Swept Away

by Beth O'Leary

“I’m going to hazard a guess that when we left The Anchor, you didn’t think twice about how nobody knew who you’d gone home with,” I say. He shakes his head slowly. “Yeah, no. That didn’t cross my mind.” “I did. I weighed up that risk. I made sure Marissa knew we were going to the marina. If I’m out late, I walk home with my keys in my hand, because you can do real damage with keys if a man attacks you. I cross the street if there’s a guy coming the other way after dark. And when I’m stuck in a small space with a man I don’t know, part of me will always ask the question, Am I safe?”

That kiss. It turns me inside out. I am condensed down to the purest essence of myself today; that’s what it feels like, and that kiss is the same: concentrated joy, desire, sweetness and a dash of vertigo, all in one moment.

Because right now I feel like I could do absolutely anything.

“You know,” I say, moving again, “I didn’t know soft men existed. Not really. Not until you. The world is full of hard edges—we don’t need any more of that. So yeah. Maybe I’m calling you soft.”

I love you, I love you, I love you.