No, they should go to -Brad's- apartment.

"No," Hillman interjected, "we're going to Brad's place." He took Becca by the hand and led her back up the hill. Becca-- shocked at the mere suggestion-- followed hesitantly.

"B-Brad's apartment? But why?"
"****," Hillman replied simply; then he shushed her before she could say another word. "I'm going there, and you're coming with me," he added. Once more the blackball shimmered, and apparently granted his wish. Becca froze up momentarily; then, like a switch, she turned around completely.

"Okay, let's go to Brad's apartment. I have a key. Do you know the way?"
Hillman replied that he did, and together they took his car to Brad's apartment.

"What a dump," exclaimed Hillman. His own place was pretty bad, but Brad's apartment was a complete sty. Beer cans littered the floor, and something smelling vaguely like tomato sauce was stained all over the carpet. Hillman recoiled at what looked like a used condom laying on the living room couch, though he didn't dare get close enough to verify that.

"Yah, it's pretty bad," Becca muttered, pocketing her copy of the Brad's key. She was happy to have received it a few months back, following a spat, though it came more from Brad's guilt than his affection. He never really wanted her to have access to his apartment, but Becca couldn't see it.