There was so little space in that room, that they were now standing close, so close that Otis had to tip his head back. Since he didn’t have enough room to move, he made an awkward gesture toward the sandwich on the counter.

“What is that?” Hudson asked. He seemed in a bad mood. Otis knew a few things about bad moods. Some people would say he knew a lot, not just a few.

However, now it was important to insist if he wanted to learn at least some introductory details about dating. “It’s the sandwich you asked for. You know, you could ask more nicely when you want people to do things for you. And your refrigerator doesn’t have food. I mean, this is all I could find. And beer.”

Hudson groaned and ran one hand over his face. “Jesus, kid. Did I get myself a wife or something? This visit’s over. Beat it.”

Otis was nonplussed for a moment. Was the sandwich he made that bad? Hudson hadn’t even tasted it. “No, it’s not,” he said stubbornly. “You must say thank you.” That was what his grandma had taught him a long time ago. When someone did something for you, you thanked them, even if you weren’t necessarily happy with it.

Hudson seemed about to relent for a moment, but then he quickly grabbed Otis by the scruff of his neck and proceeded to escort him out of the room. All his efforts from the past few days were going down the drain before his very eyes. Otis dug his heels in once they reached the hallway. “I’m not leaving before you give me some dating advice.”

“Right.” Hudson finally let go of him. “Here it is. Consider it a freebie. Don’t knock on the wrong door.”

Otis dutifully took out his phone. His notebook was back there, and he didn’t dare go get it.

“Are you kidding me? You’re writing it down?”

“So that I don’t forget,” he explained. “And I’m still waiting for that thank you.”

“Fuck me,” Hudson groaned. “All right, have it your way. Thank you for the sandwich. We cool now?”

“No,” Otis said stubbornly. “I can tell you don’t really mean it.”

Hudson grabbed him by the back of his neck again and turned him toward the door. “Don’t let that door hit you in the ass, ‘kay?”

“That’s not very nice,” Otis insisted.

“Don’t press your luck,” Hudson growled, but he wasn’t scary or anything. “Goodbye, kid. Stop spying on me.”

Otis stared at the closed door that had just been slammed in his face for a bit. That hadn’t gone too well, but things weren’t that terrible either. Somehow, he felt that he could press his luck with his neighbor. Grandma wouldn’t agree, most probably. She’d frown at Otis’s insistence, which was a sign of bad upbringing, but he felt courageous today.

Don’t knock on the wrong door. Yes, it was a good piece of advice. Otis believed that it was Hudson’s way of saying that he shouldn’t go for men that weren’t right for him, seeing how he hadn’t actually knocked on any door, let alone the one to his neighbor’s apartment. He didn’t plan to opt for men who weren’t right for him. Even better, that little piece of advice from Hudson also helped remove a heavy rock from his chest. Now, he had the confirmation that Grindr wasn’t the right app for him.

***

Hudson entered the kitchenette in a state of annoyance mixed with alarm. He had been unreasonably hard on the kid, but it was for his own good. Watkins, if that was the man’s real name, had instantly took to Otis, smelling blood in the water like the fucking shark he was. Even without having a nosy neighbor getting up to no good, the present situation was bound to become dangerous sooner rather than later. Hopefully, Watkins got the message that the pretty airhead he had happened to meet there was off-limits. And, although that was where Hudson nurtured many fewer hopes, Otis also understood that it wasn’t a good idea to stick his nose into other people’s business.

Absentmindedly, he took the sandwich from the table and began eating. The yolk dripped over his fingers. “Fuck,” he groaned, and then realization hit him. It was a damn good sandwich. He only needed to be careful not to get yolk all over himself.

So, Otis from 508, Otis like the elevator, Otis who was – only heaven knew why – in terrible need of dating advice, that Otis also knew how to make a sandwich. Hudson shrugged. The chances were Watkins wouldn’t come sniffing around too often. A man who needed two goons to guard his ass didn’t prefer visiting dingy apartments all the time. That was a man who wasn’t exactly at the top of the food chain, but obviously had ambition. This little meeting had been a means to impress Hudson – Mr. Vegas, as his undercover nickname indicated – by catching him with his pants down, so to speak. It looked like Watkins appreciated a business partner that would cause no trouble.

However, trouble was exactly what he had in mind to cause certain people. The game was afoot. There was just a little pinprick that made him itchy, and it had a name. Hudson shrugged again. He was reading too much into everything. However, he’d keep an eye on his nosy neighbor, one of the reasons being that he wanted very much to see that other eye.

***