I wanted to smack Jason when he said we weren’t in Bryn Mawr anymore. But the truth is that I’ve never lived in a big city alone. Okay—any city. Last spring doesn’t count because I was staying in Daddy’s condo. His driver took me to work some mornings.
Holy hell—I’m truly the pampered little shit that everyone thinks I am. Although that’s not entirely my fault. It’s not like I’ve ever been allowed to make choices for myself.
These are my depressing thoughts as I sit pressed up against Jason. He’s wearing a spicy cologne I can’t identify, but it’s driving me a little bonkers. I swear he hasn’t said three words to me since the night he kissed the stuffing out of me in the carwash.
And now here we are, three across in the back seat. So cozy, and so unsatisfying.
“You got kinda snappish at that reporter,” Silas is saying. “Miranda what’s-her-name.”
“Because she’s a bitch,” Jason says.
“Miranda Wager?” I gasp. “I love her. She’s so sharp.”
Jason growls, and Silas laughs. “He didn’t used to hate her,” Silas says. “Last year she kept calling him an overnight sensation. But last week she wrote that Coach didn’t know what to do with him. Which is—let’s be honest—hardly the worst thing that’s ever been written about an athlete.”
Since I’m mad at Jason for being hot and bossy and also unwilling to give me more of those kisses, I’m totally willing to wade into this disagreement. “Think of how hard her job is,” I point out. “She’s a terrific sports analyst. Yet every time she goes into a locker room, some Neanderthal tries to embarrass her.” I totally read a story about this. “And no matter how well she covers hockey, her Twitter DMs are full of unsolicited dick pics.”
“Well, I’m not guilty of any of that,” Jason points out. “And I still don’t have to like her.”
“He just gets hangry,” Silas explains. “Most game nights he’d be halfway through a large pizza by now.”
Well, crud. “I’m sorry you’re in a car to Bushwick instead.”
“Maybe there’s food here,” Jason grumps, ducking his head to see out my window. “Hey! That’s a Caribbean joint. Sally Root’s. Looks open.”
My stomach growls. I ate a really meager hotdog during my ridiculously short dinner break five hours ago. I’m afraid to spend much money until I finally get a paycheck. My bank account is down to almost nothing.
“Which corner?” the driver says from the front seat.
“Anywhere,” I say, because all the buildings look alike and I can’t see which building is 415. “You guys can just make the return trip, okay? I’ll be fine.”
“No, you don’t,” Jason says with a sigh. “We’re not just dumping a helpless—”
I elbow him for using the world “helpless.”
“Ow!”
“Sorry, reflex,” I say quickly, hopping out of the car.
Silas cackles. “Didn’t you just play the Rangers?”
“I had pads!” Jason complains as he extracts his long legs from the car.
I run back to the trunk, but of course I can’t get my suitcase out, and Silas has to rescue me. So much for my independence. It’s not going that well. And things go even more poorly when I identify number 415 and march inside.
“At least there’s a doorman,” Jason mutters.
Although the man in question looks to be about ninety years old. “Help you, se?orita?” he asks.
“I’m here for apartment 212. Bobby said he’d hand over the keys tonight.”
“Bobby?” The frail doorman adjusts his blue cap. “We don’t have a Bobby.”
“The superintendent?” I ask, my voice rising in alarm. “Big fellow? Earrings in lots of places?”
“Dios mio.” The old man shakes his head. “He have a scar right here?” He traces an invisible line above his eye. “And he advertise on Craigslist?”
“Yes! That’s him. Can you ring him?”
The old man shakes his head. “He don’t work here no more. Hasn’t for years. But he still has the keys. Sometimes he come back and rent out the places that don’t need renting out.”
“Wait, what?”
“He show you a place with somebody else’s stuff in it, right?”
My heart drops. “Yes. He said they were moving out the next day.”
“Se?orita.” The geezer’s face turns sad. “He always say that. 212 brought home a pizza two hours ago. They up there right now.”
“Can she check?” Jason asks. “Just in case there’s been some misunderstanding.”
He shrugs. “I suppose it can’t hurt nothing. Let me guess—you don’t have a lease with his signature on it.”
“We had a handshake deal,” I say in a quavering voice. “He said we’d sign it tonight.”
In stereo, both Jason and Silas make noises of dismay. And I have never felt like a bigger idiot.
“You just knock,” the elderly man says. “And if 212 answers, you tell ’em they need to have their locks changed. Tomorrow you call the precinct and report your money stolen. But he done this three other times and they haven’t found him yet. He bring you in the basement door, right?”
“Yes,” I croak. My throat is dry and tight and my eyes are burning.
A big hand lands on my shoulder. “Don’t panic,” Jason says. “Can you cancel the check you wrote him?”
My embarrassment is complete. “He said it had to be—”
“—cash,” Jason finishes on a sigh. “Oh, little buddy. Okay—listen. We’re going to get some Caribbean food and sort this out.”
Twenty minutes later I’m watching Jason and Silas devour braised oxtail and jerk chicken. And still trying not to cry. The food looks great and my stomach is empty. But I didn’t order anything.
Neither did Jason and Silas, come to think of it. The moment we walked in the hostess’s eyes lit up. “Good game, guys! And you’re here with us tonight? This is amazing! Sit sit sit. You need food?”
“So badly,” Jason had said.
The hostess—Clara—put a hand to her heart. “Let me just dash into the kitchen to tell them they’re not done yet. I’ll be right back to take your drink order!”
That was fifteen minutes ago. Since then, Clara and the wait staff have made a dozen trips to our table, bringing all manner of small plates and beverages. “And what will the lady have to drink?” a server asked at one point.
“I’m not drinking,” I’d said quickly.
They brought me a homemade soda made with cucumber, lime, and strawberry. I’m sipping on it balefully right now and questioning all my life choices.
“Okay,” Castro says, putting down a chicken bone. “That took the edge off. Now I can think.”
“This food is really over the top,” Silas agrees. “We need to come here again.”
“No problem,” I grumble. “The next time I’m swindled like a fool we’ll just drop by.”
Jason clucks his tongue. “You need some of this chicken,” he says. “It’ll change your mood.” He grabs a meaty piece off the platter and puts it on my empty plate. “Don’t do that dainty girl thing and pass up this food. And here—some tostones. Fried plantains.”
“It’s not a dainty girl thing,” I argue. “Jeez.” I pick up the chicken and take a bite. The skin is crispy and spicy, and the meat is juicy. I let out a little moan.
“None of that,” Jason says. “Now tell us what the hell happened back there.”
“Just a minute. I’m communing with this chicken.” Silas chuckles while I take another bite, and then eat a plantain. I’m stalling, because I really don’t know what I’m going to do. “I didn’t know how to find a place that I can afford,” I say eventually, wiping my fingers with the napkin Jason hands me. “So I took a chance on Craigslist. And now I don’t even have my deposit.”
I want to cry all over again.
“Weren’t you staying with your dad in Manhattan?” Silas asks.
“Yes. But he’s made a big point of teaching me a lesson. I can’t stay with that man.” Although I don’t really see any alternatives.
“You can stay with us for bit,” Silas says. “Right, Castro?”
Jason’s cocktail glass pauses halfway to his mouth. “What?”
“She can have the couch,” Silas says, grinning. “We’re leaving on a road trip in two nights, anyway.”
“My couch?” Jason asks. He gives me the side-eye.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say.
“It’s no problem,” Silas says cheerfully. “Right, bro?”