I tell Sean that I have another date, but I don’t tell him it’s with Jason. Sean knows the whole story, of course, and shares my assessment that Jason is bad for me. I feel a little guilty not telling Sean the identity of my date, but I push this guilt away. The Weekend Club is supposed to be about discretion. Sean doesn’t need to know everything.

The night of my date with Jason, I catch a train down to Manchester. I’m fidgety all the way there. Am I really doing this? It feels as though it can’t be possible, not really. I should be older and wiser than this. But here I am. Doing this.

Of course, it doesn’t escape my notice that the restaurant he’s picked is the same one we went to on our first date. I still remember that date; the thrill of going out with someone properly for the first time. All the dates I’d been on up until that point had been to fast food places, maybe followed by drinking some cheap cider in a park. But Jason was different. He took me to a fancy restaurant and wined and dined me. Even now, all these years later, I’m sure he’s going to give me something that nobody else has before.

When I arrive at the restaurant, I think for a moment that it must be closed. There is nobody inside, although the lights are on, and I come to a dead halt, wondering if I have gotten the date or time wrong. Maybe this whole thing has been a joke? Maybe he was just testing me, seeing if he still has the same hold over me. God, I feel like such an idiot...

Or at least, I do, until the door opens and I see Jason standing there with a warm smile on his face. My heart skips several beats as soon as I lay eyes on him. He’s just as handsome as I remember, if not more so – the few lines on his face that age has left him make him look even more distinguished and striking. And those deep brown eyes pull me in just like they always did. I might have thought I was the one in charge here, the one calling the shots, but as soon as he looks at me, I can tell that any vague attempt at hanging on to control is quickly slipping away.

He greets me with a kiss on the cheek, swooping down to pull me into his arms. I smile up at him, my stomach flipping deliciously.

"It’s so good to see you again," he says smoothly. "Come on, I’ve got a table booked, let’s get inside..."

"This place is dead," I remark, not able to say much more.

"I booked it out for us," he replies, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. My eyes widen.

"You – "

"I wanted us to have it to ourselves this evening," he explains, as he steers me through the restaurant with a hand on the small of my back. All of those fizzing feelings, the familiar, intense attraction, are starting to take control of me, and I fight the urge to lean up and kiss him properly. I know I have to hold back. Flinging myself at him like that probably won’t end well.

"We’ll have a bottle of Malbec," he tells the waiter, once we’re seated.

"Pretty far removed from the cheap plonk we used to have at uni, huh?" I say with a smile, and he laughs.

"Well, it’s been years. Only right that some things have changed, don’t you think?"

“It would be strange if they hadn’t,” I agree.

The waiter returns with the wine and pours a taste for Jason. He swirls it expertly, then takes a sip. “Perfect,” he says, smiling at me. “Just perfect.”

The waiter pours us both generation amounts, then steps away to give us privacy. Jason raises his glass.

“To us,” he says, his eyes glittering. “To our reunion.”

“To us,” I say, a little breathlessly, as I clink my glass against his.

After we’ve both drunk, Jason sets his glass down and looks at me seriously. “So, Jazz, you’re married now?”

“Yes.” My voice sounds oddly choked with emotion, and I swallow before trying again. “Sean and I have been married for a while now. And we have a son, Donnie. He’s five.”

“That’s incredible,” Jason says, and he looks like he genuinely means it. “You really got everything you wanted.”

I laugh and take another sip of wine. “I’m not sure if that’s what I wanted when we were twenty-two. If I recall, all I wanted was to have sex in every single campus building.”

“You did that, too,” Jason says, tipping his glass at me.

“Well then, I guess I did get everything I wanted.” The waiter comes with the first course – beef tartare in a delicious-smelling sauce – and we both take another sip of wine. “What about you?” I ask. “You must be married as well, if you’re in the Weekend Club.”

“Separated,” he says. “My wife and I thought the Weekend Club would save our marriage, but in fact, it showed us that neither of us were happy. It was an amicable split, about a year ago. But we decided not to get divorced quite yet because we wanted to keep using the Club, and you have to be married.”

“That makes sense,” I say, taking note that he is single. “What about the law? Did you end up becoming a lawyer?”

“I did,” he says, and I see a flicker of pride in his eyes. “I’m a criminal defence attorney.”

“You must be a successful one, if you’ve rented this whole place one.”

He laughs. “Well, I represent some very bad and very wealthy clients.”

“I’m happy for you, Jason,” I say, and I really mean it. “You really… came back down to earth.”

He lowers his fork and looks at me intensely. “I did,” he says softly, “but I know you were afraid I wouldn’t, for a while. I owe you an apology, Jazz. For what I put you through then, with my drinking. After we broke up, I got sober. It was a real wakeup call, losing you. So I quit and was sober for five years. Only went back to it after I met my wife and was sure that I’d changed. And I have. Those old habits never came back.”

