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My God he is perfect.

“How about we do this?” he says. “Two things. First, you have not finished your training, and second, I need to… I want to keep an eye on you.” Our eyes hold and we watch each other closely. “I suggest, I get a casual date, and we go to the same restaurant.”

We keep staring at each other, and I’m unsure if he wants to see if I’ll go home with the guy. And if he wants to protect me, or simply train me.

I’m now worried about him inside some woman. I do not want him bringing someone home, again, and certainly not for sex. He should be fucking me.

“Maybe,” I say. “Like a live training exercise.”

“Exactly,” my teacher says seriously, and crossing his thick arms. “We watch what each other does, and we, or you, learn.Then, halfway through, we meet in the restaurant bathroom, and I give you feedback.”

“And tips,” I say.

“Maybe tips.”

I nod, and I like being back near him. Especially with me semi naked, and him in his tailored Saville Row suit. I am now turned on as I stand in the towel.

“Agreed,” I say lifting my chin, and extending a hand. We shake, and there is that electricity again.

I suddenly realize we have a problem. “Who will you ask out?”

Lorenzo shrugs. “Anyone.” As he pulls his phone, he dials a number. “Where and when? I’ll arrange close tables.”

I eye him close, and I give him the restaurant address, and time. I finally go to change, and Lorenzo calls out, “Nothing too sexy.”

I continue walking away and the crazy control freak is starting to worry me. It’s time to push back, so I flash my teacher my butt.

Smug bastard!

I leave my door open, and hear him talk, and ask a woman out. He gives her the same place, and time, as I gave him, and he makes a second call, booking two tables.

He tells them it’s for a confidential reason, but they will receive three thousand in cash to arrange it.

It sounds like they agree, and I start to worry about things getting weird.

I am not overly happy about the situation, but at least he is home, where he belongs. And with me.

As I check my face in my bedroom mirror, my cell chirps. A message comes in, and it’s from an known number.

I miss you.

My blood freezes.

It can’t be! It can’t be him.

My nervous fingers type fast, and I send –

Who is this?

I pace and don’t look at my cell. Finally, it chirps, and I force myself to stare at it again.

Billy. Who else?

I gasp and try to control my fingers. It’s hard. I finally finish and send

We’re over.

Seconds later a message comes.