Considering the disaster of that weekend in New York City, Alistair didn't expect to ever hear from Jennifer again. The drive back was quiet, if not tense, as he'd spent the entirety of the second day out with Benny and meeting their lawyer.

    Jennifer had spent that entire day out as well—Where? Alistair didn't know, and Jennifer never offered it up. He guessed a part of that day had been spent at her furniture designer's studio, but by the time he thought to ask, they were already three hours into a silent drive and felt weird bringing it up.

     Two days later, Alistair had succumbed to the reality that he'd probably fucked everything up with Jennifer and had come to terms with it. Usually, by the time he left North Carolina, he was so completely done with Jennifer that not seeing her felt like a blessing.

    Now, however, he just felt like shit.

    He distracted himself with work and Kennedy's plans for her own road trip that involved renting the largest vehicle Alistair had ever seen. He took one look at the listing and texted back, "You'll never be able to see over the dash."

    Kennedy had replied by flipping him off.

    Their week-long roadtrip was planned over the Fourth of July. Benny's job had off that entire week, Micah had managed to ask off and would work remote otherwise, and Alistair didn't give two shits about Hunter's circumstances and hadn't heard the part about Erika's arrangements.

    By the fifth day of No Jennifer Contact, Alistair was horny again and debating giving Micah a nudge via suggestive photographs. He also, more than anything, wanted to know what Micah had done in his apartment for all of thirty minutes.

    During the drive back when Alistair wasn't hyper-fixated on predicting Jennifer's mood swings, he was thinking about those thirty minutes. His security camera subscription had a storage time limit, after all, and they were nearing the one-month mark since the date Cerberus gave him.

    And then, a knock sounded on his door.

    Alistair left his office to investigate, though only one person bothered to knock on his door. Sure enough: it was Jennifer, equipped with a chocolate apology cake.

    Her gaze was uncertain. "Hi," she said.

    "Hey," he said, one hand awkwardly on his hip. He stuffed it in his pocket. He looked at the cake. "What's this."

    "I just—" She hesitated, shuffling in her sandals. She scratched at her hair, balancing the cake on one hand. "Fuck, now that I'm here, this is kinda desperate of me."

    "I don't think so," Alistair said. He cleared his throat and gestured for her to continue.

    "Just—take the damn cake," she said, and thrust it into his hands. It left him open for invasion, though, as she marched into his flat and said, "And I could use a glass of wine to admit the rest."

    It was the first time Jennifer set foot in his condo, and Alistair felt too shitty about the situation to kick her out. He popped the top on an already-opened bottle of wine in his fridge and poured them each a glass. They drank over chocolate cake and whatever podcast Alistair had been listening to during work.

    She glanced into his office and said, "Sorry. I'm interrupting your work."

    "It's fine," he said. "What did you want to say?"

    She put her hands out, shoulders slumping. "I... understand. That you aren't interested in marriage," she said, "but I think we're really compatible. And it'd be nice if we... if I... I mean, what I'm trying to say is..."

    "Do you wanna fuck?" he offered.

    She winced. The truth. "Yes. Only if you want to, of course."

    He finished his wine in two smooth gulps and said, "Yeah, I do. But it won't mean anything."

    "Understood."

    After a beat, he said, "And we're still friends."

    She attempted to smother her smile, but it was impossible. "Of course," she said, quietly. "Friends."

    And so the status quo continued, only now with new scenery. They still slept together in Jennifer's bed the way Alistair preferred, but more than once she spent the night and made herself scarce by morning. It was an everyday thing once more, which probably wasn't for the better, but Alistair felt a little less like shit because of it.

    The day Kennedy's crew was due to arrive, Alistair found Jennifer at the gym in the morning before she was usually off to the stables. It was a Saturday, and Alistair could see the line of her thong beneath the waistband of her shorts when she squatted.

    Afterward, as he left the locker room, he was met with Jennifer leant against the opposite wall. She was tapping at her phone until she saw him and smiled.

    "Hey, you free tonight?" she asked.

    "No, work thing," he lied, and she pouted.

    "It's the weekend."

