I want him to tear my clothes off. I’d really love to lose myself in this patient, persistent, hot smart-ass that somehow got me here dressed up for him on a first date.

“You don’t want to be my boyfriend. I’m an asshole,” I say, a centimeter from his mouth.

“You don’t get to decide what I want.”

“I think you should mingle with some other women and make this feel less exclusive.”

He cough-laughs.

I grin maniacally. “Say goodbye to laughing for the next year, Zarar. You’re way over budget.”

“Fine, introduce me to some other women if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Fine. Let’s do it.” I scan the roof. “There’s a hot lady over there. We’ll start with her.”

“Okay.” He gestures forward. “Lead the way.”

I step in her direction. “I am leading the way.”

Zarar and I taper off again to our own corner of the roof after engaging in small talk with three separate hot women, one of whom I got a number from for Zarar. It’s scribbled down on a scrap of paper I ripped out of my comedy notebook.

The two of us lean up against the building’s concrete wall with the beers we’ve acquired along the way.

“That was fun.” I waggle my eyebrows at him. “Are you going to text that foxy lady that works in the other department?”

He shrugs, aiming his weird eye-smoldering thing at me and convincing 70 percent of my brain that it wants him to rip off my clothes right here and now. I almost tell him to knock it off, but I like it too much to actually voice the thought aloud.

“What, were my wing-woman skills not up to par, or something? I set you up with three meet-cute situations,” I tell him. “Think of the story for the grandkids, crazed orange blazer lady introduced us randomly at a rooftop party? That’s got spunk, Z. Do you need me to go find a stack of paper you can drop on her? Cuz I can do that.”

Zarar reaches his arm out and rests it over my shoulders. I find myself leaning into it automatically. I shouldn’t, I’m going to give him the wrong idea.

“I like just talking to you,” he says.

I sigh. “It sucks that you’re my favorite person to talk to on the East Coast.”

“Why?”

I shift so I can look up at him. “Because I’m leaving and you’re getting attached, and it’s going to ultimately ruin this easy weird wonderful thing we have if you get too romantically involved.”

“I don’t think that’s what’s going to happen,” he says confidently.

I scoff. “What do you think’s going to happen?”

“I like to live in the now, so right now, I’m with you and I’m having a great time by your side.”