I unhook the chain latch, turn the lock, and school my expression into something that I hope looks unimpressed before I throw open the door. He’s wearing a worn gray T-shirt with some vaguely familiar logo on it and equally worn navy sweatpants. I’d like to say he looks a lot better in his underwear than he does clothed, but that might be a lie.

The T-shirt stretches across his broad chest, contouring to the muscles. His pants, which might be baggy on a different body type, hug his muscular thighs.

“Oh look, you do actually own clothes.” I’m going for bitchy-slash-sarcastic to offset the fact that I have openly ogled him.

“Uh, yeah. I just don’t like wearing them unless I have to leave my apartment.” He thumbs over his shoulder.

That’s an interesting thing to admit to someone he hardly knows. “So you’re what? A home nudist?”

The image of him this morning, holding his trouser snake—and subsequently peeing all over my toilet seat—pops into my head. I have enough of a visual, minus what his ass looks like not covered in fabric, to almost perfectly imagine him swinging free.

“If my brother didn’t live with me, I might be.” He slips his crutches out from under his arms and leans them against the wall. “Anyway, I wanted to bring you a peace offering.” He braces a hand on the doorframe and grimaces as he bends forward.

That’s when I notice the pizza box from Sammy’s Pizzeria and the potted plant on the floor by his feet. I’ve ordered from there a couple of times in the past week because there was a brochure stuck to the fridge with a magnet that boasted a free pizza. “Why don’t you let me get that?”

“I can do it,” he grunts. He’s folded over, trying to bend at the knees and lower himself enough to pick the stuff up.

“Even if you can, I’m going to go ahead and say you probably shouldn’t.”

He ignores me and manages to catch the edge of the potted plant. He rights himself and thrusts it at me with a groan. “This is for you.”

“You’re giving me an aloe plant?”

“I noticed you didn’t have any plants in your apartment. My brother has a green thumb, and we have like fifteen aloe plants. They’re hardy and useful.” His eyes dart around, and the tips of his ears go red.

“Okay. Well, thanks?” I can’t decide whether it’s a thoughtful gift or just convenient. Either way, it’s unconventional. And possibly a little odd that he noticed my lack of plants.

“You’re welcome.” He starts to bend again.

I crouch and pick up the pizza box before he gets too far and ends up face planting into my feet. “Do you need help getting into your apartment with this?”

“It’s for you.” His cheeks have turned the same color as his ears.

“You brought me an aloe plant and a pizza?” I set the plant on the side table by the door so I can take a peek inside the box. It’s the exact same kind I’ve ordered both times since I moved in: pepperoni, bacon, ham, pineapple, green olives, and hot peppers. It’s an odd combination, but the sweet of the pineapple with the salty of the olives and the heat of the peppers is delicious. At least I think so. The question is, How the hell does my neighbor know exactly what I like on my pizza?

He must read the question on my face, because his goes even redder, if that’s even possible. “I saw a couple of boxes from Sammy’s in your recycling, so I called and ordered whatever had been delivered last.”

That’s a lot less creepy and a lot more resourceful than any of the other scenarios I entertained, like him going through my garbage and performing a sniff test. “Thanks for bringing me dinner and a plant?” I don’t know what else to say to him. It’s a nice gesture, even if it’s a strange one.

“I ordered the pizza like an hour ago, thinking you’d be home earlier, so you might need to reheat it.”

“Okay.” I don’t make a move to close the door, and he doesn’t make a move to leave.

He chews on the inside of his lip like he’s waiting for something. Maybe he expects me to invite him to share the pizza with me. Or this is supposed to be his way of wiping the slate clean.

“Is there something else?”

He blows out a breath. “I, uh . . . I could kind of use a favor.”

Well, that explains the plant and the pizza. “A favor?”

“Yeah. Uh, my car is still at the arena, and I left a bunch of stuff in it that I need, but I can’t drive.” He rubs the back of his neck. “If you’re not busy, maybe I can ask you to come with me to drive it home?”

I stare at him for a few seconds, trying to figure out if he’s serious. This actually works perfectly with the whole idea Pattie proposed, but I’m still reasonably wary. “Why wouldn’t you ask your brother? Unless he doesn’t actually exist.”

“He exists; he can’t drive me, though.” He fidgets, adjusting his stance again. Perspiration breaks across his forehead. I wonder if it’s pain induced or caused by embarrassment, or something else.

“Can’t you wait until he gets home?” It would be far less awkward than being stuck in a car with me.

“He’s home. He doesn’t have a license.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t offer more information, and I don’t press for it. “Yeah, I guess I can help you pick up your car. You wanna go now?”

“You can eat your pizza first.” He motions to the box, which I’m still holding.

“That’s okay. I went out with friends after work and we ordered appetizers, so I’m not super hungry right now. Let me put this in the fridge and grab my purse. Unless you want a slice or something?”

“Uh, no, thanks. That combination of toppings is pretty gag worthy.”

“Don’t knock it until you try it.” I leave him standing in the hall, put the pizza in the fridge, and consider stopping in the bathroom to make sure I look okay but decide against putting in the effort, since he’s not asking for help for any reason other than I’m convenient.

He’s leaning against the wall, head bowed with his phone in his hand, when I come back out. “The Uber will be here in a couple of minutes.”

“Great.”

The ride down to the lobby is awkward. He leans against the mirrored glass with his eyes closed and breathes heavily through his nose.

“Are you okay?”

He cracks one lid. “Yeah. I’ll be better when I’m sitting down again.”

I don’t bother with more chitchat on the short trip to the lobby. The Uber is already waiting. Bishop opens the door and motions for me to get in. I guess he does have some manners.

“Why don’t you go first?” I suggest.

He looks like he wants to argue but decides against it. He lowers himself slowly into the back seat and grunts as he lifts each leg in, folding himself into the sedan. He’s huge and it’s a Civic, so there isn’t a ton of room for his long legs or the rest of his body.

I lay the crutches over his lap and get in on the other side, putting me behind the driver. The arena isn’t terribly far from the apartment, and rush-hour traffic is long over. During the short trip our Uber driver tells us all about his plan to become a famous musician. He even hands me a postcard when we’re stopped at a light and proceeds to tell us he’s the lead singer of his band, and he plays the guitar. “You should totally come see the band this weekend.” His gaze shifts to Bishop in the rearview mirror, but Bishop’s eyes are closed. “You can bring your boyfriend too.”