“Uh-huh. What’s his name?”

“Why do you assume it’s a guy thing?”

Addison laughs, carrying a box of supplies to the back of the ambulance and starting to restock things they’re running low on. She speaks frankly, in a way they’ve gotten comfortable with over the course of their two-year partnership. “Rowan. You’re like a golden retriever normally, so when something’s buggin’ you, it’s painfully obvious. And you told me yesterday everything was fine with your family. Ergo, guy thing.”

Rowan grabs his duffel and loads it in back next to the box of supplies, Addison swiftly restocking gauze and antiseptics while watching him in her periphery.

“You suck sometimes,” he mumbles.

“Mm-hmm. So, name?”

He hesitates. Because telling Addison about Mal feels a lot like making it a Thing, which it isn’t supposed to be. It’s not a Thing. Well, it’s a thing, lowercase t, but not a capital T Thing. There’s a difference. And he really needs to develop a goddamn poker face before he turns thirty.

“It’s no one,” he tells her, settling on a half-truth. “Just a booty call for tomorrow.”

She pauses her restocking. “Oh, I thought you were done with Grindr. Wanted something more serious.”

Fuck. He did tell her that, didn’t he? And he did want that for a while. Thought that maybe he could make up for all the anonymous sex of his teens and early twenties with an actual relationship. But it’s hard to meet people when your entire social circle consists of your siblings, whose own social circles are barely more diverse. So he’d resigned himself to just… nothing. Well, except the occasional Grindr hookup, because he’s not that okay with being single.

Until the Menagerie, that is.

Until Mal.

He’s not stupid. Definitely not naïve. He knows that his impending Dom/sub relationship with Mal isn’t going to turn into anything more. And hell, he might not even want it to be more. All he has to go on is a fuck and a meal. A couple of texts. Nothing really. So technically, saying it’s a booty call isn’t a lie.

“Changed my mind.”

Addison gives him a skeptical look but doesn’t comment further.

They finish prepping the ambulance for the day ahead, Rowan making sure to keep the conversation firmly away from his weekend plans. By the time they get their first call and roll out of the station, siren blaring, Rowan’s run out of things to say.

It’s probably unhealthy how much he’s looking forward to seeing Mal again.

ON SATURDAY morning, Rowan wakes up a full hour before his alarm. Sue him, but he’s a little excited.