    "Tell that to my coworkers."

    She rolled her eyes and said, "Alright then. Text me if you want to meet up later."

    He agreed, and so she was off and Alistair was bound for the grocery store. Food prep was in order, and took up the remainder of his day in between viciously cleaning his condo for guests.

    Kennedy had reserved rooms at a nearby hotel, but Alistair's thoughts were set on inviting Micah over. Kennedy had toyed with the idea of ordering one less room so Micah would be forced to stay, but Alistair had nixed this idea and insisted that he'd reserve an extra room to ensure that didn't happen.

    This had earned him another middle finger.

    Thinking about it had him laughing. He'd told Micah that he was staying in North Carolina, but never the town. The incidental significance of a North Carolina pitstop, however, wouldn't be lost on Micah. Micah knew, and Alistair wondered if Micah was anticipating staying the night.

    He wondered if Micah's hair was growing out. From what Alistair had observed before Micah's professional job, Micah had been frugal enough to not get haircuts. Now, however...

    Alistair wanted to feel the peach fuzz on Micah's nape.

    He was so engrossed in the fantasy that when the doorbell rang, he thought he missed the oven timer. There were still five minutes left on it.

    He opened the door, saying, "You're ear—"

    It was Jennifer, with takeout.

    "—ly," Alistair finished, shoulders slumping. "What are you doing here?"

    "Early for what?" she said, smiling, winking. "You didn't know I was coming, did you?"

    She let herself in, closed her eyes, and sniffed the air. "Wow! What are you making? If I'd known, I wouldn't've picked this up. Leftovers for me!"

    Alistair didn't want to shut the door. He needed her gone. "I'm kind of busy right now. I can't see you tonight."

    "I thought you could use a break from work..." she said, slowly, taking in the spotless kitchen and the side dishes already on display. Her eyes found his again, "But I see now that you're a liar."

    He rolled his eyes. "Fine. I lied. But the sentiment still stands: I can't see you tonight, so if you don't mind—" He gestured out the open door.

    She dropped the takeout on the counter, hands on her hips, and said, "Are you seeing someone else?"

    "What?" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, fuck no. My brother's visiting with his friends. I'm hosting dinner."

    "Really?" Incredulous.

    "Yes." Exasperated.

    "If that's true, then it's only polite that I say hello to your brother before I leave."

    "Jennifer..."

    "What! I've meet your brother, he knows me, and I didn't get to say bye to him in New York!" She clasped her hands together, perched upon one of his barstools in her tennis skirt and crop top.

    Their staring contest ended with Jennifer shrugging and Alistair relenting, slamming the door behind him. He shook his head in annoyance as she said, "You don't need to give me an attitude. You know I'm right."

    You're fucking insane, is what you are, he thought, and said instead, "Just don't touch anything. I just cleaned."

    She moved her clasped hands onto her lap. "Fine."

    The timer blared and the entree was placed atop the stove to cool. He shucked off his oven mitts and taste-tested with a spoon—perfect, as always. He never doubted a day in his life when it came to his own cooking.

    Jennifer rounded the counter to see, plucking the spoon out of his hand. "Wait—" he started, but she was already double-dipping his spoon to take a sample for herself.

    "Shoulda been asking you to cook for me this whole time," she said, just as the doorbell rang. She left to fetch it as Alistair was left in shock, in horror, of his saliva being in the entree he'd just spent all day cooking.

    I haven't gotten tested this month, he thought, because he'd only been fucking Jennifer, and she chronically complained about the dating drought in their city and using that as an excuse to keep sleeping with him.

    The spiral was only partially derailed and sent on a cascading course to his guests being ushered in by Jennifer. He'd completely missed the introductions, and now Benny was hunting him out to say, "Why is she here?! You're dating her, aren't you?"

    "We aren't dating," he hissed under his breath, not that anyone else could hear because Kennedy and Jennifer were having the loudest conversation of the century.

    Hunter approached from behind Benny, tugging him by the arm. Benny stepped to the side so Hunter could say, "Thank you for having us. The food smells amazing."