Lots of emotions are crashing through me, and it’s hard not to show them. I’m happy for Jason that he figured out his drinking problem, honoured that I was the impetus, and also deeply sad; sad that some other woman got to meet him when he was sober; that some other woman got the best version of him.

“Thank you,” I finally murmur, “but you don’t have to apologise. I’m not surprised you got sober. Whenever you really wanted something, you were always very focused on getting it.”

“Yes,” he agrees, with a small laugh. “And as I remember, you used to be the object of all my focus.”

A lump forms my throat, but I swallow it down and meet his gaze steadily. “Those were the best moments of my life.” It’s true, but I still feel a twinge of guilt at saying them. The best moments of my life should involve my son and husband, right?

“Mine too,” he says simply. His eyes are boring into mine, and I feel as if my insides are being pulled out of me, as if he is exposing every deep, secret, dark thought that has ever crossed my mind.

“And you’re happy?” he asks abruptly, breaking the spell. “You’re happy with your husband?” His eyes are still locked on mine, as though there is so much more that he wants to get out of me. I stare back at him, unsure of what to say.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

If I tell him that I’m not, is that going to change things? Is he going to make a move to take me as his? Or will that just make me look desperate for him?

"Yes, I am," I reply finally, opting for the truth. Although right now, it doesn’t feel like the truth.

As the meal draws to a close – soundtracked, I realise as we go on, by a playlist of my favourite songs, ones that Jason chose for me – I feel myself not wanting to leave. I have a hotel room nearby, and it would be so easy to just invite him back. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more than to sleep with him one more time.

He walks me back to my hotel, ever the gentleman. When we reach the door, I turn to him. I can feel my lips pulsing, aching for his touch, but I want him to make the move.

"I’ve had an amazing time tonight," I murmur, shooting all the signals that I can in his direction. He smiles at me and reaches out to brush the hair back from my face. Even the merest caress of his fingers is enough to make everything in me light up.

"Can I see you tomorrow?" he asks, and I furrow my brow.

"What do you mean? You can come upstairs if you like..."

"No, I don’t think that’s right," he murmurs. "But I’d like to take you out again, if you’ll let me."

"Of course," I say, too quickly. I can’t pass up the chance to see him again. He smiles and leans down to kiss me again, his lips just barely brushing against my skin. The warmth of his breath is enough to make my toes curl.

"And here, I got this for you.” He hands me two bags from his briefcase.

"What’re these?”

"See when you get up to your room," he says, flashing me a smile. "I’ll meet you here tomorrow? Ten?”

"Sure.”

He nods, and his eyes linger on me for another moment before he turns to leave. I make it back to my room and tear into the bag. My heart twists when I see all the effort he’s gone to.

In one is an original-print release of a David Bowie vinyl; I was obsessed with Bowie when the two of us were in uni, and the fact that he remembers that after all this time is hard to believe. The record is in perfect condition and must have cost him a mint – about as much as renting out that whole restaurant for the evening.

In the other bag is a pair of brand-new size five Louboutins. The gorgeous pair of nude heels probably cost as much as I make in a month. I stare at them. He’s really gone all out, but he’s not here in my room with me right now – what gives? If he intended to spend all this money on me, then I would expect him to also try and get laid…

I take a shower and head to bed, but I can’t sleep. Instead, I find myself tossing and turning, thinking of him, thinking of everything. He can give me so much more than Sean can. I know I shouldn’t think like that, but it’s hard not to. He’s confident, suave, charming, employed, and God, he’s rich, too. And the fact that he didn’t come to bed with me when I offered must mean this isn’t just about sex. He still cares about me, still respects me…

By the time we meet the next day, my head is a bit of a mess. I slip my hand into his as soon as we see each other, needing that touch, to feel the heat of his skin against mine.

"What would you like to do today?” He asks me. "Nice shoes, by the way."

I’m wearing the heels he got for me; they’re gorgeous and make me feel like I’m walking a fashion runway.

"Anything you want," I reply, and I mean it. I want to find out just what he is craving, just what he’s looking for when it comes to me.

"Good, because I’ve got a few ideas," he replies, and he tugs me towards a sleek black car that’s waiting for us. He opens the door for me to climb inside.

Jason whisks me off to a beautiful spa hotel just outside of the city, where he’s booked us in for a couple’s massage. After all the unresolved tension of the night before, I know I’m going to need it. But when he emerges into the massage room with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, the tension only increases. His body, though bigger, is still muscular and strong. As the masseuse drips oil down his back and swirls it around, I wish it were me touching him. But I want him to make the move, and I’m not going to settle for anything less.

