“Ever since what happened last fall, my dad has made a feeble though still earnest attempt at safeguarding our place. He’s put stickers on all the windows and poked yard signs into the lawn, both of which claim that we have a security system (we don’t). He’s also installed motion-detector lights that go on and off pretty much whenever they feel like it.”

“Did you and dad eat the raw-violi I left in the fridge?”“Sort of. I mean, we considered eating it. It made its way onto the table. But we ended up having the rest of the rawkin’ raw-sagna instead. (Rawkin’ raw-sagna: a sorry excuse for a real lasagna made with uncooked squash slices, tomatoes, and cashew paste, and served on—what else?—Elvis dinner plates). I don’t have the heart to tell her that dad chucked both dinners and ordered us a pizza.”

“It’s all so confusing.”“Only to you it is. Wes and I tend to see things a whole lot clearer than you do. And, as luck would have it, he just happens to be here with me, hiding out from his dad. So why don’t you get your confused ass over here, too?”“Why is he hiding out?”“Because his dad paid Helga to come onto him.”“Helga the cleaning lady?”“Believe it. That woman may be sixty years old and carry her teeth around in a Dixie cup, but apparently she still has game.”“Heinous.”“To put it mildly.”

“On the drive home, Adam glances at me several times, clearly wanting to talk about what’s happened.But I can barely look up from the door latch.Exactly six pain-filled minutes later, he pulls over at the corner of my street and puts the car in park. “Do you hate me?” he asks.“More like I hate myself.”“Yeah.” He sighs. “Kissing me tends to have that effect on women.”“That’s not what I meant.”“Don’t worry about it,” he says, still trying to make light of the situation. “It’s my fault. It won’t happen again.”“I let it happen.”“Yes, but only because you couldn’t help yourself. I must admit, I’m far too irresistible for my own good.”“I wouldn’t go that far.” I can’t help but smile.”

“Oh, and because I don’t have a dating history as big as your mouth, it doesn’t quite measure up?” he asks.“I hate to break this to you, but that isn’t the only thing of yours that doesn’t measure up.” She waggles her pinkie at him.“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He grins.“I think I’m all set,” I interrupt, zipping up my bag.“Don’t forget this.” Still cuddling my sweater, Wes purrs a couple of times before tossing it my way.“Yeah, I can’t imagine why your dad thinks of you as feminine,” Kimmie mocks.”

“To my complete and utter surprise, the writing on his door is gone.Vanished.“What happened?” I ask.It takes him a second before he realizes what I’m asking. “I washed it off,” he explains.“You what?”“I wasn’t going to, but I didn’t want the super to give me a hard time. Plus, I thought it might freak out some of my neighbors. You have to admit, death threats on doors can be pretty offensive, generally speaking. Not to mention the sheer fact that it made me look like a total asshole—like some old girlfriend was trying to get even.”“Did you take pictures at least?”“Actually, no.” He cringes. “That probably would’ve been a good idea.”“But Tray saw the writing, right?”“Um . . .” He nibbles his lip, clearly reading my angst.“You told me he was with you last night. You said you called him.”“I tried, but he didn’t pick up, and I didn’t want you to worry.”“So, you lied?” I snap.“I didn’t want you to worry,” he repeats. “Please, don’t be upset.”“How can I not be? We’re talking about your life here. You can’t go erasing evidence off your door. And you can’t be lying to me, either. How am I supposed to help you if you don’t tell me the truth?”“Why are you helping me?” he asks, taking a step closer. “I mean, I’m grateful and all, and you know I love spending time with you, be it death-threat missions or pizza and a movie. It’s just . . . what do you get out of it? What’s this sudden interest in my life?”My mouth drops open, but I manage a shrug, almost forgetting the fact that he knows nothing about my premonitions.”

“Wes knocks a couple of times, but Adam doesn’t answer. “Jackpot,” he says, kneeling down to examine the lock. He takes the bundle of wire from his pocket and proceeds to make a key of sorts.“You’re not going to break in?” I ask.“Well, um, yeah. Kimmie rolls her eyes, as if the answer’s completely obvious.Wes sticks his key into the lock and starts to jiggle it back and forth. A moment later, the doorknob turns. Only, Wes isn’t the one turning it.Piper then whips the door open. “Oh, my god,” she says, smacking her chest like we’ve scared her, too. “We were looking for Adam.” I peek past her into the apartment.“He isn’t here,” she says, glaring up at Wes, no doubt annoyed that he’s attempting to pick the lock.“Would you believe that I dropped the contact?” he asks, before finally getting up.“Not likely, since you’re wearing glasses.” Kimmie bops him on the head with her Tupperware purse.”