Sarah takes a deep breath as she walks back to Peter. Lean in. Ask him to repeat it. Hand on the knee, say she can't hear him. It's a universal sign, apparently.

Peter looks up at her and hands her another Shirley temple. She laughs as she takes it.

"Might as well stick with what you know," he says, watching her sit.

Sarah catches Eris out of the corner of her eye, walking over to the man with the music. The song gets a little louder.

Sarah turns back to Peter. "You talk to Eris just now?" he asks.

Sarah leans forward. "What was that?" she asks. She actually can't hear him.

"I asked if you spoke to Eris," Peter repeats.

Sarah puts her trembling hand on his knee. "I can't hear you very well. Is there somewhere else we can go?"

Peter lifts his chin, hiding his smile. "Oh, you did."

Sarah blinks. That's not what he's supposed to say.

He stands. Offers Sarah his hand, and she takes it. It's rough and calloused, so much darker than Sarah's. He passes her hand to his left one, then places a hand on the small of her back as they walk. Sarah resists the urge to shudder. He makes it look so easy.

Sarah steals a glance back at Eris. She gives Sarah a lazy thumbs up.

Sarah bites down her smile. Peter walks her up the stairs at the back of the club. It looks motel-like.

Peter opens a door for her. Not motel-like at all. How much does this cost?

"Much quieter," he says.

"Perfect," Sarah says. Her hands shake. She waits for him to sit on the couch, and then she sits nice and close, as per her instructions.

Peter shakes away his amused smile. "Are your friends going to wonder about you?" he asks.

"Probably not," she says. She leans into him, sighing. "They're not exactly nice people."

"Why are they friends of yours, then?"

Sarah shrugs. "I don't know." She reaches out to touch the button on his shirt.

"You don't have to do that," he says.

Sarah glances up at him, and her fingers freeze. He's so close, her heart is palpitating.

"Do what?"

Peter glances at her hands. "That," he says.

Sarah wonders if men ever say that to Eris. Probably not.

"You don't want to—" she starts.

"That's not what I said. I said you don't have to."

Eris said he'll do the rest. She wasn't supposed to have to worry about that part. But as it turns out, now she feels she might have to. He seems like he doesn't want to push her.

Sarah can feel the skin of his arm near the back of her neck. The warmth of his body.

"I know," she says. She plays with the buttons again. Has the nerve to undo one of them. Peter is still. What would Eris do?

Sarah touches the skin, runs her finger down. Slides it under his waistband just a little. She can't possibly go wrong with that.

Peter lifts his eyebrows slightly, stays still as she undoes his belt. She has the fingers of a pianist, light, gentle, rhythmic. She puts on a little pressure. She's done this part for Adam a few times, but what if Peter is different?

Sarah's mind is whirling. Does he like it? Does he think she's brave for it? Or is she doing this wrong somehow? She has no clue. The anxiety starts to build. What if he's racking up in his brain all the things she's doing wrong, hoping he can get out of this once it's over?

Just ask. That's what Eris said. She made it sound so easy. So sexy and simple.

Sarah's voice comes out as a whisper, "Is that good?" She doesn't have the nerve to look at him quite yet.

His voice is low near her ear. "Very good," he answers.

Sarah feels she might melt into a puddle entirely. Just fall apart right there.

Peter raises his hand to her face so he can turn and kiss her before this is over too fast. Her lips are sweet, like the cherries she's been having. She seems to form right into him, like some extension of himself. He reaches around her, puts a hand on her waist and pulls her over him.

Sarah readjusts, resting her hands on the sides of his face. The blue dress rides up her thighs, and his hands slide down the skin there. Sarah feels like she can't breathe.

That hand of his curls under the dress. Pushes it up. He keeps one hand on her thigh, and the other trails down her bare stomach. Sarah feels dizzy, crazed. She's never felt like this before. Not with Adam, not with anyone.

She breaks away as his hand moves lower. She looks down, closes her eyes for a moment. It does feel good, she thinks, but it's just a little too low to feel like it could. She curls her fingers around his neck. What did Eris tell her to do? Just talk to him.

Sarah takes a shaky breath. "That's good," she breathes. "But—"

He moves his thumb in response, and there it is, that feeling. She nods, once, twice. Asks him to stay there.

Her fingers curl even more. She can feel that building sensation—the one that she'd get sometimes with Adam, but it never really went anywhere. He'd always stop too soon, or be just a fraction off. Sarah never thought to tell him any different. He'd look at her, sometimes he'd ask her, but she always told him it was good, it was fine. She thought he knew everything. She didn't think she might know herself better than he did.

"Just—" Sarah takes a breath. "A little higher."

He listens, moves. Sarah can feel her toes curling. She puts her hand on his chest. She makes a noise she didn't know she could make. It sounds so right, like she practiced this a thousand times. Like it was scripted or something.

It builds again, and Sarah closes her eyes. It builds and builds until she's pulling a little too hard on his hair with her fingers. She feels herself tighten, and she pulls him as close as she can manage before the feeling releases.

For a moment, Sarah just stills there, fingers in his hair. He kisses her jaw, her ear.

"That's—" Sarah's legs are shaking. Her voice is loud as she blurts, "Why would anyone take drugs over that?"

Peter laughs, which ruffles her hair. He slides the dress up, and Sarah lifts her arms so he can take it off. "I'm not sure," he tells her.

Sarah kisses him again, realizing how little she cares about the way she looks, the tone or the volume of her words. His hands slide to her hips, lifts her up a little.

Sarah's scared for this part, so she stills again. She doesn't like to be the one doing the work. She's worried she'll do it wrong.

He lifts her chin, kisses under it. Peter wants her to do it, more than anything. He lives to please people—he thought he lived to please Eris because it made him feel powerful to loosen her control. This was the first time he felt he had no expectations, no games. It felt like the first time someone liked him back.

He doesn't want Sarah to get cold feet now. He doesn't want her to leave him alone like this. He's worried that if she does—if she decides she doesn't want to do this part—then he'll get frustrated and go crawling back to Eris, where she'll mock him for thinking he could escape her.

Peter doesn't voice any of his fears. All he says is, "We'll go to dinner either way."

Sarah loves that. She loves that what she does now won't affect what he thinks of her later. She loves that the consequences don't exist. And somehow, that takes the pressure off.

She smiles and takes a deep breath before she lowers her hips.

He lets out a breath, long and steady. Sarah stills. She doesn't know what to do now. She starts to panic. How is she supposed to move? Which way? Fingers shaking, she moves forward a little, moves back again. That feels right. It feels good to her. Does it feel good to him?

"Like that?" she whispers.

Peter's eyes are on her lips, his hands on her waist. "Just like that," he says.

Sarah does it again, slowly. She feels that feeling down in her spine, right to her very core. She watches him watch her. He slides a hand up, unhooking her bra, and leans forward to kiss her collarbone, down her chest. Sarah closes her eyes and tilts her head back. Ecstasy, cocaine, fentanyl. She can't imagine they feel as good as this.

Peter keeps his hands on her hips, watching her move. It's not just the way she feels, it's the way she looks as she figures out that life is so much bigger than she thought. Yes, Eris can do this, too—and maybe she even does it better. But it doesn't feel personal, and it doesn't feel the same.

Sarah places a hand on the couch behind him. She loves the way he looks. She loves that she's the one making him feel this way—not just him using her to feel that way. She knows it's not Adam's fault; it's hers for thinking he was the one who knew her best. Sarah feels like she's wasted half her life.

At least she didn't wait a minute longer.