“Oh, no. No, no, no. Our deal was that you make me food and I eat it over at your place. Forty-five minutes, remember?” He swings his door open wider, and the rap music swells out louder into the hall. “Or would you prefer to spend your evenin’ with my good friend Ol’ Dirty Bastard?”
He stares at me with a challenge in his eyes, his smile growing wider in obverse proportion to how mine shrinks.
Without a word, I turn around and march back to my apartment. I leave the door open behind me because he’ll find his way inside whether I want him to or not. The man is insidious, like an infestation of termites.
But he’s not the only one with tricks up his sleeve.
I leave the platter of food on the kitchen table. As soon as I hear Cam’s music cut off, I retreat into my bedroom with the cat and
