Page 73 of The Jerk in Apartment 1B

“Maybe you should consider it. It could be practice dating for when you date for real.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I’m not dating my boss’ grandsons.”

“What about me?”

I look at him. “What about you?”

“Are you going out with me tonight?”

“Like on a date?”

“No,” he says with a laugh. “But if you want, we could call it that. I’d let you practice on me.”

My mind imagines all the different meanings that could have, none of them innocent.

“I’ll pass,” I say. “I know what you do on a date.”

“Actually, you don’t. And this isn’t an actual date. It’s just pretend.”

A pretend date with Scott. Why does that sound so appealing? I just ended a four-year relationship. I should want to wallow all night in my apartment, not go out with Scott.

“Where would we go?”

“We’ll start with a cocktail, then I’ll take you to dinner, and we’ll finish the night with an art exhibit I think you’ll enjoy.”

“You’ve already planned this out?”

“I did just now.”

“What’s the art exhibit?”

“You’ll see when we get there. So what do you think?” He smiles. “You want to spend the night alone, or go out with me?”

That damn smile of his gets me every time. Whenever he does it, I feel like I’m under some kind of spell, like I can’t think straight.

“I guess we could go out.” I blame his smile for my answer, but if I’m being honest, I want to go out with Scott. I’m curious what he’s like on a date, even if it’s just pretend.

“I’ll pick you up at six.”

“Pick me up?” I laugh. “Like next door?”

He stands up. “You ready to get to work? Or if you don’t feel like it today, you can skip it.”

“I want to work. It’ll keep my mind off of Asher.”

“I’m just going to get something to drink,” Scott says, going to the kitchen.

I follow him over there. “Hey, the weirdest thing happened. Some guy delivered a mattress to my apartment, but I don’t know who it’s from.”

“You want some water?” he asks, offering me a bottle.

“No, I’m good. Anyway, I assumed the mattress was from Asher, but he didn’t know anything about it. So now I don’t know who sent it.”

Scott takes a swig of his water. “It was from me.”

“You bought me a mattress?”

“I didn’t like that you were sleeping on the floor,” he says matter-of-factly as he comes around the counter, holding his bottle of water. “Let’s go.”

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