“Well,” he mused. I could see him chewing his lip as he mulled something over. Hey, kid. You should hide your emotions better. “I don’t think I have ever been compared to a red, cartoon dog before.”

“Nice to be your first,” I shrugged with a smirk. He returned the same smirk, his hands that I didn’t even notice were still on my waist, tightened slightly.

“My first everything,” he replied, lowering his voice, eyes hooded. Oh, look at this young thing, trying to be smooth with me. I scoffed, looking elsewhere as I pushed against his chest to get some space.

I took this back-stepped chance to take a better look. He was definitely a tall guy, maybe even still growing, but he was still on the edge of just below six feet. That few inches above my five-foot-seven suddenly felt intimidating.

His fire-engine red hair stood out even more with his hair length. It was just past his shoulders, with a good portion tied up in a low, messy bun at the top of his neck. He had almost as many bar piercings in his ears as I did - impressive.

It was only as my eyes moved downward that I noticed a change and frowned. He wasn’t wearing a police uniform. My mouth opened and closed several times as I processed, trying to remember if I even saw him in one back at Union.

“Hey, were you just at Union Station?” I asked cautiously. He nodded.

“Oh, did you see me? Yeah, I finished my shift and got picked up to turn in everything back at the station. Then I jumped on the subway, and lo and behold - there you were. Front row seats to the pizza duel of the decade.”

I rolled my eyes with a groan. My expression as I watched the rat and raccoon fight must have been quite evident for him to make that type of comment. I heard his rumbling laugh at my apparent anguish. His hand reached out, brushing my straight cut bangs without touching my skin, and leaned forward looking into my eyes.

“I wanted to make sure everything was fine and that you didn’t get hurt. You only just left the clinic not long ago - something could have happened again.”

“Thank you for your concern, off-duty officer,” I replied, pushing his hand away from my face. This guy was overly comfortable with touching, for my taste. Even if he helped me during such a vulnerable moment, it didn't mean he got a pass for touching me. “Stranger danger applies to cops as well.”

“I guess it does,” he laughed. "Well, I was on patrol duty due to minimum hour requirements. Usually, I wouldn’t have been so lucky to come across you at a time like that.”

“Why’s that?” Shit, why did I ask that? I don’t need to be curious about him.

“I’m in the detective unit, so we focus more on crime solving. Specifically homicide.”

“Oh, so if I’m acquainted with you, I get to live out the buddy-buddy homicide cop show drama?” I replied sarcastically. He laughed, shaking his head.

“I’m a newbie in the unit. I’m more of an assistant and a note-taker than anything else. At my age, they won’t put me in charge of anything for a long time.”

“Hey, copper. Shouldn’t I at least know your name? What if you lied to me about your identity to take advantage of me? How else would you have known my name?”

“Ha ha ha,” he bent over laughing, holding his stomach from how hard and loud it was. I clicked my tongue, giving a disgusted face. I can’t believe this kid is laughing at me. He probably thinks I’m throwing some childish tantrums. “Oliver Reed. Would you also like my badge number?”

“Maybe,” I replied in a cynical tone. It only made him laugh more. I frowned, waiting for him to stop. It was frustrating. His name sounded familiar to me. It comforted me, but it also made me feel like I wanted to cry - and that pissed me off. I’m not a crier.

Even if I get angry, drunk, upset, or frustrated, my eyes stay dry. The perpetual dehydration from lack of water intake was the biggest factor. But honestly, nothing ever triggered me enough to get to that point. But hearing a stranger's name caused this much emotion to well up inside me?

Never have I been more confused about something. I was not one to have a lot of emotions. I tended to be quite disconnected, but still easily irritable and quick to anger. The few emotions I could hold onto dearly if I wanted to continue feeling my humanity. But if this guy somehow made me feel more emotions just from hearing his damn name - even if I hated him, I was gonna hold on tight.

“You wear your name on your sleeve,” Oliver responded, smirking with an all-knowing expression. I wanted to kick him in the shin, but instead I cocked my head to the side, confused. Was that something I could do, like people wear their hearts on their sleeves?

“Pardon you?” I responded, frustration seeping into my voice. Olive’s lips pressed into a thin line as he tried to suppress his smile. Taking a moment to clear his throat, he raised his hand to stroke my bicep. I shrugged him off in annoyance. “What are you doing?”

“Showing you. Your name, it’s on your sleeve,” he pointed, coughing to hide the laugh that slipped out. I looked to where he pointed, and pinned to my sleeve was my name with my alma mater. I sputtered in surprise, as embarrassment spread through me, leaving me feeling beyond stupid.

“It… could have been something I’m a fan of…” I hurriedly stated, though to anyone hearing, it was obviously a thrown-together excuse. Smirking, Oliver just looked down at me with knowing eyes, sparking in amusement. “Cop instincts tell you that?”

“Sure,” Oliver replied. He was just saying that to appease me. Once again, the urge to smack him overwhelmed him. He’s lucky he’s a cop. Assault and battery weren’t up my alley. I’m not throwing my degree out the window over a moment of anger. I pursed my lips. Just you wait, copper. Your clock is ticking.