Alexa’s mouth shifted into a thoughtful moue. “I guess not, but it’s still something.”

Zack wanted to argue further, but before he could, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He glanced toward the far end of the room. A handful of people were crowding around the windows.

Alexa followed his gaze. “Maybe there are protestors outside.”

She slid off Zack’s desk in a fluid movement and strode toward the crowd. Zack scrambled after her.

By the time they reached the windows, a half dozen people had joined the throng.

“What’s going on?” Alexa asked a middle-aged woman Zack didn’t recognize.

“This guy’s hanging out in front of the building,” the woman answered.

“So?”

“He’s just standing there, staring up at the windows, not moving.”

“Why?” Alexa asked, sounding flummoxed.

The woman shrugged. “Dunno. He’s been out there for the past ten minutes. We’re taking bets on whether he’s a protestor or a newb who’s too scared to come inside.”

“Okay, but why the crowd?”

“He’s gorgeous.”

Alexa frowned and then elbowed her way to the window, ignoring the shouts of protest that followed her. “Let me see.” She cupped her hands around her eyes and peered through the dark tinting. “Huh, he is pretty cute. He doesn’t have any picket signs. Zack, remember that funny one we saw last time? What did it say?”

“‘Burn in Hell, Fornicating Masturbators.’”

“That’s the one. Poetry.” Alexa turned back to the window. “Maybe he’s one of Colette’s new porn stars.”

“Or a tourist,” Zack chimed in. “He might think we’re an attraction. He’ll tell all his friends back home about the naughty sex buildings they have in California.”

“Maybe,” Alexa said. “He doesn’t have a map or a camera, though. Zack, come take a look.” She forcefully parted the people separating them, and Zack sidled up to the glass. The sun wasn’t quite setting yet, so there was plenty of light. Zack cupped his hands like Alexa and peered down.

The man standing in front of the building wasn’t dressed like a tourist. In place of the usual Hawaiian shirt and khaki pants, he had on dark-wash jeans and a blue dress shirt. His hands were tucked casually into his pockets, and Zack could just make out two headphone cords trailing from his ears, leading to an iPod that was clipped to his belt. The way he stood with his feet apart and his shoulders back screamed of confidence and ease.

The most noticeable thing about him, however, was that he was John.

Even from a floor up, Zack recognized him instantly.

Zack made an inhuman squeaking noise.

Six heads turned toward him. Zack blanched and stumbled away from the window as if it had burned him.

“You okay?” someone asked.

Zack scrambled to think of an excuse. “Uh, sorry. I just remembered I’m afraid of heights.”