Zeke pressed the button, holding on to the takeout sack with both hands. It crunched every time he shifted or moved or breathed, which was a lot. At least he was nervous now too.

The lobby was clean, which surprised me. I figured the hotshots would be staying in a dump to save the government money, but the paint was fresh, the baseboards clean, and there was a hint of carpet freshener in the air. The building was old, but the owner took pride in his business, making me feel better about Trex staying there.

The elevator doors parted, but just before we stepped inside, I saw two men poke their heads around the corner to peek at us.

Zeke saw them then looked at me to see if I did. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbled, embarrassed.

He hurried in, pulled me with him, and pressed the second-floor button once, the button to close the doors several times until they sealed shut.

I chuckled.

“It’s not funny.”

“It’s kind of funny.”

He looked up. “I just don’t want you to break one of their arms and take them out for the season.”

“Oh. That’s what you’re worried about.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “You do have a temper.”

“I mean … you’re not wrong,” I said, unable to argue. The doors opened, and a tall man bulging with muscles and covered in tattoos stood in front of us, holding a basket of laundry and seeming confused.

“Hey, Zeke,” he said, watching me walk past him.

“Hey, Taylor. I thought you were already at the café?” Zeke said.

He looked at his watch and stepped into the elevator after Zeke stepped out. “Me too. Forgot some shit.”

“This is Naomi,” Zeke said.

“Nice to meet you,” Taylor said with a charming grin as the doors closed.

“He’s bringing laundry to a café?” I asked, following Zeke down the hallway.

“His girlfriend works there and lives in the apartment above.”

I nodded once, looking around. “Gotcha. I figured I’d see Trex in the lobby.”

“He might be in his room. You wanna stop by and say hi?”

“Nah. I see him Monday through Friday at work.”

Zeke seemed relieved to hear my answer. He slowed down and touched a card to the small black rectangle. Once the lock clicked, he held open the door and gestured for me to go inside. The lights were on, it was clean, and didn’t smell like a locker room.

“You didn’t have to clean just for me.”

“Taylor and I aren’t neat freaks, but we both like to keep shit picked up. That’s why we room together.”

I sat on the bed. “Let’s eat. I’m starved.”

“Oh,” he said, looking down at the sack in his hands like he’d forgotten he was holding it. He set it carefully on the bed, taking care not to tip anything over.