‘Sixty-day dry-aged rib eye,’ Brad said, glancing around until he found a little bottle of oil on the window ledge. ‘Cost you seventy bucks in a restaurant on The Strip.’

After putting some oil in the pan, Brad reached up and stretched a shower cap over his smoke detector.

‘Stop lurking in the doorway,’ Brad said. ‘Have a seat.’

The bed looked grungy, and Charlie flicked grass-stained shorts out of the way before straightening the duvet and perching on the edge.

‘So you don’t go to school any more?’ Charlie asked, but felt dumb because he’d mentioned math tutoring.

‘Only work for my uncle weekends and holidays,’ Brad said, unwrapping the steak as the pan started to sizzle. ‘I landed a three-day suspension from school for fighting. Guy riding my back all day because they don’t like OIL kids.’

Charlie looked confused. ‘OIL?’

‘Obama Independent Living,’ Brad explained. ‘Not proud I lost my temper, but I couldn’t take his shit.’

Charlie nodded sympathetically, though it was the kind of line people always used to justify fighting. She thought no more, because Brad dropped the steak into the pan and started yelling.

‘Jesus, holy mother of …’

Charlie was baffled as Brad hopped into the bathroom and blasted cold water.

‘What happened?’ Charlie gasped, standing up.

‘Hot fat spattered my chest,’ Brad explained, emerging from the bathroom smirking and rubbing beautiful abs with a damp towel. ‘Wow, that hurt!’

‘You want to put this on?’ Charlie asked, laughing as she picked a balled-up Barcelona soccer shirt off his bed.

‘That’ll do, sure,’ Brad said.

Charlie caught a whiff of BO as she threw the shirt. It was a smell that would be gross if it came off some old guy on the bus, but sexy coming from Brad.

‘Steak for madame,’ he said, presenting the meat one-handed on a cardboard plate, with a knife and fork he’d retrieved from a manky coffee mug and rinsed in the bathroom.

Charlie didn’t give a damn about SNor prevention as she balanced the plate on her knees and started to cut. It was bloodier than expected, but she smiled when she tasted it.

‘Good?’ Brad asked, a touch anxious.

‘Best steak ever,’ Charlie said.

She wouldn’t have been rude if it had tasted rank, but it was genuinely amazing.

‘When you hang beef for two or three months, all the proteins start to break down and it gets super tender,’ Brad explained.

‘Murr eeee yum mar,’ Charlie said, then swallowed and tried again. ‘Melts in your mouth.’

‘Any plans for tonight, Charlie?’

She shook her head. ‘My friend Harry is coming tomorrow. I guess I’ll sort out my books, read the rules and stuff.’

Brad shook his head. ‘On your first night of freedom? No way! There’s a group of us here. We head out most Fridays.’

‘Where do you go?’