“Is this becoming a pattern, Houston?” he asks from behind me as we walk through the storage racks. I don’t like the idea of Chuck thinking I’m a problem. I also don’t like him parenting me. He’s done it, on occasion—given me fatherly advice. I think he does it because he knows mine isn’t around to give it. But I don’t want to hear it from someone else. I’d rather go without.

“No, sir,” I say. “This time there was a girl who was being harassed. I’d hope that asshole’s pattern is broken, so no need for mine.” I let my eyes go to his for a second, just so he sees how serious I am. He nods, and pats me on the back once as he heads inside.

“Chivalry is always okay in my book,” he says.

I smile thinking of how he treats Sheila. I catch them sometimes, in those small moments. The way she’ll let her hand run along his arm, squeezing his hand. Or the way he spins her in his arms to the music humming throughout the store—just to dance with her for no reason at all. It’s a far cry from the way my grandpa used to call my grandmother “useless” and “dumb” in front of others, or the way he used to tell my mom she would have gotten married sooner, or could have had a better husband, if she weren’t so fat. My mom never talks about it—the emotional abuse—but I know it’s left scars on her. I knew it was wrong when I was a kid, I only wish I were brave enough when my grandparents were alive to tell my grandpa how wrong he was—about everything.

“Dude, burrito me!” Casey yells as he walks in through the side door. Chuck yells at him for coming in through the employee entrance, and Casey grabs the badge from my shirt, pinning it to himself. “That better?” he teases. Chuck grumbles something and heads into his office. I smack my hand across my friend’s chest, knocking the wind from him a little.

“Why do you have to be like that to him?” I say, holding my hand out for my badge.

“He doesn’t like me. I don’t know why?” Casey says, handing it to me.

“Yeah, I wonder,” I mutter. I move to my usual duties, getting the deli ready, then spend a few minutes on my friend’s breakfast. I’m rolling the tortilla when he notices my hand.

“What happened to your knuckles, bro?” he asks. I roll my hand over, and wiggle my fingers, buying myself time. Still unable to come up with a good lie, I opt for nothing instead, and shrug as I finish his burrito.

When Casey takes it from me, he holds my gaze for a second, quirking a brow up in suspicion. “That’s bullshit,” he points at me, then takes a bite of his food. “And you’ll tell me eventually.”

Maybe I will. Or maybe there’s nothing to tell, because on my short drive here, I decided that finding any reason not to run into Paige at the house—not to be alone with her—was a good move. I’m thinking about her too much, and Leah’s only been with her for a day and she’s already attached. There’s no stopping that, but I need to remember the arrangement. Paige lives with us, and she and Leah can be friends. And while I’m attracted to her, doing anything about it would open a Pandora’s box.

“So, hey,” Casey says, walking around to the other side of the counter to stand next to me. I make a face at him, but he shrugs me off with a whatever. Chuck hates it when he does this too; I look over to his office. The door’s closed, so I indulge my friend, hoping he’ll hurry up with whatever he’s all excited to show me on his phone.

“The real reason I came this morning,” he says, and I laugh, folding up the paper from his burrito and tossing it in the trash. “Dude, yeah. The burrito was good. And that’s usually the reason. But Eli got this from a friend last night at some party and I had to show you. I’m…I’m not going to tell you, because I can’t wait to see your face when you realize.”

He starts playing some video, and the moaning sounds are loud. I slap his hand away and look back over to Chuck’s office, the door still closed. “Case, what the fuck?” I say, as he’s fumbling with his phone, pushing buttons on the side to mute it.

“Sorry, I had it up loud last time. Come on dude, I turned it down. Just watch. Trust me!” he says, holding the phone out again.

I stare at him for a few seconds before I realize this is a battle I’m not going to win, and the only way through this is to watch this damn video. I take the phone back from him and push the play icon. The quality isn’t great, and the picture is pretty grainy. I can tell it’s two people having sex on some crappy dorm-room bed, and it looks like the entire thing was filmed from a laptop, the view of some chick’s bare back and a dude’s hairy legs. I watch for about fifteen seconds, getting the drift, not really seeing what the big deal is—college porn happens at McConnell all the time. I think there are even a few guys in the broadcast school who use the equipment lab for a side business.