“You’re not?” I couldn’t discern the look on his face.

My shoulders fell, and I looked at him as if I were bored with his question. “Please. I’m twenty-four. Do you know anyone our age who’s a virgin?”

“Just you.”

I cackled.

He shifted in his seat. “How many?”

“Are you fucking kidding me with that? You don’t ask a woman how many people she’s slept with on the second date.”

“If this were a date, I’d be ashamed of myself. We’re hanging out … getting to know each other. So far, I’ve learned I love it when you curse. It’s hot.”

“Good. My dad had a mouth on him. Damn it was my first sentence.”

“How many?”

“You first.”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly.

“I’m not playing this game if you’re going to cheat.”

He laughed. “I swear to God. I think maybe in the forties. Maybe.”

“You’re a walking STD,” I said.

“Nope. I’m the safest bastard you’ve ever met. I get checked every three months like clockwork.”

“More like a prostitute.”

His mouth fell open. “Easy!”

“Yes, that would definitely qualify you as easy,” I shot back. “Two,” I confessed.

His smile vanished. “Two.”

“Yep. What?”

“I don’t know.” He frowned. “I’m aware of how irrational it is, but I don’t like the thought of you being with someone else.”

“Really? You’re bothered by my single-digit number?”

“I am. Who are they? I might want to Facebook stalk them.”

“You don’t get names. I’m not a pristine virgin. Deal with it.”

His eyebrows pulled even more. “No. I’m feeling genuine anger over here. I’m going to have pretend you’re a virgin.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who have slept with half the city but prefer their women untouched.”

“Not at all. I’m just now discovering I might be the jealous type.”

“That was awfully truthy of you.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

“I guess so,” I said. “What’s in the hutch? It’s locked.”

Josh looked over at the peeling white paint and thought about his answer. “It’s my liquor cabinet. Only for emergencies.”

“What qualifies as an emergency?”

“My mom’s an alcoholic.” He glanced to the hutch. “I’ve only opened that lock twice since I’ve been here. Both were wrecks involving kids. One shot of whiskey was over that car versus train with the toddler in May. I drank two shots for a van-full last month.”

I frowned. “I remember that one. I drank myself to sleep. You only had two shots?”

He shrugged. “I made a deal with myself that I’d only drink in a bar. It sounds stupid, I know. But drinking at home is how it started with my mom.”

“It makes perfect sense, actually.”

Josh looked into my eyes, seeming to appreciate our conversation. He stood after someone buzzed the apartment. He walked over to the small silver square on the wall by the door and pressed the black button, letting them in.

Josh pulled out his wallet, talking to the overgrown puppy scuttling around his feet. A few seconds later, someone knocked on the door and Josh answered.

Jeremy from JayWok’s delivery team stood in the hallway, handing Josh a large white sack. He leaned over, looking past Josh to wave at me. I waved back.

“Thanks, man,” Josh said.

“Coco told me to tell you not to screw this up.”

“Bye, Jeremy.” Josh shut the door, kicked off his shoes, and then returned to the couch.

“You’re two for two,” I said, digging into my box of noodles. “Two great nights so far.”

“My two best nights in Philly since I’ve been here.”

I pressed my lips together, trying not grin like an idiot, and then nodded, looking down at my noodles.

“My turn,” Josh said. “What else do you hate, besides movie talkers and Christmas?”

“Dating douchebags,” I said without hesitation.

“I can fix that, too.”

Water dripped from my chin as I hung my head, hands gripping my knees, struggling to catch my breath. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Fuck, keep it together. Nine. Ten.

We’d managed to save the toddler who’d fallen into the family pool, but now it was my chest that was aching, memories weighing heavily on me as the boy’s dark hair was replaced with curls in the recesses of my mind. I rubbed my palms against my dampened shirt, struggling to keep my calm. The boy’s mother flung her arms around my neck and, from the rudimentary Spanish I understood, was thanking me for being his hero.

I felt like anything but as Quinn pried her from my body, his voice fading in and out like a radio station that wasn’t quite in tune. His pocket-sized flashlight was shining in my eyes like the headlights of a semi barreling toward me. The thought immediately brought Avery’s sweet face and soft hands to mind as I batted him away and righted my body.

“I’m fucking fine. Just tired.”

“Avery keep you up all night?” He smirked.

I broadened my shoulders, widening my stance. Quinn and I often joked about women, but it didn’t feel right when it was about her.

“She isn’t like that,” I snapped. I pulled my shirt that clung to my skin over my head and tossed it on the vinyl seat of the ambulance. I rummaged through my duffel bag and pulled out a spare.

“She shot you down?” Quinn asked.

I glared at him and then pulled the fabric down over my stomach before turning to walk to the back of the meat wagon. “I didn’t even try.”

As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them.

“I’m sorry,” he said, not really sorry at all. “Did you grow a fucking vagina?”

I stopped walking, turning to face him. He nearly slammed into my chest. Quinn wasn’t a small man, but I towered over him, at least half a foot taller.

“I’m just saying, if you have one, you gotta show it to me. Sharing is caring.”

Shaking my head, I shouldered past him to the driver’s seat.

Quinn slammed both back doors and then jogged up to the passenger side. He slammed the door and leaned back, pulling his hat low on his forehead.

I turned the key in the ignition, and the ambulance rumbled as we pulled out onto the main road. “Looks like you have your hands full with Deb.”

“That girl has the mouth of a sailor, only … you know, tits and stuff, too.”

I shook my head and breathed out a laugh. “Sailors can be women too, you know.”

“You think she’d wear one of those sexy little sailor outfits for me?”

“Deb? I think she’d let you throw bologna at her ass if it made you laugh.”

“You’re right.” He looked out his window, thoughtful. “She’s perfect.”

Work had been exhausting, but I was reenergized as I stood at Avery’s apartment door. She always seemed to have that effect on me. I had dropped her off from work only an hour before, but gone were her dirty scrubs and messy bun. She had disappeared into her bedroom and reemerged wearing a strappy plum-colored dress that hung loosely from her hips and stopped just above her knees. I suddenly felt underdressed in my jeans and gray polo.

“What do you have planned for us tonight?” she asked.

“It’s hard to top a junkyard and twenty questions, but I think I’ve found something you may like. This is for you.” I held out a small box in my sweaty palm, hoping she wouldn’t laugh in my face.

Her eyebrows pulled together as her delicate fingers wrapped around the blue velvet object.

“I hope you’re not proposing, because I haven’t packed for Vegas,” she quipped, the dimples settling deeper into her cheeks.

“Not yet,” I replied before I could stop the words from spilling over my lips. “I mean not ever.” Vomit. Word vomit was cascading out of my mouth like I was starring in The Exorcist.