Danny's place is exactly what I thought it'd be- mostly empty, except for a black leather sofa, and an oversized fish tank.

"I gotta go pee, I'll be right back," he slurs, already undoing his belt buckle as he stumbles off to the door at the end of the hall.

I scan the room, knowing even through my whiskey cloud that this was a bad idea. Then I see a book by Franz Kafka on his shelf. Even I couldn't make it through Kafka, and I'm darker than a rainy Monday in January.

He emerges from the bathroom wiping his mouth. "So... you got a condom, or what?"

I laugh. "Uh, I'll take the second one. 'Or what.'"

"Huh?" He says. Something tells me that Kafka book was a gift.

"First of all, it's awfully presumptuous of you to assume I'm just going to have sex with you on the spot, and second, you haven't even kissed me yet."

"Well, let's fix that," he says, falling next to me on the couch, then planting his mouth on mine.

At first, I go to pull away, but he's a good kisser. A very good kisser. In fact, this is kind of hot.