The view overlooked Grant Park and Lake Michigan to the left and downtown to the right. Alex and the apartment had a lot in common. It was a magnificent apartment, and I was sure I’d never be able to afford it. In fact, just allowing myself to dream about the possibility was dangerous for my well-being.

But the space would suit for our current purposes.

I turned to find Alex standing in front of the entryway as though blocking any attempt I might make to escape. His arms were at his sides, but his hands were still balled into fists. He was looking at me—half desperation, half determination, half animosity.

That’s right. He was looking at me 150%.

So I paced. I tore off my jacket and flung it to a chair. I put my hands on my h*ps then swung them away. The burden of his glare seemed lessened while I stayed in motion.

He spoke first. “You promised me three months.”

“Yeah, well, you promised me spending the night.”

“I did spend the night.”

“You know what I mean. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

His jaw clenched.

Before my brain could contemplate my mouth’s intent, I blurted, “What do you have to do with bitcoins?”

Alex’s eyes narrowed, and the animosity in his glare trumped the desperation and determination. “Where did…who have you…what do you know?”

“Nothing. I know absolutely nothing, as a matter of fact. My friend Janie did her best to explain the concept, but I admit, the whole thing seems ridiculous. Electronic currency based on mathematical algorithms, what the heck?”

“Why are you asking me about them?”

“Because Agent Bell brought them up.”

“Did she approach you again? She told me she was going to back off. You have to tell me if she contacts you.”

“No.” My response was clipped, impatient, and I didn’t try to soften it. “I haven’t seen Agent Bell for weeks. She mentioned bitcoins the first time, the only time, I met her. And you still haven’t answered the question.”

“Believe me, Sandra,” he answered through gritted teeth, “you’re better off if I tell you nothing about it.”

I stared at him for an indeterminate period, incredulous that he could be so patronizing. “Can you hear yourself? Can you hear the words that are coming out of your mouth?”

“You shouldn’t be involved….”

“So you think I’m better off not knowing why you were imprisoned, and I don’t need to know why you have no plans to sleep with me. In short, just do as you’re told, Sandra, and ask no questions.” I growled, mostly to myself, and spoke, mostly to myself. “It’s not really even about the physical intimacy. It’s about the fact that I don’t even get to know why. Well, it is about the intimacy too, but that involves a great deal of trust….”

“It’s not about you.”

“It is.” I stopped pacing, pointed to myself. “In a relationship, that’s how it works. It’s never about one person. It’s always about both. If we’re together, like you claim we are, then it’s about both of us. You don’t get to reserve giant parts of yourself. You wouldn’t want me to do that to you.”

Alex stared at me, his knuckles white. “I promise you, you don’t want to know the truth.”

“Were you molested? Raped in prison?” Words that others might have tripped over came easily to me, occupational immunization. However, after I said them, the thought that they might be applied to Alex made my heart seize with painful and intense misery.

“No. Nothing like that,” he said, his expression abruptly sad. “Sandra, I….” He breathed out, a heavy rasping sigh that was loud and frustrated. Then he cursed. Several times.

Alex crossed to the couch and sat down as though exhausted; his elbows were on his knees, his face in his hands. I hesitated for a long moment, then decided to brave sitting on the couch. Although, since I didn’t trust myself to sit within his reach, I opted for leaning against the wide sofa arm.

“Alex, you need to give me something. I need to know that we have a future that includes normal adult intimacy.”

“Sandra….” He sucked in a breath, held it, then said; “I’ve been watching you for months, over a year, and not just at the restaurant. When you’d leave late from your dates, I’d follow you home to make sure you arrived at your building safely.”

This gave me pause, but explained how he knew where I lived.

I could either be distressed by this confession and build myself a seven-layer cake of freak-outs, or prompt him for more information. I chose the latter.

“Well, now I feel like my privacy has been violated,” I deadpanned.

He sighed a laugh at my joke, and I was glad he appreciated my sarcasm.

“Seriously, why? Why would you do that? Why not just talk to me?”

“Because you were too perfect. Every week—or every other week—you’d come in on Friday, order exactly the same thing, and make your date cry.”

“And this made me perfect?”

“At first it was very disorienting. You were so….” His shoulders and back rose with a deep, unsteady intake of air.

I was breathless with anticipation. “I was so…?”

“Distressing to watch.”

“Um….”

What the what?

I wrinkled my nose. “Okay.”

“What I mean is….” He let his hands drop, leaned back into the couch, and turned to face me. “The first time I saw you, you stunned me. I don’t think you noticed me, but I couldn’t stop staring at you. You were….” His eyes lost focus with the memory.

He shook his head but didn’t continue the thought. Instead, he said, “It was summer. You wore a yellow dress, your hair was a little shorter, and you were gorgeous, unbelievably beautiful. Then, when you finally looked at me to order, you were polite, removed, and you felt untouchable, invulnerable. And then, a few minutes after I left the table, your date started to cry.”

Untouchable. Invulnerable.

Seeing myself through Alex’s eyes was disconcerting.

“And then the same thing happened the next time you came in. You were exquisite, and you were making these grown men cry, every time. At first, I kind of hated you for it, and thought you were one of those physically attractive women with no soul, who use people. But it was so bizarre that I started listening.”

“You mean eavesdropping?”

“Yes. Then it was hilarious.”

“It was hilarious?”

“Yes.”

“Pray tell, how so?”

“Well, with me, when I’d come to take your order, you were controlled, distant, cold. It made me feel like shit.”

“Oh, Alex.” I slipped onto the couch and reached for his hand, squeezed it.

“No, no. It’s fine.” He squeezed my hand back. “It’s like you flipped a switch before looking up, and then you put on a mask, or maybe you took it off. I didn’t know. But with the men, at first, you were friendly. You were funny. You made me laugh just listening to you. But these idiots just stared at you, not laughing. These were the parts of the dates I’d listen to, the very beginning, where you’d try to engage them.”

“And I was hilarious?”

“Yes. However, as the dates progressed and they began to tell their stories, you’d slip on a mask of detachment, and then they would cry. It never occurred to me that these were dates. Most of them even thanked you afterward. It got to the point where I didn’t know which was the mask, and which was the real you.”

“And what do you think now, after the power of my red dress compelled you to talk to me?”

“I was compelled. Never underestimate the power of the red dress.”

“I’m glad I bought it.”

“Me too.”

We shared a smile, but then I remembered my original question. It was an important one, so I asked it again. “What do you think now? Who do you think I really am?”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he tugged me forward, reached for my legs, encouraged me to straddle his lap. Like a marionette whose strings had been pulled, I obeyed.

When I was settled, my arms around his shoulders, his hands on my hips, he released what sounded like a relieved sigh. He forced himself to continue, but my nearness apparently relaxed him.

“I think they’re both you. Or rather, you are both people. You are hilarious, sweet, smart, friendly Sandra. But, you’re also untouchable, invulnerable, formal, clinically cold, detached Dr. Fielding.” His eyes captured mine, and I saw wisdom and weariness in them beyond his years. “I know it’s only a matter of time before Dr. Fielding realizes that I’m a disaster. When that happens, I’m afraid I’ll never get to see you again.”

I swallowed then frowned. “You don’t trust me.”

“I trust that you’re very intelligent, and you know better than to get involved with someone who is damaged. I’ve watched you avoid damaged people for two years. Once I start telling you things about me, about my past, you’ll do the right thing—by both of us—and we’ll be over. I can’t…I can’t have sex with you, make love to you, and lie to you.”