his very own dorky manner. Performing old-timey disco moves, the twist, the mashed potato. It gets a hearty laugh from me.

"I would've sworn you left already," he says, plopping on the couch next to me.

"Should I have?"

"Hell no. I would've come sooner if I'd known for sure you were still here."

"Aha. Well, we have Katie to thank for that," I say. "I'll be her ride tonight. See, now you have a reason to like her."

"I've always kind of liked her. She's hilarious, in her own cynical way."

"Aw. I'll tell her you said that. The 'kind of' excluded."

"I'll just wait here for you to want to dance again."

"Do you want to get stepped on some more?" I ask.

"No, I just want to be seen dancing with you. Makes me the envy of the ball."

I smile and close my eyes again, just as a delicious gust of wind bathes my neck and shoulders from behind. A light excitement bubbles up. Before I know it I'm back on my feet, tightly surrounded with people and locked in eye contact with Alan. An upbeat Latin song starts playing and my stomach leaps. I'd been fearing it. Hoping for it, too. Alan goes in for contact much sooner than he had before. I feel his big hand on my waist, the other in my own hand. I feel his knuckles, the hair on his wrist. He twirls me again, outwards then inwards, my chest pressing up against his every new time we collide. Rinse and repeat. My hair flails about, repeatedly covering half my face and forcing me to shake it off. I step on his feet again, twice, which we find funnier than we should.

I know that what's on my mind is also on his. This is where we thought things were headed before. We then interrupted that collision course, yet here we are once more. I'll stop it again, I tell myself. I just need the taste. I keep the dance going, I keep moving, very OK with the fact that his hand on my waist is pressing harder than before. I refrain from holding onto his arms just as tightly. The music turns slower, but he doesn't let up. We're closer, tighter than ever... but all the initiative is his. I'm afraid he'll feel discouraged and that this will be the last of it for us, for good this time. A thought that I've had more and more as we reach the end of December revisits me. The fact that this has been such a lousy year. So empty. Like it didn't count, and I've lost more than I gained.

I venture a hand past his neck and onto the back of his head. I feel his warm, sweaty hair between my fingers. Then his thumb starts tracing my bottom lip. So pleasantly ticklish. With every passing moment I wonder if I've reached the point of no return. Yet I don't want to go back to the couch knowing that nothing happened. I just don't. I realize that with smooth simplicity. His blue eyes are now closer than they've ever been. There's no need to think about the future. No need for it at all.

His mouth lands on me and his beard along with it. The softness of his lips slides over the softness of mine... and that's all we do for a moment. We just feel. Then he closes the kiss with a gentle contraction, and that could have been the end of it, and I would've left that dance floor with my most thrilling memory of the past few months. But he goes in for more. His hand goes to my lower back and he pushes me closer with an eagerness that tells me he's been pining for this for too long. So have I. It grows hungrier, wetter, and I get to taste him just as well as he does me. By the end it turns into a fully open-mouthed affair. And then, with a rushed, loud smack, it's over. He quickly looks around. I do the same.

I swallow. I see him lick his lips, which were left wet and glistening. We're both panting. He's looking down at me, but I can't bring myself to look up. This is it right here. The point of no return.

Just when I think he's about to say something, he softly lays two little pecks on my forehead. The perfect follow-up. I finally hold onto his arms the way I've been wanting to.

"I'm sorry," he says, close to my ear.

"No," I reply. "Hey. Don't be."

"No?"

"No." We've become the deadest couple on the floor, our dancing now amounting to slow swaying in each other's arms. I don't want to go back to the couch. If I do, the bubble will burst, and I know that I'll let it. I'll go back to reason, and reason would have me back in my car and on the road, headed home. Whereas madness, it's never seemed friendlier.

"Do you want to go upstairs?" I ask. I feel my belly trembling. I know he'll understand what I mean.

"No, wait," I add, contemplating the risk of running into Katie. "My car."

"Your car?"

"Yeah. Meet me there."

"Where is it parked?"

I explain the exact location of it and offer him the keys. He says I should go first. I tell him he could get lost and I'd be left waiting in the car. He asks, half-serious, why I would assume he's got such a bad sense of direction. That we can still find laughs in this soothes me. Things remain the same, so they remain easy.

"Let's go together," he says behind me. "You go ahead and I'll follow."

Just before we reach the porch, I see, out the corner of my eye, Sergio, whom I know casually from my kids' school and whom I know to be Alan's roommate. He doesn't notice me, but he leaps boisterously at Alan.

"Theatre boy!" I hear behind me. He'll keep Alan busy for a while. I just keep on walking.

When I reach my car, the two valets are busy on the other end of the backyard. I get in through the back door and quickly close it behind me - and suddenly there's silence and I'm by myself, with myself. I listen to my own breathing for a while. Repeated attempts to control the trembling of my belly are a lost cause. I've decided to commit wholeheartedly to what's about to happen. No point doing it any other way. I somehow know exactly what to do. I have two sun shades in the car and two is all I need, as the view from the rear window is covered by the tall pick-up truck parked behind me, while on the right there's a solid wall of shrubs. I lay one across the windshield so that it's perfectly covered, and the other I keep at the ready.

