“What kind of household is this?” Groaning, I go back to the fridge, snag the Tupperware full of grapes—plucked from the vine—and head back into the living room, where I sit on the couch and turn on the TV. I go straight to TBS, knowing there will be sitcom reruns, and to my delight, it’s The Big Bang Theory. “Oh Sheldon, you crazy fuck,” I say as I pop open the grapes and start inhaling them one at a time.

I’m in the middle of poking my straw through the hole in the Capri Sun when the front door opens and shuts. Locks are engaged, shoes are kicked off, and a bag of some sort slams to the floor before a man appears in the living room entryway.

Well, would you look at that? Hello, sir.

Tall, broad with brown hair, a man stands in front of me sporting a pair of baggy sweatpants and a plain black T-shirt. His long fingers twitch at his sides as his sculpted shoulders set back when he realizes he’s not alone. Hiding under a Studmuffins hat is a piercing set of blue eyes that carry confusion as he looks me up and down.

“Who the hell are you?” he asks.

I toss a grape in my mouth and answer, “A guest to this residence. Who the hell are you?”

“The renter of this residence,” he responds.

“Ah, well . . . it would help guests greatly if you offer them more variety of snacks when they come over. Protein bars and grapes aren’t going to cut it.”

He glances around, clearly looking for any indication of what the hell is going on, and then turns back toward me. “Who are you here with? Banner?”

“Why yes, I am, technically.” I hold my finger up to my mouth and say, “Now, shush. You’re interrupting my show.”

He glances at the TV and then back at me again. “Where the hell is Banner?”

“God, you with the questions.” I roll my eyes. “He’s upstairs with my best friend having sex.”

“And you’re down here, eating grapes and watching a show?”

“Yes, that’s precisely what’s happening. Good job stating the obvious.”

He pulls on the back of his neck and shakes his head. “I don’t have the fucking patience right now to deal with this.”

“Good, then you can leave me to my show.” With another shake, he heads up the stairs when I say, “Uh, dude . . . man, guy.”

“Ryot,” he says.

“What’s that now?”

“My name is Ryot.”

“Oh, that’s an interesting one. Okay then, parents attempting to make you popular straight out of the womb. Anyway, do you happen to have a blanket? There’s a swift breeze coming from the window, and I’d rather not catch a chill while sitting here.”

“No, I don’t,” he answers.

“You don’t have one single blanket?”

“Not for you to use,” he answers again. This time, he starts walking up the stairs.

“Sheesh, what kind of host are you?”