I cleared my Styrofoam container several minutes before Zeke—which he found amusing. He twirled noodles around his fork and put it all in his mouth, savoring each bite. He chewed, took a sip of his water, and then cleared his throat. “You drink, eat, and fight like a dude. What else should I know?”

“Nothing really.”

“You don’t wanna tell me your story?” Zeke asked.

I pointed to the intricate tattoo on his forearm. Tall trees, some with leaves, some without; birds flying overhead, all over black ground that broke up and faded out near his wrist. “Tell me about that.”

“You met Taylor in the hall. His brother is a tattoo artist in Illinois. I went back home with Taylor a few times and knocked out this bad boy. It’s the black.”

“The black.”

“The burned-out area the fire’s already been through. The place we couldn’t save, which—ironically—is the safest place to be.”

I arched an eyebrow. “That’s pretty deep, Zeke.”

“Shut up,” he teased.

“I’m serious. You surprise me.”

“Good,” he said, trying to suppress a grin. He finished his dinner, packed it up, and threw everything away. He turned on the television but kept it on mute, then sat in the ugly green chair next to the bed. I was thankful for the space. It was always hard to tell what was next when meeting someone new. That was the most stressful part. Do we talk? Do we flirt? Do we fuck?

“What were you pissed about yesterday?” Zeke asked. He sat back, crossed his legs on top of an ottoman just as ugly and just as green as his seat, and relaxed, clearly settling in for a while. Hell, I’d rather awkwardly turn down sex than talk about my feelings.

“It had to do with work. My boss is an old friend, and he made some decisions I didn’t agree with.”

“Such as?” Zeke prompted.

“Let’s just get something out of the way. I’m not allowed to talk about my job.”

“Okay,” he said immediately.

“Okay?” I repeated, defensive. I was so unprepared for such quick acceptance that my response carried an unnecessary acerbic tone. I cleared my throat to start over. “Okay.” I said it softer this time, even if it was forced.

“Where are you from?” he asked, unfazed.

“Arizona.”

“Oh, yeah? What part? I have cousins in Phoenix.”

“Everyone has a cousin in Phoenix.”

He smiled. “You know, if you don’t want to talk, just say so. I can turn on a movie if you want.”

“You invite me over and are okay if we don’t talk? Are you always this agreeable?”

He thought about my words then shook his head. “No. Want a beer?”

I nodded.