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Of course, he’s cool and collected.

Of course, he’s focused on work first.

Of course, I’m glad he trusts my judgement. I fuck Yorgos if it’s necessary. I don’t if it’s not.

Great.

No need for backup.

No problem at all.

That night, after I shower, and dress, and kiss Matteo goodbye like I know he won’t make it back, I take a cab to Yorgos’s place.

I enter with a key.

The apartment is just like the one Matteo and I viewed earlier. All floor to ceiling windows, modern fixtures, and a balcony with a view of the quiet street below.

It has a certain soulless beauty, especially in its current state of corporate décor. Bland paintings on the walls, average Ikea furniture, absolutely no touches of personality anywhere.

He’s not here yet, but there’s a note on the kitchen counter. “Meeting might run late. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen.”

I search the place from top to bottom, but I don’t find anything interesting. So I pull The Picture of Dorian Gray from the shelf of classic literature, sit on the couch, and try to relax.

Forty-five minutes later, Yorgos arrives. He takes in my casual yet sexy white blouse and blue jeans and smiles with that classic Yorgos charm. “You look gorgeous, Jamie.”

“You too.” Really, he looks great in his sleek suit. I focus on that. The way the white of his shirt brings out his olive skin tone. He’s a handsome man. I appreciate the objective nature of it, even if I don’t feel any flutter in my stomach.

“Let me fix you a drink. Gin, right?” he asks.

“Gin and tonic if you have it. With ice. Thanks,” I say.

He moves into the kitchen. Grabs ice from the freezer. Then it’s gin in the fridge. A bottle of tonic water he splits between us.

A lime he slices. One squeeze for him. The rest for me.

He brings the drinks to the couch and toasts.

I take a sip, but I wait for him to swallow first.

The drink is safe. And I’m still tense. So I take another sip. It’s not ideal strategy, to drink my way to wanting to fuck him. I won’t be sharp enough.

But I’m good enough to do this tipsy.

“You seem nervous,” he says.

“I’ve never cheated before. If you can believe it.” That’s one of the only lines I’ve never crossed.

“If you’re here to prove a point to your boyfriend, we can leave it here. We can talk. You can go home and tell him what happened. Hell, I can send you pictures that will make him sure we’re lovers when he snoops on your phone. But I’m only going to fuck you if you want to fuck me.”

I’m not selling this. He can sense something is up.

I press my palm into the fake leather couch. I call upon all my desire for Matteo.

And I look Yorgos in the eyes. “How about we kiss and see how that feels?” I don’t give him a chance to reply. I lean in and press my lips to his.

He kisses back softly.

He tastes like gin and he kisses with a nice mix of tenderness and curiosity.