I only see Luca the next morning.

He must’ve spent about twenty hours inside his bedroom, but he doesn't look well-rested at all. If anything, he appears scraggy. He’s clean shaven, but his eyes are bloodshot and stuck in a permanent glare.

No matter how many questions I ask, I don’t get an answer today. Not even a single grunt.

When he drops me off in front of the animal clinic, he just waits silently, both hands on the steering while, until I step out of the car.

“See you later.” I watch him for a few seconds, waiting for a response, but he stays silent. I close the car door and he drives away.

I sigh as I unlock the front door of the animal clinic.

It’s okay. Sooner or later, he’ll have to start talking again.

But I’ll have to admit . . . Usually, I don’t think about a man after we’ve done the deed.

One time. No feelings, no attachments, no mess. That's how I’ve always done it.

I haven’t stopped thinking about Luca, though. I want him so badly I'm dying for an encore—that’s never happened before. Not in a long time.

The only person I’ve ever been with more than once (other than Luca, obviously) is my first boyfriend, Martin.

And today, by some freak coincidence, Martin shows up at the clinic. He brings me my first patient of the day, a happy little Maltese puppy who’s due for his injections.

“Hey, how have you been?” Martin asks as he steps inside my examination room and put the puppy on the table.

The guy’s visibly uncomfortable. He probably wishes he lived in a larger city right now so he’d be able to just start going to a stranger’s clinic instead of having to see an ex-girlfriend from the depths of his awkward, deeply embarrassing teenage days.  

“I’m doing okay.” I give him a polite smile as I pet the furry ball of energy on the stainless-steel table. Just to fill the silence, I say, “Obviously, things suck because my brother’s gone. But all things considered, I’m doing okay.”

“That’s good to hear. I’m so sorry about Peter,” Martin says.

As we trade empty words, I wonder what I ever saw in Martin.

When we were younger, being around him felt like magic. Now, whatever we used to have is gone.

I give the puppy his injections and send Martin on his way. I don’t even care that he doesn’t ask for my number.

To think that I used to care about every little thing that had anything to do with Martin. I used to write our every interaction in my diary, and I used to spray his perfume on my pillow so I could imagine I was sleeping by his side.

Luca was right about me seeking him out for that first tattoo and one-night stand. I was grieving for my grandmother. And at about the same time, Martin had just dumped me for being a prude.

I laugh to myself at the memory.

I wasn’t a prude. It was just that the sex, without any kinky elements or newness, was getting boring, and Martin used to call me weird for suggesting anything wilder than missionary or the odd doggy-style. Naturally, I lost interest.

As Brian continues to send more patients into the exam room, I start to understand how Peter managed to run this clinic up until the very end. There’s only one other vet working here—his name’s Paul—but we haven’t talked much beyond basic introductions because he’s usually working when I’m not.

From what I can tell, though, toward the end, Peter was pretty hands-off with everything, which means that Paul and Brian must’ve worked overtime to cover his portion of the work.

I should remind myself to give them large bonuses if the clinic brings in enough money to turn a profit come holiday season.

* * *

At the end of the day, just as I start to get ready to leave the clinic, my mom barges into the exam room.

“I hear you’ve been spending a lot of time with that . . . tattooed man,” she says as soon as the door swings open. The way she spits out the last two words makes me feel like she originally wanted to say something more offensive.

That’s just like her. No calls; no warnings. She just shows up everywhere, unannounced and uninvited.

“What’s it to you?” I ask, lifting my gaze from the stack of documents on the desk.

“I hear you’ve been living with him. Is that true?”

“Maybe.” I pick up the yellow folder I was reading and continue going through the pages.

“Sarah, this is not the big city. People talk here.” Mom marches across the room and snatches my folder to get my attention.

“Oh. Right. Sorry I don’t hide it as well as you hide your drug habit.” I stare flatly right at her.

Mom’s eyes flicker with doubt. I know this look. She's considering whether to continue attacking me or to change tactics and start defending herself.

“You can’t trust that man.” Mom puts on a concerned face.

Luca’s not my best friend or anything, but I’d trust him over my mom any day of the week. At least I know he’s got my brother’s and my best interests at heart, even if he tends to be heavy-handed in how he shows he cares.

But, okay. I’ll bite.

“Why?” I ask.

“I’m your mom. Just trust me. That man is not to be trusted with anything.”

I shake my head. “Why don’t you like seeing me get along with anybody? Do you always have to try and ruin everything good in my life?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Sarah,” she says dismissively. “I wouldn’t bother telling you if I didn’t care about you. I didn’t have to come and let you know you may be in danger.”

“What are you talking about, Mom?” I ask with an exhausted sigh. “I can’t just blindly accept your accusation if you don’t give me any proof.”

“You’re my blood, Sarah. Would I lie to you?”

“Mom, you disowned me years ago, remember?”

“Stop being so dramatic, Sarah. I said some things when I was angry, and I didn’t mean them,” she says. “The point is, you should stay away from that man if you know what’s good for you. I’ve already warned you. If something happens, remember that I tried warning you.”

“Something like what?” I give my mom a blank stare. I’m not letting her get to me.

“I swear sometimes you’re too stubborn for your own good. If you want to be safe, stay away from that man,” she says ominously.

“Yeah, I’m going to need more details than that.”

She meets my gaze and puts the yellow folder back on the desk. “Ask him where he goes in the middle of the night.”

And then, just as abruptly as she arrived, she leaves.