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“You call to yell at me again?”

She moved to the sink and put the dishes in the drying rack away. “I didn’t yell at you—never mind. Will I need to?”

Andrew sighed. “Depends how bad you’re going to trigger me, I guess… No. What’s up?”

“Sounds like therapy is really helping.” She’d heard from her mom—via Gloria, Andrew’s mom—that he’d started going, but she hadn’t really believed it.

“Yeah, I should have listened to you about that.”

Riley closed the cupboard harder than she should have, and the mugs inside rattled. She’d been to therapy too, and she had to pick her battles. Be direct. Deep breath—

“Why’d you unblock me?” Andrew asked, like he was talking into her hair.

And there it was. That hopeful note that Riley’d been dreading. “I just had a question. And a potential noise complaint, but it sounds like you’re not working.”

Something clattered in the background. “Nope. Night off, the guys are watching the game—want me to say hi? They asked about you.”

She shook her head before he’d finished the sentence. “This isn’t like that. Don’t read into it, okay?”

He sucked in and Riley cut him off. “I just have a question about—” The glass in her hand shook, and she took another deep breath.

“About what?” he asked, an edge snaking through the phone. She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead.

You called him.

“Online stalking. Like texting. Best practices. Hypothetically.” Riley squeezed her eyes shut as her headache flared.

“Is someone stalking you?” Andrew’s voice hardened, and she heard him stand up. A door opened, and the cheering got louder again. “I can be there, just send me your address—”

“No.”

“—or I’ll find it. I’ll be there in—”

“No. I said no. It’s not me. A friend,” she said. “Someone at work.” She walked over to her apartment door and double-checked the locks. The peephole showed an empty hallway.

“Someone at Attivia Industries? Working for your boss Nico Ricci?”

What did it matter? Andrew’s voice got louder, the words running together. Riley bit her tongue and looked at her screen. She could fake a dropped call. Or just hang up.

“Can you please answer the question.” The background noise cut off, and Andrew sighed as a bed creaked.

“Riley. This is a serious issue. You should call your dad. And you should have told me sooner. I—”

“Drew. Please.”

The line was quiet.

It had just slipped out, an old habit. She grabbed the edge of the dining chair she stood behind. She was calling a cop for advice on a potential crime. This was smart.

Crappy heavy metal bled through the wall as someone turned the music up, and the screen showed the call was still connected.

“Low blow, Ri. You haven’t called me that since…”

She sat hard in the chair. “Sorry,” she said. “I just want to know what to tell her. She’s kind of freaking out.” She got up and walked across her small studio in less than ten steps.

Andrew sighed. Exasperation was something she always seemed to bring out in him. It’d been fun, at first.

“Okay. Alright. How long has it been going on for?”