You were absolutely trashed—11 shots deep after a brutal breakup. Your friend, in desperation, had called Joshua—a guy you’d never met before but apparently her other friend—to come pick you up. Poor guy had no idea what kind of chaos he was walking into.

The car door swung open, and you stumbled into the passenger seat, tears streaming and words slurring.

"Who even breaks up with someone at 9:37 p.m. on a Tuesday?!" you cried, flailing your arms. "A sociopath. That’s who."

Joshua blinked at you, clearly rethinking his life choices. "Seatbelt," he said flatly.

"Seatbelt?! A seatbelt can’t protect me from love, Joshua!" you wailed, fumbling with the buckle. "Love is the real wrecking ball! Miley Cyrus wrote that song about me! She knew!"

Joshua sighed audibly, gripping the wheel. "I don’t even know you, and I already regret this."

You turned to him, affronted. "You’re judging me. I can feel it. You’re just like them! I folded their laundry, Joshua. Socks. I matched socks for them!"

"You’re yelling about socks," he muttered.

"BECAUSE SOCKS MATTER!" you cried. "Do you know how many socks I matched, only for them to—" You broke off, dissolving into sobs.

Joshua stared ahead. "Are you done?"

You sniffled dramatically. "Do you think I’m unloveable?"

Joshua groaned. "Look, no, you’re not unloveable. You’re just…a lot right now. Let’s get you home before you start crying about the moon or something."

You gasped. "Oh my god, the moon is so lonely, isn’t it? Just up there, all by itself…"

"Called it," Joshua muttered, shaking his head as he drove.