I lose myself in the massage, in the delicious pressure of hands moving over my body, sinking deeper into the puffy fabric of the chair. I can hear his breathing beside me, just like it was when the two of us would share a bed, and I feel as though I am back there.

When we’re done, he leads me to the bar for a bottle of champagne, and I feel myself once again aching for more. I need him, but I have no idea if he’s going to take me.

"Do you come here a lot?" I ask him, and he nods.

"All the time. I have a standing room here, actually."

"We could… we could go there, if you like," I suggest, a little shyly. I’m not sure what I want him to say, if I expect him to say anything at all. He smiles.

"Jazz, trust me, I would like nothing more than to take you to that room and fuck you every way that I did back when we were together," he tells me. The filth in his words sends a shiver down my spine. I’m immediately wet.

"And that’s what I thought was going to happen, when we saw each other again," he admits. "But I… I don’t want to sully what we had. It’s clear we still have something here, but you’re married, and I’m worried that if we start something I’m not going to be able to hold back from taking more."

I bite my lip. I know exactly what he means, but it doesn’t do anything to extinguish my desire. I still want him. Badly. I want to lean across the table and kiss him, right here, right now, without a care in the world who sees me.

"I want to give you a couple of days that both of us can look back on and treasure," he continues, covering my hand with his. "Not just a night of sex that’s probably not going to live up to what we had before."

I want to argue, but I bite my tongue. He’s right; if the sex wasn’t good, it would be devastating, and might even colour my thrillingly erotic memories of him. But God, it just makes me want him more. All this fantasy, this pampering that he’s given me, is more than anything Sean would ever even think to do. He knows me in a way nobody else does, and it’s intoxicating. Even more so than the champagne.

We sip our champagne together, and I try my best to push thoughts of sex to the back of my mind. I need to let it go. A connection doesn’t need to be physical to be real, and I know that ours is as certain as anything in the world. But I also know that if he leaned across the table and kissed me, I would be helpless to resist.

But he doesn’t. He knows I’m prone to some bad decision-making when I’m around him, and he doesn’t want to push that on me – much as I wish that he would. We just… talk. About the months we spent together, memories from back when we were barely more than kids. The thrill of being in love for the first time and the excitement of everything that seemed laid out in front of us. Eventually, we move onto the present, and I tell him all about my troubles at work, the way Julie bullies me. When I start to get emotional about it, he takes my hand.

“No one should ever hurt you,” he says softly. “I wish I could protect you from everything.”

“It’s okay, the Weekend Club has actually changed things,” I say, although there is a very deep, primal part of me that loves the idea of him protecting me. “It’s given me so much confidence, I actually stand up to her now. Things are improving.”

“That’s my girl,” Jason says, and I can tell he’s impressed. His words send a shiver of desire through me, but I don’t act on it.

By the time that my train back home is due to leave, I feel… sated… in some way. Yes, we didn’t end up in bed, but maybe that was for the best. The intensity of our attraction is still there, just as much as it was the first time we were together, and I can so easily see my lust getting stirred up to degrees that would just make it hard for me to think straight. Better for me to leave it all behind, put it down to experience for now.

He waits with me at the station, his arm draped around my shoulders. I want to snuggle into him, to turn my head and kiss him and whisper in his ear to take me back to the hotel, but I hold back. Better to leave wanting than to find myself drawn into something that could screw up my entire life.

As my train approaches, I rise to my feet and turn to him. I want to be mature and hold it together, but even now, I know that if he suggests something more, I will take it in an instant.

"It’s been so good to see you again, Jazz," he tells me, and I nod.

"It really has," I agree. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will."

He reaches down and pulls me into a warm hug. I press myself against him, inhaling his scent, trying to take in everything that I can.

And just like that, it’s over. I’m sitting on the train home, flooded with memories and nostalgia.

A message from Sean pops into my phone, and I check it, almost dazed at the reminder of my real life.

How was it? He’s asking.

I hover my fingers over the keys. I could tell him the truth – that it was so intense I feel the urge to go back for more – but I don’t want to hurt him. I glance down at the new shoes on my feet and quickly make up a lie about how I was stood up and took myself shopping instead. Then I turn my phone off and lean my head against the window.

It’s all so much to take in, and I don’t know how I am meant to make sense of everything that’s just happened. That chemistry is as fiery as it’s ever been. But I need to remember that the Weekend Club is meant to be a break from my real life, not a chance to start over with an old one. I am not going to let anything take me from the family that I have spent so long building to perfection.

Not even a gorgeous, rich man who knows exactly what size shoe I wear and the perfect playlist to woo me. Not even for someone like him. Sometimes, it’s better to let the one who got away stay gone.