Margot’s dating life is the last thing I want to talk about right now, but if we don’t talk aboutsomething, we’re going to end up making out in this ridiculous swan boat. I’d like nothing more than to kiss her again, but if we’re going to survive whatever this thing is between us with our professional and personal relationship intact, we can’t just give in every time we’re within touching distance.
I keep my eyes fixed on the Ferris wheel in the distance and force my jaw to unclench before I ask, “How’s that going… the whole dating thing?”
She lets out a dry, humorless laugh. “It’s not.”
The relief that washes over me is unwelcome but not unexpected. “That bad, huh?”
“It’s pretty bleak out there,” Margot says, sounding more resigned than upset. “Every message is either some random guy’s sexual wish list, or it’s just a straight-up dick pic… although ‘straight’ isn’t exactly the word I would use to describe most of them.”
I grimace. “That’s rough.”
Of course, I always knew dating apps were garbage for women, but I hadn’t fully grasped how soul-sucking they could be until I started helping Margot with this dating project. Still, hearing it now—hearinghersay it—makes something twist in my chest.
“Yeah, definitely not boyfriend material,” she says. “Not even one-night stand material if we’re being honest.”
Right. Margot wants a one-night stand. It’s an idea of hers that I’ve both longed to forget and allowed to haunt those quiet moments between consciousness and sleep in bed at night.
Tension wraps around us like an old friend. Margot shifts beside me, as if she feels it, too. The swan rocks slightly as we both work to maintain an inch of space between us. That inch of space is polite, proper, appropriate for a boss and his assistant.
I’ve never hated a unit of measurement so fucking much.
“Can I ask you something?” I finally say.
Beside me, Margot nods.
Even with her permission, it’s difficult to wrestle the question out of my throat. It crosses every line—the boss/employee line, the platonic friend line (even if we are friends who apparently kiss sometimes). But more importantly, it crosses the invisible but insurmountable line that really separates us: people like me, whose romantic encounters are solely of the one-night variety, and people like Margot who see one-night stands as a novelty. A bucket list item. Something to check off her list before settling down with “the one.”
“Why do you want to have a one-night stand?” I ask. “What are you hoping to get out of it?"
Margot shrugs, fiddling with a ring on her finger. “I guess I figured it might be an experience worth having, and if I don’t do it now, I might not ever have the chance again.”
Silence swells around us as we both stare off at the lights in the distance. There’s a thought forming inside my head. A reckless thought that’s rapidly consuming my brain and making my body buzz with anticipation. My fingers flex into fists, knuckles cracking under the pressure, then straighten and come to rest rigidly on my knees. I try to wrangle my thoughts, to shove them down deep and forget all about them.
Because this idea of mine—it’s a bad one.
A very bad one.
“It’s stupid,” Margot says eventually through the ghost of a laugh. “It’s not like I’d ever feel safe inviting some stranger into my apartment. And that’s assuming that I even find a man onthat app that I would consider sleeping with, which seems pretty unlikely at this point.” She glances over at me, winces, and then quickly looks away. “Sorry, you probably don’t want to hear about this.”
It’s unclear whether this assumption is because I’m her boss or because I’m the man who kissed her just a few hours ago. Either way, I shake my head dismissively, too lost in my own intrusive thoughts to correct her.
The truth is that I don’t want to hear about it—I want to fix it.
“I might have an idea,” I say.
Margot hums a quiet, inquisitive note in return. I can tell by her tone that she’s expecting me to suggest meeting a stranger in a bar or splurging on a fancy sex toy instead, and she’s not particularly enthused by either suggestion.
I turn to face her. “It’s more of a proposition actually.”
“I’m listening…” she says slowly.
“If you really want a one-night stand, have one with me.”
Margot’s eyes go wide and her lips part. She blinks once, twice… enough times to make me consider that the contacts she wore today on account of the rollercoaster might be experiencing some sort of epic failure. The words hang in the air between us for several long seconds.
“Ethan…” The two syllables drip with confusion, shock, and hope all at once. “Are you sure you would want to—I mean, is that a good idea? Wouldn’t it… complicate things?”
“Probably,” I admit reluctantly. “But it also makes the most sense. You want a one-night stand, and I happen to be skilled in that department. With me, you wouldn’t have to worry about being safe or having a good time.”You wouldn’t have to worry about it becoming anything more.That’s the part I don’t say out loud, although if she agrees to this, we’ll have to have that conversation. Because as much as I want to give her thisexperience, that’s all I’m able to give her. “It doesn’t have to complicate anything if we don’t let it.”