“She’s just my friend, I swear,” Ambrose says. “I’ll send you my location and take pictures of what I’m doing every hour.”

You’ve never asked for him to do that, and you probably don’t expect him to, but it’s what he’s used to. His last girlfriend hated when he was around other women—around anyone, really. He’s so used to being told what to do he’s expecting it from you, too. Ambrose swallows.

“Or I can stay home,” he says, looking guilty he thought about leaving to do something.