“Hey, Kim, open up!” He pounded on the door. “I know you’re home. I saw your beater out front.” The door was jerked open, and Kim stood there wearing ratty sweatpants, a T-shirt, and a scowl. Adam grinned. “Hey, you dressed up for me! Thanks, honey!” “Don’t honey me, you jagoff. What the hell’s your problem, pounding on my door like some damn troglodyte?” She stood blocking the doorway like a sentry—no way was he getting in. “Trogo-what?” “Hey, I can use big words, you know. I watch the Exploration Network. In case you thought you were talking to some little dumb ass.” “Kim, what the fuck?” He sighed. “Look, I don’t want to fight. Come on, let me in.” He dangled a six-pack teasingly. “I brought beer.” “Do you remember that little conversation we had at Sammy’s Subs? About how I didn’t want you crawling back to me? Ever? What part of that didn’t you understand?” she demanded. “Kim, I—” “Ten o’clock at night you show up here, thinking you can weasel your way in with a couple lousy six packs.
