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I pull up at his apartment, park my car and just sit there for a few minutes with the engine running. You don’t have to do this, I tell myself for the hundredth time. But there it is again, that sense of inevitability. Despite myself, despite common sense, social norms and my relationship with Jess, I already know that I’m going to go inside.-He’s left the door open for me and is sitting on the sofa, a guitar next to him. Does he play? I wonder. He’s wearing khaki shorts and a white t-shirt that clings to his chest just enough to show the curve of his pecs. He picks up the guitar and leans it carefully against the wall. There’s something about the way he moves. Deliberate, almost graceful.“Oliver.” He says, by way of greeting. He pronounces it Ah-li-ver, drawing out the first syllable and finishing with a hard R. I can’t help it. I like the way it sounds when he says my name.“Ethan,” I respond with a curt nod.We take a moment to consider each other. We are standing three or four.

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