After fifteen-or-so minutes I finally see Alan coming. But he's approached by a valet.

"Will you be taking your car out, sir?"

"No. No, I'm just gonna get something. From the glove compartment."

He opens the unlocked door to the driver's seat, gets a knee in and stretches towards the glove compartment. Half-hidden from view, I see the valet lingering behind him, probably suspicious.

"Pass me the keys, pass 'em," Alan mumbles to me. I do that, suppressing my laughter. Alan slides back out, closes the door and audibly lock it with the remote.

"Got it, thanks." I see him walk back towards the house... then he turns back around. He remote-unlocks it again. The valet, now appeased, simply ignores him this time. Alan opens the back door and quickly slides in. I'm laughing hard even before his door is closed.

"That took long," he says, chuckling himself. "Sergio would not shut up. Every time I tried to go he kept yanking me back and pushing a beer on me. I had to stay with them until they went back inside."

"Ooh, a beer. Sounds awesome. Go get me one."

"Yeah, I'll get right on that," he replies. The laughing slowly dials down to zero and silence sets in. It's what I wanted. It makes my heart thump at top speed. This silence is easily the most sensual music of the evening.

"Come here," I say in a whisper. I lay a hand on the back of his neck and pull him towards me, eager - all too eager - to feel his mouth on mine again. I hear my own soft moan as we lock lips again with an urgency that I have to actively keep under control. He responds in kind, and it's never been clearer how much, and for how long, we've wanted one another exactly where we are right now. The car fills with the sounds of kissing and heavy breathing. His tongue dances with mine and I smell the perfect blend that is his cologne and the musk from an evening at a sweaty party. With him leaning back on his side and me kneeling on the seat over him, I give my hands free rein upon his chest and his perfectly full arms, kneading the flesh of both until I can imagine them red. His own hands find their way to my hips and then - slowly, as if it was necessary - my ass. He squeezes to his heart's delight, covering every angle. His mouth abandons mine and swiftly moves to my neck, where the prickling of his beard triggers a hodgepodge of evocations that cover everything from suppressed sexual fantasies to my childhood.

I move my right knee to the area between his legs so as to expand my center of gravity. During the breather, Alan notices the sunshade at his feet.

"Did you need this for something?" he asks breathlessly. Something had been poking at the back of my mind and this was it.

"Fuck. Yes I did."

He unfolds it and places it himself across both left-side windows. I'm parked in a pretty corner, but the sunshade certainly completes the perfect picture. As I see him do it, I'm suddenly overcome by a joyous certainty: this is someone I can afford to give all of myself to. Be what I haven't been in a long while. He turns back to me and kisses me tenderly with his hands on both sides of my face. I take great pleasure in slowly opening his mouth with mine and drawing thickly wet sounds from a full-fledged entwining of tongues. We laugh softly into each other's mouths. In my horny state, this is simply the perfect kiss. I lower myself to a level where my crotch can be in contact with his right thigh and as he keeps working my neck I start to softly grind against him. I gasp as the effect on my labia keeps building with each new back-and-forth.

The windows fog up. It would now be hard to see into the car even without the sunshades. I encourage Alan's fondling of my breasts by placing a hand over his to guide it. He takes his face to them and sucks on one through the black fabric of my top. He then starts pulling it up. I wasn't set on how far we'd be going... but this I second-guess for a moment. He senses it and stops, even though I was ready to let him. I keep guiding his fondling until he presses his face square between them. I run my fingers through his sweaty hair once more.

Outside, a very loud group has gathered just steps from our door. Alan pulls away, now nervous. I don't let his mind wander for long. I steal his mouth again just as my hand finds his cock, tightly pressed beneath his jeans. It's so hard that I can even feel the head through the thick fabric. I let my legs slide to the floor and - slowly, so as not to shake the car even a smidge - I move towards his belt buckle.

"Oh God," he whispers. He wasn't expecting it. Outside, the group says their goodbyes amid loud bursts of laughter. It's now Alan's turn to run his fingers through my hair as I undo his belt and unbutton his jeans. He lifts his butt off the seat in a comically slow manner to allow me to slide them down. I can only suppress a snicker. He shushes me while trying not to laugh himself, tortured by the loudness of his clinking belt buckle.

With his pants down to his ankles, I'm met by the sight of his strong and hairy thighs, which I'm quick to slide my hands over. In this light, his boxers-covered portion is just a plain black rectangle. My hand finds his covered cock again, warm under the thin cloth. I run my fingers over all the contours. I even find the wet spot on the tip. He pulls the boxers down to his hips and I take them the rest of the way.

