I press my face to the glass, one eye squinting through the gap in the curtain. My breath fogs the pane. I swipe it off with my sleeve. Nothing. The street’s empty. The spot where they stood? Empty. Like they were never there. Like I hallucinated the whole thing.
No tall guy. No tattoos. No shadow man glaring like he wants to break my door in. Just my sad little balcony and the flickering streetlight that needs replacing.
I stand there for a full minute, half expecting one of them to pop up right in front of the glass likeBoo!and give me a heart attack.
Nothing.I let out a breath so shaky it probably rattles the window.
“Okay,” I whisper to Gordo, who’s licking his butt and ignoring my crisis. “It’s fine. They’re gone.”
Gordo pauses, gives me a look like, “Why are you talking to me?”then rolls over and starts licking his own balls instead. Zero respect. None.
I close the curtain so fast I nearly rip it off the rod. Then I double-check the lock. Then I triple-check.
I must’ve gone paranoid. I have to be. Whoever they are—if there even is a “they”—it probably has nothing to do with me. I’m not that interesting. Nobody’s watching me. Nobody cares.
Gordo clearly doesn’t. He’s already parked by the sliding door, yowling at me like I’m the world’s worst butler for not letting him go sniff the patio for the millionth time today.
“Absolutely not,” I mutter. He answers with a louder meow. He’s relentless. “Not happening, man. We’re on lockdown.”
He throws himself against the door for dramatic effect. I press my forehead to the wall and wish I could trade lives with Gordo.
I wake up face-first in cat fur. Gordo’s massive orange belly is smashed up against my cheek, like he’s trying to suffocate me out of love. I can feel the grit of yesterday’s makeup on my skin, taste stale breath, and my work shirt’s half-buttoned and wrinkled to hell. I guess I passed out here on the couch. Real professional. Real adult.
Gordo’s licking my chin. I shove him back. He plants one fat paw right on my boob for leverage. Disrespectful bastard.
I’m trying to decide if it’s worth peeling myself up when I realize I’d been dreaming. Not about winning the lottery or my mom being alive. No, my brain’s got jokes. It washimagain. Tall, broad, dark hair, green eyes that look at me like they own me. I don’t even know his name. I kissed him once, if you can call falling into his mouth while drunk a kiss. Great. So now he lives in my subconscious rent-free, too. Gordo, get in line.
A knock. Sharp, soft. Makes me flinch like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t. I roll halfway off the couch, check my phone. Not even six.
Who the hell—?
Gordo jumps down, tail up, and does his little victory trot to the door. Rubs his fat head against it like he’s trying to fuse with the wood. Purrs so loud I swear the door rattles. I envy how easily he loves people who feed him.
Another knock. A whisper through the old door. “Mary… Mary, you awake?” Essie. Right. Cat thief status: busted.
I get the door open on the second chain because the first one’s jammed again. Essie’s standing there in an old pink robe, hair in a lopsided bun. She’s tiny, but she holds Gordo’s entire world in her palms. He presses his face into her knee like he’s apologizing for cheating on her with me.
“Hey, sorry,” I mumble. My voice sounds like it’s been dragged over asphalt. “He snuck in last night. He’s basically my roommate now.”
Liar. You dragged him inside full force.
Essie scoops Gordo up like he weighs nothing. Kisses his forehead twice. He does that cat thing, slow blinking at her, paw batting at her collar like he’s helping with the robe tie.
“Oh, it’s fine, sweetheart. He likes your place, I think. Different smells, more herbs to murder.” She shifts him to one arm, pullsa little Tupperware from her tote bag. “I brought you something. Kitchen made too much last night. You eat yet?”
I blink at the container, then at her. It’s barely six. My stomach wants it, but my brain’s not convinced it’s legal to eat real food this early. I make a face. “Unless you count stale coffee and half a granola bar at midnight. Did you just get off at the hotel?”
Essie shrugs, although the dark circles under her eyes are giving her away. She yawns into her shoulder, one hand covering her mouth. “Double shift turned into triple. Somebody called in sick at the budget place by the old casino. Strip never sleeps,mija, so I don’t either.”
“You need a day off,” I say, even though I know how dumb it sounds. “Seriously. Just sleep all day. Lock the door, turn off your phone.”
Essie’s eyes do this soft thing when I say “day off.” Like I’ve told her to sprout wings and fly to the moon. She shifts Gordo on her hip. He’s basically a furry toddler, content to drool on her shoulder.
“One more year,” she says. Her mouth tries to stay tired, but her eyes don’t. “Manny graduates next spring. Then maybe I’ll sleep. Maybe I’ll only clean one hotel instead of two.” She says it like a joke, but it’s not. Pride’s all over her face, warming up the cracks The Strip can’t touch.
“That’s good, Essie,” I say, and I mean it. The hallway smells of old linoleum and her dollar-store perfume and Gordo’s cat fur,but right now it feels like the softest place on earth. “Tell Manny I said congrats in advance.”
“Tell him yourself. He still asks about your plants.” She nudges Gordo’s face to mine, like we’re co-parenting. “Sleep,mija. Eat. Call if you need anything.”
