I almost turned back three times on the drive to his apartment.

Once at the first red light, when the reality of what I was doing hit me like cold water. Once when I was two blocks away and my hands started shaking so badly I had to pull over. And once when I was sitting in his parking garage, staring at the address he'd texted me, thinking this is insane, this is career suicide for him, this is wrong wrong wrong.

But I didn't turn back.

Because I'm selfish. Because I want him more than I care about the consequences. Because some part of me—the honest, ugly part—knows that...