Page 31 of The Jerk in Apartment 1B

She sounds really happy. Leo’s a good guy. He’ll be a good husband to her when they finally get married. As for me? I’m married to my job. I’ve found something that gives me purpose and makes me feel fulfilled, and that’s really all I need in life.

I grab another stack of coolers and bring it down to the storage unit. On the way back, I stop outside Trina’s apartment.

I knock on the door. “Trina, it’s Scott.”

Her quiet crying comes to a halt. “What do you need?”

I try to think of a reason. I should’ve thought this through before I knocked.

“I had a question.”

I actually don’t. I’m just trying to get her to open the door, then I’ll decide what to do after that.

“What is it?” she yells through the door.

“Could you come out here? I need to show you something.”

The door swings open and she looks at me with annoyance. Her eyes are red and puffy and her hair’s pulled back in a messy bun.

“What do you need to show me?” she asks.

“You okay?”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Your eyes are all red.”

“It’s allergies. It must be the apartment. Something in here is making my allergies act up.” She clears her throat. “So what do you need?”

“I wanted to tell you about the storage unit,” I say, thinking that’s a valid reason to knock on her door.

“What storage unit?”

“The one next to your apartment.” I point to it and she peeks her head out the door. “It’s mine, and I tend to go in and out of it a lot, especially on the weekends. I just wanted you to know so you aren’t wondering what’s going on when you hear me going in there.”

“What do you keep in it?”

“Just party stuff. Coolers. Extra tables and chairs.”

“Do you really have parties every weekend? Jenna told me you did, but I thought she was exaggerating.”

“She wasn’t. I usually have one every Saturday, but sometimes Friday too.”

“Why do you have so many?”

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s nice to be able to kick back and relax. Have some drinks. Listen to music. Hang out with people.”

“But aren’t you kind of… old to still be having those kinds of parties?”

I smile a little. “How old do you think I am?”

“Late twenties?”

“I’m 29. And you’re…” I pause. “Twenty-two?”

“Twenty-five. I don’t look 22, do I?”

I shrug. “I’m not great at guessing ages. So what are you doing right now?”

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