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Tito grunts or moans—not sure what that sound means.
“Want some water?” I ask.
“Pickle juice.”
“What?”
Tito laughs drunkenly.
“Don’t ask. It’s a Be-la-ru-si-an thing,” he slurs like he’s trying to pronounceWorcestershire sauce. “There’s a pickle jar with Cyrillic letters in the fridge.”
The whole content of the fridge is Cyrillic letters, but I find the pickle jar and pour the liquid into a glass. I’ve never fallen faster in love with all things weird like I did in apartment 1101 of Goldsling Towers.
“Awesome for hangovers. Lu taught me,” Tito explains, drinking it as I’m about to turn around. “This couch sucks, Jace. Can I sleep in your bed?”
Tito is such a smooth-talker that I can’t hold back a chuckle.
“That’s a no. Nice try though. Anything else, sweetheart?” I tease him, walking away.
“I’m gonna be super nice! I’ll stay on my side, on the very edge. Jace, I promise!” he begs louder as I reach my room.
“There’s noyourside on my bed, Tito.”
“This couch—”
“Tito.” I turn and give him a reproachful stare. “Goodnight.”
“Ugh.” He exhales in what sounds like frustration. “I guess she won.”
I guess he’s talking about Lu. But she won a long time ago.
As I close the door to my room, Tito’s drunk murmur is the last thing I hear. “But I do have such skillful hands.”
33
JACE
Lu,Tito, and I have breakfast on the terrace.
Tito is hungover, and so is Lu.
I got up early, as usual, went downstairs to get creamer and eggs, made coffee, cooked breakfast, and took it out onto the terrace while Lu and Tito soaked up the June sunlight.
“I like coffee in bed,” Tito says, lighting a cigarette. “Jace, if you ever need a new roommate, I have a spare room.”
Lu smiles, and I can’t help but glance at her smiling lips—the lips that kiss so well that I spent an hour last night obsessing over the memories.
I’m on my way to Sheepshead Bay when I get a text from Roey.
Roey: We have a job down South.
Me: When?
Roey: Starting today.
Me: What do you mean today?
It’s like he’s trying to sabotage my every perfect day with Lu.
