11. No more of Mr mysterious

Deep masculine laughter swirled with soft feminine laughter above the low flow of Common’s I Want You in Josh's vehicle as we drove into my apartment complex. It was Thursday, and after a long day of booze, aggressively salty air and raunchy humor, Josh and I managed to slip away from an all-white yacht party thrown by Marco Levy, some multimillionaire acquaintance of his. Of course, Josh's attire was the exception; he wore his usual black.

He continued to keep me in the dark about his line of work. The minute someone tried drawing him into a conversation about work, he'd cut them off, letting them know this was his ‘down time’ and ‘shop talk’ wasn’t allowed. I wasn’t sure why he was hiding something as simple as his occupation from me.

Josh had invited me out every other evening since we shared pizza at the rooftop restaurant. He was funny, overly intelligent and sometimes sweet—when he wasn't fuming about trivialities. He pledged to earn my trust, and evidently thought dragging me