I'm not much help. I mean, come on... does anybody expect anything different? I have more stuff now than I ever could've imagined, but I'm still wearing my favorite pair of old jeans, black boots, and a black top, one I'm about ninety-percent certain I found in Naz's closet. It's way too big for me. So I just sit there, trying to distract her from her panic, as she strips willy-nilly in front of me, trying on half of what she owns.

An hour passes, and I miss my class, but it's nice to just hang out and laugh with my friend again.

Besides, it's just math.

Who really needs to know how to do that?

The door to the room opens, and Melody is standing there in a bra and her panties, not giving any sort of fucks when her roommate walks in. The girl lets out a noise of disgust as she plops down at her desk, her back to us.

"I have nothing to wear," Melody say, shaking her head, ignoring that I've given the thumb's up to at least a dozen outfits. "Like... nothing."

"Well, where's he taking you?"

"I don't know," she says, pulling on a pair of leggings. "But he said something about reservations, so I'm pretty sure it isn't Wendy's."

"Huh, is there even a Wendy's here in the city?"

"There are a couple." She shoots me a look. "That's not important here."

Some fries dipped in a chocolate Frosty sound pretty damn important to me at the moment, but I let her slide on that.

"Look, come on," I say, standing up from the bed. "It's obvious we're not getting anywhere here so let's go somewhere else."

"Thank God," Kimberly mutters, not even under her breath, obviously not caring if we hear.

Melody shoots daggers at her roommate before turning to me. "Like where?"

"My closet."

She scoffs, looking me over, judging my outfit, before something seems to strike her. "Oh! That's right! Naz updated your wardrobe! I mean, can't really tell it…" She scowls at my shirt, reaching over and tugging on it. "I was about to say, ain't no way I'm wearing one of your scarf-y ensembles on my date tonight. You can keep your damn Crocs."

I roll my eyes. "I don't wear Crocs."

"But you own some."

I have half a mind to come to my own defense, but what's the point, really?

Besides, I'm pretty sure she's right here, so I let her slide on that also.

She throws on a long shirt and slips into her shoes, not saying a single word to her roommate as she stalks out the door.

"Uh, bye," I mumble, giving an awkward wave, but the girl doesn't even look at me, much less say anything back.

When we step outside, I pull my phone out to call for a car, but Melody waves me off. "Look, come on, there's a cab right there."

She flags it down.

Who am I to argue?

I'm not taking it alone.

That means it doesn't count as breaking Naz's rule, right?

I slide in beside her and she rattles off the address, flubbing up the street numbers, but I correct them. As the cab pulls into traffic, I glance in the front out of habit.

It takes a moment, but recognition strikes me.

Abele Abate.

Man with the unfortunate name.

He drove me home just the other day from the deli.

He glances in the rear view mirror, smiling just like last time. I don't know if he recognizes me, but it's doubtful. He certainly doesn't say anything. He probably drives hundreds of people around every day.

When we get to the house, the first thing I notice is it's empty. Naz is gone. Killer greets me as soon as I open the front door, wagging his tail excitedly.

"Hey boy," I say, rubbing his head. "You all alone?"

Melody skirts right past the dog, holding her hands up. "Oh my God, don't jump on me or I might smell like you."

I laugh. "He doesn't smell that bad."

"Really, Karissa? When's the last time you bathed the poor thing?"

"Uh, it's been a while."

I have a hell of a time doing it myself, and Naz is no help. He's nice enough to drive him to the groomers for me in the Mercedes when I ask him, but Killer doesn't like getting in that car.

"Seriously, hose the poor puppy off out back if you've got to," she says. "He's starting to smell like my roommate's feet. Ugh, they reek."

Rolling my eyes, I head to the back door of the house, opening it to let him run out. The yard isn't very big, but that never seems to bother him. I've tried to take him to the park before, but that requires getting in the car, and well... like I said, that doesn't make him happy, so the backyard it is.

"I'm sure you can figure out which one's my closet," I tell her. "Upstairs, first door on the right."

Melody disappears while I put out some food for Killer, making sure he's satisfied before I join her upstairs. Less than ten minutes have passed, but half of my clothes are already scattered around the bedroom. She slips on a little black dress, one I've never had a reason to wear. "God, this thing is gorgeous. Who's the designer?"

She glances at me like I'm supposed to have an answer to that. "Uh, that guy, you know... the one who did that thing that time. Him."

She cracks a smile. "You're so full of shit."

I am.

"It looks great on you," I tell her. "You should wear it."

She squeals, dashing for the closet again. "Got any shoes to go with this thing?"

Five minutes later, she's standing in the bathroom, fixing her hair in the mirror and borrowing my little bit of makeup. I leave her to her primping and head back downstairs. Man, just watching her get ready makes me all frazzled. It's exhausting.

"You're home early today."

The unexpected voice startles me. Grabbing my chest, I take a step back, looking toward the front door. Naz stands in the foyer, hands in his pockets, newspaper tucked beneath his right arm. After all this time, how does he still sneak up on me?

"Jesus, Naz, I didn't hear you come in."

"I didn't think you did," he replies, his voice flat. "You seem to be quite busy."

"I was just... I mean, we were... you know."

I motion behind me, up the stairs. I don't know if that's enough for him to go on, for him to riddle out what I'm saying. But my nerves are suddenly completely shot, waves of nervousness running through my body, as I look at him. He's not moving, not at all. He stands there like he's standing guard.

I wouldn't say he looks angry, because he doesn't, but something feels off.

"Yes," he says. "I know."

"Melody has a date tonight," I tell him, as if he actually cares, but if he's upset that she's here, maybe he'll understand if I explain why. He's always been weird about people being inside the house. "She needed something to wear, and well, she didn't have anything. I mean, she had stuff, but nothing, you know... to wear. So we came here, to see if I had anything, and I did, so she's wearing it, because, well, she didn't have anything."

As I babble like an idiot, his expression shifts, his brow creasing. "Why are you nervous?"

"I'm not."

"You're lying."