He doesn’t turn back around but does let me know that, “You know the windows? They’re reflective,” as he looks me in the eye through one of them. I carefully fold my middle finger to join the rest of my fist.

By the time I’ve gotten out of the shower, Charles and Dylan have left for a work dinner thrown by Dylan’s law firm. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge,” Charles has scrawled on the magnetic whiteboard on the front of it. “Seriously. Just. Eat. Them.”

I open up the fridge and count the six white cardboard boxes, and the one plastic one of sushi. Aside from a neat row of salad dressing, raspberry jam, and a bottle of ketchup in the door, that’s all there is in their fridge. Neither Charles nor Dylan cooks. I used to, if you can call getting all the ingredients and recipes delivered to me in a box once a week real cooking. But since I currently don’t have a home to deliver said box to, that’s not happening so much anymore.

I hate to admit it, but Charles is right. I should eat the leftovers. I should just heat them up and eat them . . . but doesn’t a nice bowl of soba noodles and veggies sound pretty perfect right about now?

Good job on throwing dreamboat my way. I feel like I’m working on a spread for Vanity Fair. It’s a text from Aisha. As predicted, it had been pretty easy to sell Jude on her add-on the day after our initial meeting.

He genuinely needs your help, though, I respond. His pictures were doing him no favors.

I spoke briefly on the phone with him too, Aisha writes back. He sounds like Jamie Fraser.

I wrack my brain, trying to figure out who that is. When I don’t respond immediately, Aisha figures out my problem.

Outlander, she writes.

Ah, right, I write back. I cut the cord a while back so I haven’t seen the show.

Why does this guy need your help again? Aisha writes.

As soon as I get that message, my phone buzzes with another incoming one. Jude. Hey. So I’ve gotten an initial message from a girl I’m interested in. What’s my next step?

I write Aisha back quickly first. I guess we’re about to find out. I gotta go. Cyrano duties call.

Then I switch over to Jude’s window. Hey. Perfect. You free to get on a video chat? Easier if we talk through the first one together.

My phone rings almost immediately.

“Hi,” Jude says, his face filling up my screen.

“Hey. So which site are we on?”

“Game Set Match,” Jude says.