As Tyler showered, Ange cleaned up in the
kitchen sink, splashing icy water on his arms, his chest, his face
to save the hot water for his guest. He wasn’t quite sure what he
was going to do with the kid—let him stay the night of course, but
then what? Take him back to the street tomorrow on his way into
work? Give him the money he needed to move on?
Keep him?
He’s not a damn puppy, cholo. Just
because he followed you home doesn’t make him yours.
He used a threadbare kitchen towel to dry
off—the only bath towel he owned sat folded on the back of the
toilet, for Tyler. Stacy’s old boxers and an oversized shirt Ange
dug out of the bottom drawer of his dresser waited on the closed
toilet lid. In the small apartment, the shower splashed loudly off
the tiles despite the closed bat
