Joe’s apartment was bigger than his, a two-bedroom in Rogers Park with hardwood floors and a white country-style kitchen with the kind of glass-fronted cabinets his mom had been nagging his dad for years to get for her. Framed posters advertising local gigs filled every spare inch on the walls, with the hall reserved for more personal pictures, photos of Joe with what had to be his family, with other friends, and one of a sweaty teenaged Joe playing drums that Fess couldn’t stop smiling at.
Joe hovered behind him, letting him look to his heart’s content. “Did you want something to drink?” he asked. “I’ve got coffee, Diet Coke, and grapefruit juice.”
Fess glanced back at him, unable to resist the urge to flirt. “You mean you’re not going to get me drunk and take advantage of me? Damn.”
T