    Yeah, and I practically fucking poisoned it, he thought, wishing he could throw up. Instead, he choked out: "Yeah, no problem. How was the drive?" It's too late. I should've cut out that section before this conversation even started. It's everywhere now.

    Benny was searching his drawers. "Kennedy brought wine. Where's the opener?"

    "Oh! Over here, sweetie," Jennifer said, sliding it across the counter.

    Benny caught it and when he turned, he mouthed, "Sweetie?" to Hunter, who stifled a laugh.

    A brief knock sounded on the door before the last guest made their appearance. Just as Alistair was considering putting the entree back in the oven—maybe the heat would get rid of the germs? No, it'd overcook—the sight of Micah ground his brain to a screeching halt.

    Micah stepped in, toed off his shoes, and said, "You totally left the car unlocked. Where are the keys?"

    "You seriously went back to check?" Erika said.

    In basketball shorts and a cutoff tee, Micah appeared fuller than before, muscular. Like he'd thrown everything into the gym since they last saw one another. "Dude, my laptop costs a fortune. I'm not risking it getting stolen."

    "Your employer didn't pay for it?" Alistair said, and it was then their eyes met. It was then that Alistair realized that Micah wasn't alone, and that James was hovering like a quiet shadow behind him.

    James, who appeared downright petrified the second Alistair noticed him. With a flinch, James raised a hand in a half-wave.

    Micah pursed his lips. His cheeks were sun-kissed and the rest of him was struggling to tan and where it succeeded, he was toasted on one side and creamy white on the other.

    Marshmallow, Alistair thought.

    "No," Micah said, and then did a double-take on Jennifer. He put out his hand. "Micah Sayoko. Our friend James."

    Jennifer hesitated a beat. She shook his hand, and then James'. "Jennifer. Friend of Alistair's."

    Alistair ignored the pompous look Benny gave him, and further ignored Micah's brief glance as James said, "Nice to meet you."

    Kennedy distracted Jennifer with a story as Micah scanned the kitchen. "Where's your garbage? I can take it out for you since I'm heading down."

    "No, I got it," Alistair said.

    "Seriously, just hand it over."

    Alistair fetched the bag himself and said, "Seriously. I got it."

    "Easy now," Benny teased.

    Micah gave him the middle finger and Alistair glared. They both left out the front door, and as they went, Alistair spared James another glance.

    Why the fuck is that kid with them? he thought, because as far as he knew, a drunk James was willing to detonate Benny's engagement.

    Not that Alistair was particularly against it...

    He shut the door behind them, shaking his head. His heart was running a mile a minute as he followed Micah down the stairs to the back parking lot. Once out, Micah followed Alistair to the dumpsters, angling the key up to lock the car. It chimed in the distance.

    "Alright. What the fuck's up with you," Micah said.

    "Nothing," Alistair said. The salty sea air was a cleanser if standing next to a dumpster wasn't so suffocating. "I have to put the food back in the oven, so if you don't mind...?"

    Micah squinted at him. His hands went from his hips to his pockets, nose crinkling. "I mean, I don't get it. But is there something I can do or...?"

    "I just said."

    "You look like you're going to throw up right now, if I'm being honest."

    Calling attention to it just reminded Alistair's nausea that it was actually very much at the back of his throat. His mouth was salivating. "I'm not," he said, but he obviously was. "I—I, um. Contaminated the entree."

    "What'd you do, put bleach in it?"

    "No." He explained the taste test, though if he was being honest, the words weren't his own and Micah was staring at him like he'd grown an extra set of eyes.

    Micah blinked. "So the entree's contaminated 'cause of double-dipping."

    "I know most people don't care about that," Alistair said, rolling his eyes.

    "Honestly," Micah said, "Benny's your brother, so he's got some of your DNA. And you've slept with both me and Kennedy, so that's like, half the party."

    Alistair sighed. "That doesn't help. I haven't gotten tested this month."

    "You realize HIV doesn't travel through saliva, even if you did have it?" Micah said, and logic told Alistair he should listen.

    "Herpes and syphilis do," he said, quietly.

    "You don't have either of those things."

