“Ha!” came Lynn’s reply. “Yeah, and he’s giving us free rent for the month.”

“Right,” Archer muttered, not even bothering to look up at the wet patch on the ceiling. Fletcher had come to investigate the leak twice already, finally, after multiple texts and phone calls, then informed them both times it was fixed. It was not. Archer dropped his bag on the floor and threw himself onto the old couch that was wedged against the wall, only inches from the kitchen on one side and the bathroom door on the other.

“How was your day?” Lynn came out of the bathroom attempting to jam her abundant dark brown hair into a bun, curvy figure wrapped in a killer sequined dress. Despite the damp and closet-sized apartment that was rapidly draining his savings, he adored living with Lynn.

Archer whistled. “Damn. Where you headed?”

“Out,” she mumbled through a hairpin before she took it from her mouth and stabbed it into her bun. “As are you.”

“Ugh, pass. I’m wallowing.” He clutched a magenta throw pillow to his chest and tried to look pathetic. It wasn’t hard.

“The fuck you are.” She examined him, hands on hips. He didn’t even need to tell her he got another no. His silence said it just fine.

“It’s Sasha’s birthday,” she reminded him. Lynn was an actual responsible adult, with a responsible adult job in a law firm in the Garment District, and she even had a responsible adult relationship.

Archer sighed. He wasn’t sure Sasha’s birthday was occasion enough to be forced off the couch on, this, the day of his thirty-fifth rejection.

“Plus”—Lynn gave him a look that pierced right through him—“you need to get out of your head a bit, my friend. Get drunk. Maybe even get laid.”

“I do not,” he said, even though they both knew all of those things were absolutely true.

Lynn didn’t dignify it with a response. “Let’s go. We’re meeting Sasha at The Fiddler in thirty and she hates it when I’m late.”

He tossed the pillow aside. “You’re only ever late because of me.”

Lynn sighed. “I know, boo. I mean she hates it when you’re late. Now get changed!”

Ten minutes later, Archer followed Lynn out onto the sidewalk. The bar was only a few blocks away and she had decided a speed walk would be faster than a cab. He had gone with jeans and a fuchsia button-down. It was a great color on him against his golden skin and dark blond hair, which he kept shorter than he would strictly like, not wanting to look anywhere near scruffy at auditions. He had left two buttons undone until Lynn had added a third with a wink. “You gotta sell the goods, Arch.”