Chapter 33

“No, it’s great,” he said, not convincingly, throwing stuff off the couch. Shirts. Papers. “My neighbors—”

“No one saw me.” I grabbed a beer bottle off the coffee table. One of many. I shook the bottle. “Any more of these?”

I’d gone from a married man to a paranoid closet case. Was I condemned to live in the shadows?

“Yeah, sure.” Vassilios disappeared into the kitchen and I moved more stuff off the couch—a ruler, some kind of tape, and an empty pack of cigarettes. When I’d cleared a space for us, I sat down.

What would we do with our evening?