At my heels, he shoved open the mens room door from behind me, flicking the lock on the door stealthily as the two of us stood close, brows furrowed at each other. His flushed cheekbones created an undulating shadow as his jaw worked. We were both pretty toasted. He was upset.

He backed up, turning to run a hand over his close cropped hair. Nothing I said could calm him.

“Hey—everything’s good, right?” I offered. He glared at me, turning his head to exhale though his teeth, “You wanted to come here-have a dri-”

Shaking his head, he stopped to look at me, suddenly more composed. His voice was stern, and low.

“You cannot touch me out there, Austin. There’s no fucking negotiation. It’s my job. I have a responsibility to the US Government and as unfair as it is, this is how it stands right now. Are we clear?”

He came at me and I flinched until realizing his mouth was on mine, warm and rough— hungry, and lingering. My spinning brain took a moment to internalize the apology there at his lips.