I see his cock for the second time. It's not pixels on a screen anymore. About two fists' worth and a little extra in length, thick enough that my thumb and index barely meet around it. And so warm. I preface with a series of kisses on his thighs, the sexy scent of sex growing stronger the closer I get to it. It makes me salivate. Holding it in place, I give it one long lick along the side. It gets saltier towards the tip. I lick the side again, kiss it, fill it with saliva as I move up. With my eyes closed, I let the glans rub lightly over my lips and nose, smearing myself with precum all over. The conversation outside dwindles and is soon replaced by the thumps of closing car doors and the starting of engines.

I glance up at him and find him looking exactly how I want to. His brow deeply furrowed, as if dealing with his lust took an active muscular effort. With his eyes set on mine, I give the tip of his cock a kiss-like suck, soaking it with saliva and charging my taste buds with even more data. My tongue swirls all over the surface. The teasing goes on for a few more beats until I finally allow the top half of his cock to slide into my mouth. I keep it there for a long moment. Then I go in for another dunking. And another. I keep the rhythm slow, loving the texture of the veins, the glans, the foreskin stretching and contracting. At one point he places his hand on my head and gently starts guiding me.

I eventually pull out for a breather, moving locks of hair out of my face before deciding to comb it all backwards like a mane. My panties feel soaked in warmth, to the point where I'm worried it'll show through. While I rest, Alan keeps his own fire alive by stroking himself, just inches from my face. The sight pumps me with adrenaline. I run my hand along his navel and slide his shirt upwards, exposing a hairy abdomen that I would kiss if I were better positioned. I caress his bare thighs, hips and stomach while he masturbates for me.

Then I take him back in. As far in as my throat a couple of times. I start using my teeth, letting them lightly graze the glans every time he slides out. He gasps but I can tell the sensitivity works in his favor... so much so that I realize I can make him finish just by staying in that area. I limit the sucking to the glans, with special emphasis on the inner edges, and simply let loose, knowing that any kind of stimulus will do the job at this point. His breathing grows more and more intermittent - until a load of hot semen starts spilling all over my tongue. Alan's hips rise up to meet me as he lets out a breathless groan, his head tilts backwards. I keep sucking until every last drop of his orgasm is out of him. Then I swallow and let his cock slide out. It bounces once or twice on its spot, glistening, happily spent.

"Are you OK?" is the first thing Alan finds to say.

"How do you mean?"

"I mean being on the floor. Are... aren't your legs cramping?"

"A little. I'm frankly more worried about getting these white pants dirty." I take his hand and pull myself back onto the seat. He pulls his pants back up, punctuating every movement with clinking from his belt. I wipe my lips. I imagine he's having trouble thinking of the right thing to say or figuring out exactly what it is I need to hear. I'm sure that I'd be just as stunted after an orgasm, with the high now gone. But it's certainly not gone yet for me. Once it is, it'll all come crashing down. There's no doubt that I'll regret this once I'm back in this car alone and headed home. I know that. But I'll keep it at bay as long as I can.

The flash of his phone camera goes off - for a photo that he just took of himself. He grins at my puzzled look.

"I'm always gonna be jealous of who I am right now. And where I am this instant. I needed a picture of it."

"Oh wow. You actually found it," I say.

"Found what?"

"The right thing to say. And to do, for that matter. Well, one of several. You could have picked any of them, but that was pretty good."

"Were you doubting I would?"

"I mean, you have your moments," I say. "But sometimes they're... dumb moments?"

"How dare you. All that I say is awesome."

"I should've recorded your jokes about the items at the baby shop that time. That stuff was rough, man."

He does the throaty laugh that reveals he's truly amused.

"I better not say anything else, then."

"Exactly. Why ruin a good thing."

I contemplate kissing him again. Or taking our shoes off and enjoying each other for another half hour of pure conversation, just to prove that it's doable. Then my phone rings with Katie's name on the screen, and it's almost a relief. That I get to leave knowing that it ended this well. We step outside, where the night air now feels freezing in contrast to the car.

Katie meets us at the foot of the stairs, her buzz stronger than ever. She lays both hands on Alan's cheeks, which she never would've done sober, and thanks him for the invitation. She introduces him to Tim in detail, as if one had any reason to be interested in the other ("This guy here, he's a teacher. And you won't believe what he's a teacher of. Second grade!"). Alan plays along and, for the first time, gets some laughter out of her. I suspect that in her normal state, Katie might've picked up on our vibe. She would've had questions for me on the drive home. But not this Katie. For the here and now, this Katie is ideal.

"Are you OK to drive?" Alan asks me as we reach the back porch.

"I didn't even finish my second beer. I'm totally fine."

"OK. Go safe."

"I will, don't worry. You too."

We hug briefly with Katie watching. She gives him a quick wave goodbye, and a moment later she and I are crossing the lawn and headed for my car. All of it simple and dry. There was no room for more.

As I open my door, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I sit and fasten my seatbelt before I check the text on the swipe-down notifications, which show a miniature version of the photo he took of himself. I leave it unseen for now. Something to look forward to.