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You remember the first time.Just before midnight, you were by the stage at Mikey’s Bar & Grill, a pint of something dark held loose in your hand. She came up behind you, touched your shoulder, leaned in close. You caught the scent of her perfume, sweet and spicy: cinnamon and vanilla, with a hint of cherry, a little like a Cherry Coke. The thought made you smile, and you were just drunk enough to say, “You smell good enough to eat,” before you thought better of it.She laughed, and introduced herself (Sarah), so you did the same (Justin).When she asked what you were drinking, you offered to share and after she took a sip, tried your second line of the night: “It’s like kissing, but with a glass between us.” It worked, as she nudged the glass down and caught her kiss direct from your lips, tasting of dark beer and vanilla lip gloss.The band started to play and the crush pushed her against you, and you let your arm find her waist. You teased skin in the darkness, and she made soft little sounds. You wiggled your way through the crowds together during the set change, finding a place on the outskirts, up against the wall.You left before the next band came on, and were home before one, in bed five minutes later, sprawled naked together in a haze of cinnamon perfume, the taste of vanilla still on your lips.You remember the first time, when she told you she had been watching you. Waiting for you. Wanting you.You remember that you believed her.#You remember the second time, lost in a haze of perfect pinot noir and a plate of calamari to share. “Let’s go out,” she’d said to you. “Someplace fancy, to celebrate our first week.” It didn’t matter that it was only your second date; you couldn’t get her out of your mind and you wanted to please her.To tease her.To sit across from her in the restaurant, one hand on her knee beneath the table.She teased you back, tongue licking at her lips until you squirmed.She liked when you watched, wanted you to want her.Your breath caught, ragged in your chest, your body bursting with need. She fed you grapes, one by one, then waited for you to do the same for her so she could nip your fingertip, catching it between her teeth and teasing it with her tongue.“Let’s skip dessert,” you suggested, barely wanting to finish your steak as it was.“Really?” she pouted, teeth catching her lower lip until you felt the image twist in your gut.“Really.” You swallowed hard. “You’ll be my dessert, with red wine and chocolate.”Later, the clock in your living room struck twelve and you murmured that she’s your midnight girl. She laughed and stretched out, moonlight soft and pale against her skin, and you knew you were lost.#The third time you forgot to be aloof, you forgot to be cool. Words spilled out in the heat of passion, murmured I love yous like rose petals sprinkled on the bed. You collapsed when it was done, clinging to her like an anchor as she sprawled limp against you, hearts beating as one.You waited.She breathed a soft sigh.Silence.Her fingers drifted over your lips, touching lightly, but she never replied. Instead she relaxed into sleep, leaving you wide awake and staring at the ceiling, stomach churning.#The fourth time she never came. You waited at the bar, the same one where you had met, watching the same local opening band and wondering who’d be on after them and whether you’ll see them this time or if you’d be leaving by midnight. You held the same drink in your hand, sipping at it slowly.Just before midnight, the band played on. Just past, and they were done, the crowd dispersing, leaving you cold and alone in the center of the floor.You walked over to the bar and sat, asking for whiskey this time, wanting to lose yourself. You drank until you couldn’t stand, until they spilled you into a taxi to somehow make your way home and stumble inside and pass out on the bed.You tried not to think about how she looked in the spill of moonlight, then closed your curtains and buried your nose in the pillow, trying to catch the remains of her scent.#There is no fifth time. Instead, you convince your friends to go to Mikey’s with you, every Friday night, just like when you met her. You hope to see her, but months pass and life goes back to something like normal.If normal were twitching every time a girl with her dark hair walks by.If normal were turning when you catch the scent of cinnamon or cherries, or God forbid, the two scents intertwined.If normal were the clench in your gut when you hear a laugh you could swear is hers.Your friends never know. You cover it with clever comments, or by ordering another round.Until the time when you start to turn away, because it couldn’t be her, only to realize that it is.She smiles at you from across the room, gaze lingering on you while she runs her finger over the rim of another man’s glass. You want her all over again, want that fingertip on your skin, tracing lazy patterns before reaching lower. Before the world explodes in a bright flush of pleasure.Your skin warms and her smile grows, eyes dropping. She kisses the strangers cheek, and it’s like a bucket of water, drenching you, chilling you to the bone. You swallow your wine, desperate to find warmth again but nothing comes.She leaves with him, watching you as she does so, knowing you’ve seen her. Your friends try to stop you, worried as you walk away, unsteady on your feet.You don’t stop. You can’t stop.You need her. She made sure of that, long ago. She knows you will follow, and you do.You just have to see her.#You wait outside his apartment.Your hands are cold, your body shivering. But you can’t leave. She’ll come out, eventually. She has to.Midnight has passed into the wee hours of the morning, but it is still a long way until dawn. You wrap your arms around yourself, bouncing a little as you wait. Watching.Wanting.You know what she’s doing, making him want her like you do. Making him love her like you do.You know that it’s over, but still you wait, anxiety coiling your gut, twisting you up and letting you dangle from the end of the rope.She sees you when she steps out, her hair in disarray, white dress pale against her skin under the moonlight. She smiles.You step forward, still not sober despite the hour spent in the chill. “I might freeze if you don’t warm me up with your body heat.”She wraps her arms around you, pressing close. “I don’t love you.” She whispers the words against your skin, and the scent of cinnamon takes you back.“I don’t care.” You inhale roughly and kiss her, trying to drown in the vanilla of her lips, and the words are true.You don’t care. Whatever she says, whatever she is, you don’t care anymore.“Come home with me,” you whisper.And she does.#This is the first time for the second time.She lies sprawled on the bed as you open the curtains, letting the moonlight spill in. As you lie entwined, darkness fades into dawn. Light grows: a new day, your first morning together, and she smiles.“Next week at Mikey’s?” you ask.“Sometime around midnight,” she agrees.And you know she’ll never love you. But it doesn’t matter. You’ll be there waiting, because you can’t get her out of your blood. You just have to see her again.