    "But I haven't gotten tested since—"

    "Alistair, you aren't going to give us anything. And honestly, the heat probably killed off anything that might have been on that spoon."

    He didn't know how to explain how little logic worked here. It just made the claws of his anxiety dig deeper. "That's why I have to put it back in the oven. I don't want to talk about this right now."

    "But I'm right about half the party, right," Micah said.

    "Right or not, logic doesn't work here," Alistair said, but Micah just kept talking, talking, talking...

    "Factually, the three of us don't care. And we want Hunter dead anyway. And by the logic of you having slept with Kennedy, she's already slept with Erika, so Erika doesn't even matter. And James' chill or whatever so we can tell him not to eat the entree so he doesn't get contaminated, I guess."

    It was a ridiculous chain of thought that sent Alistair laughing, pathetically, and looking at the sky. "I'm fucking insane."

    "You're probably extra anxious right now because you're hosting dinner," he reasoned, which Alistair could acknowledge he was probably right about, but there was no changing the circumstances. "If this were any other day, you'd be able to handle it. It's okay that you're freaking out right now, but I'm telling you, the rest of us don't care about your saliva being in the meal. You could spit in my mouth right now if you don't believe me."

    "Fine," Alistair said. He just wanted to get back inside now. "I'm still putting it in the oven."

    "For two minutes," Micah said.

    "What?"

    "Two minutes in the oven kills bacteria."

    Alistair hesitated. He supposed... two extra minutes wouldn't overcook the food. "Okay. Two minutes," Alistair agreed, and at the door, said, "And I'm not spitting in your mouth."

    "Maybe later," Micah suggested. "As payback."

    Alistair scoffed and let Micah open the door for him so they could enter again. Up the stairs, Micah said, "I don't know if your clinic is open on Sundays, but you could schedule an appointment to get tested."

    Alistair uttered a shaky breath. He would have already done that if he wasn't so paranoid about touching his phone now. He needed to put it in the UV cleaner. "I will later."

    "Cool."

    "I don't think I can do anything tonight," he confessed.

    "I figured," Micah said. "We're in town for a couple days, though. So just let me know."

    What a fucking shitshow, he thought, feeling raw and uncontrollable. His insides were frantic, jittery, and on edge before Micah ever opened the door.

    Jennifer was still there.

    "I invited her to have dinner with us," Kennedy said from the table, where Jennifer smiled proudly, triumphantly, rubbing it in Alistair's face.

    "Fine," Alistair said, and glanced at Micah.

    "Should I wash up in the kitchen or...?" Micah said.

    "Bathroom. Definitely bathroom," Alistair said, and followed him there to do the same. They'd just been at the dumpster, after all, and all the food was in the kitchen.

    In the bathroom after watching Micah lather soap for a slightly-less-than-optimal amount of time, they swapped places. Micah asked, quietly, "Does weed make you more or less anxious?"

    "Less," he confessed.

    "I have a mint on me if you want one."

    Alistair considered it. Standing close, he almost felt their microcosm again: someone who shared his germs, his feelings, and was somewhat capable of empathizing. He could see why Benny liked Micah so much.

    "How much?" Alistair asked, and Micah relayed the dose. "Fuck it. Yeah, I'll take one."

    Micah left to fetch the container from Kennedy's purse. Alistair popped one in his mouth, anticipating sweet mint but all he got was a fuckton of spearmint that made his tongue burn.

    "Holy shit, that's sharp."

    "It's to mask the weed, probably," Micah said.

    "I didn't know you did edibles," Jennifer said, entering the kitchen.

    "Not usually," Alistair said, and didn't elaborate.

    She leant into the counter, her chest pushed forward and tantalizingly visible under the collar of her crop top. After licking her lips, she eyed Micah. "Can I have one?"

    He shook one out and handed it to her. She popped it in her mouth like it was a cherry, smiled, and returned to the table.

    "No offense, but she already pisses me off," Micah whispered.

    "Yeah, well, what I said probably doesn't help your opinion," Alistair confessed, and turned to stick the entree back in the oven. He turned the heat up again.