“So what time’s your date tonight?” he asked, jogging to catch up.

“Tomorrow,” I said.

He laughed beside me. “Okay, what time’s your date tomorrow?”

“Um . . . six?” I scrunched my nose, trying to remember. “No, eight.”

“Shouldn’t you be sure?”

I slid my eyes to him, giving a guilty smile. “Probably.”

“Are you excited?”

I shrugged. “I guess.”

Laughing, he wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “What does he do again?”

“Drosophila stuff,” I mumbled. He’d given me an opening to talk about science and I couldn’t even get it up for that this morning. I was a mess.

“A genetics man!” he said in a playfully booming voice. “Thomas Hunt Morgan gave us the chromosome, and now labs across the country give other labs tiny, escapee fruit flies all over the building.” He was trying to be jovial, but his voice was so deep and sexual, even when he geeked out, he only made my bones rattle, my limbs go all liquid. “And Dylan is nice? Funny? Great in bed?”

“Sure.”

Will stopped, his look thunderous. “Sure?”

I looked up at him. “I mean, of course he is.” And then his words sunk in. “Well, except the great in bed part. I haven’t sampled the goods.”

Will turned to keep walking, staying silent, and I chanced another look over at him. “Speaking of which, can I ask you a question?”

He glanced at me from the corner of his eye, wary. “Yes,” he said slowly.

“What exactly is third-date etiquette? I googled it—”

“You googled it?”

“Yes, and the consensus seems to be that the third date is the sex date.”

He stopped and I had to turn to face him. His face had gone red. “Is he pressuring you to have sex?”

“What?” I stared at him, bewildered. Where did he get that idea? “Of course not.”

“Then why are you asking about sex?”

“Calm down,” I said. “I can wonder what the expectations are without him having to be pushy about it. Good Lord, Will, I just want to be prepared.”

He exhaled and shook his head. “You drive me insane sometimes.”

“Likewise.” I stared off into the distance, thinking out loud. “It just seems there’s like some sort of progression chart. Dates one and two seemed pretty much the same. But how does one go from that to sex date? A cheat sheet would definitely make this less confusing.”

“You don’t need a cheat sheet. Jesus.” He pulled his beanie from his head, pushed his hair back, I could practically see the wheels turning in his head. “Okay, so . . . the first date is sort of like the interview. He’s scanned your resume”—he looked at me meaningfully and lifted his brows, eyes moving directly to my chest—“and now it’s time to see if you live up to that. There’s the field trip portion, the Q and A, the could this person be a serial killer? thought process, and of course, the do I want to have sex with this person? elimination decision. And let’s be honest, if a man has asked you out he already wants to have sex with you.”

“Okay,” I said, eyeing him skeptically. I tried to imagine Will in this scenario: meeting a woman, taking her out, deciding if he wants to have sex with her or not. I was ninety-seven percent sure I didn’t like it. “And date two?”

“Well, the second date is the callback. You’ve passed the preliminary screening—so the other party obviously likes what you bring to the table—and now it’s time to follow up. To take it to human resources and see if your charming answers and sparkling personality were all just a fluke. And also to see if they still want to have sex with you. Which again . . .” he said, and shrugged as if to say duh.

“And the third date?” I asked.

“Well, this is where shit gets real. You’ve gone out twice and obviously still like the other person; they’ve met all your requirements so this is where it’s all put to the test. You’re compatible on some level and usually this is where you get naked, to see if you can ‘work well together.’ Guys usually up the stakes: flowers, compliments, romantic restaurant.”

“So . . . sex.”

“Sometimes. But not always,” he stressed. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Hanna. Ever. I will remove the balls of any man who pressures you.”

My insides went warm and fluttery. My brothers had said almost the same thing to me on different occasions and I can assure you, it sounded very different coming out of Will Sumner’s mouth. “I know that.”