“I have no problem with the pill, but if we stop using condoms, you’ve got to be absolutely monogamous.”

“I know.”

“Like one hundred percent. I can’t be worrying about … things.”

“Disease, you mean. I understand, my love. I am thirty-two, not sixteen.”

“I couldn’t even imagine you at sixteen.”

“It never slept.”

I smiled. “So it’s not a problem for you?”

His laughter was musical. “I am mad for you, Cynthia. I don’t even think about being with another woman. Is it a problem for you?”

“Being with another woman?” I shook my head. “Not at all.”

He tossed me a disgusted look.

“No, it’s not a problem.” I smiled. “I’m fine with it.”

“Good. So go see your doctor and give me the prescription. I can probably pick up some free samples for you from one of the drug companies.”

“At a children’s hospital.”

“We treat teenagers.”

“Ah.” I finished my eggs. “So how easy is it to get drugs?”

He looked at me. “Pardon?”

“Like hard drugs. How easy would it be to filch them?”

“With the classified narcotics, everything is kept under lock and we all know who has the keys. It is not simple. I don’t do drugs, I’ve never done drugs, but those at the hospital who do usually suck nitrous oxide because it is very accessible and usually wears off immediately. It is stupid. Every year we have at least one of our own staff unconscious because of improper mix of oxygen and nitrogen. Why do you ask about drugs?”

“Cop’s curiosity. You can get the pill so easily. I just wondered.”

“I cannot easily get narcotics from lockup, but if I was desperate enough, I would know ways. Almost anything else—antibiotics; cold medicines; antihistamines; analgesics, both OTC and some low-dose prescription pain medications like Percocet; even Percodan or Vicodin, which have codeine in them. The hospital has closets filled with samples from the drug companies. It’s a perk of the job … like free coffee for you.”

“I don’t get free coffee.”

“Well, here you do.” He picked up part of the paper and handed it to me. “So let’s enjoy our time together before reality intrudes.”

I scanned the front page of the Arts and Entertainment section— vintage ’50s musicals on stage, movie remakes, TV reunion specials. Didn’t anyone have an original thought anymore? I looked at Koby’s face, his eyes focused on the morning news, his brow furrowed with tension as he read the articles about our troops overseas. He was much more familiar with that region than average Joe American. I wondered how much he identified with our soldiers.

Bad news wasn’t good for either of us. We were both highly intense people, and even though I had a strong feeling that he often used sex like an opiate, as long as he wasn’t pushy and he was faithful, what did it matter? He had been shot at two days ago, his car had been totaled, and still he cooked me breakfast.