After the bar: Nina Simone and the first time.

I pressed play on the CD. She set her glass on the coffee table, then reached for mine. She set it next to hers and held her hand out. I pulled her up. She smiled at the stereo, “I love this song. We’re dancing.”

“I never have.”

“You are tonight.”

My Baby Just Cares for Me played, and we slow danced. She talked in my ear, “I knew I liked you, John. I knew it right when I saw you. You’re fucking perfect. Thank you for the best night I’ve had in over two years, if not longer.”

“Likewise.”

By the middle of the next song, we were kissing and she was pulling my shirt off, which led to the bed in less than a verse. We went at it like rabbits, then like lazy, drunken people, then like rabbits again. Her body was perfect to the point of ridiculousness.   In the morning she was at the table, writing me a note. I put my pants on.

“Morning.” I kissed her head, then her lips. She set the pen down. I started some coffee and called from the kitchen, “Want some eggs, baby?”

“I should get back,” she said. I walked out of the kitchen. She was putting her coat on. I walked up behind her and wrapped my arms around her. She put her hands on my forearms, “It’s too fast, John, and I like you too much already. I’ve never jumped into bed with a man like that. I don’t want you thinking anything.”

I turned her around and took off her coat, “We’re better than that. Get your ass back to the table.”

After sex we ate. After that, we were locked at the hip.