Page 86 of The Jerk in Apartment 1B

“Yeah, they’re a blast. I’ve got a waiting list of people wanting to be invited.”

“Are you sure you’re 29?”

He laughs. “Having fun doesn’t have an age limit. Why don’t you come tonight? You don’t have to stay long. Just show up, have some food, maybe a cocktail.”

“No, thanks. I’d rather sleep.”

The truth is, I don’t want to go there and see Scott flirting with other girls or taking one back to his room. Why can’t I be one of those girls? If they can have casual sex, why can’t I?

“You won’t get much sleep with the party going on. Come on. Just stop by.” He smiles. “You might actually have fun.”

“When do you need this done?” I ask, trying to ignore my body’s reaction to him. Seeing him in that tight shirt. Smelling his intoxicating cologne. Watching him rub his scruffy jaw with his hand, the one that was all over me last night. It’s got my body all warm and tingly in places it should be feeling nothing, especially at nine in the morning while talking to my employer.

“That depends,” Scott says. “What time are you working for Frank?”

“Two, but I’ll probably go there early and get something to eat.”

“Then you should get started soon. It might take a few hours.”

“A few hours? I thought I was just taking stuff out of the storage room.”

“You’ll need to inflate all the chairs and get the tables set up. Oh, and you’re coming over for breakfast. Cole’s already next door with a pan of his freshly baked cinnamon rolls.”

I stare at Scott like he’s lost his mind. Does he really think I’d have breakfast with him after our fight last night?

“I’m not having breakfast with you.”

“You can’t work on an empty stomach. It’s like what I said about sleep. I need my employees to be at their best, which means rested and adequately nourished. Speaking of sleep, how was the mattress?”

“Good, but I’m still not agreeing to breakfast. I’m going to shower and get to work.”

“How’s the new shower head?”

I put my hand on my hip. “Are you just going to stand there and keep asking me questions?”

“I’ll leave if you agree to come over for breakfast.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because your stomach’s growling,” he says, pointing to it.

How in the world did he hear that? It wasn’tthatloud, was it? Maybe he has exceptional hearing.

“Go ahead and get ready. I’ll see you in a few minutes.” He leaves.

“I’m not going,” I call after him. “And I want to be paid upfront.”

He walks back to me, pulls out his wallet, and hands me a fifty-dollar bill. “I’ll give you an extra ten if you show up for breakfast.”

“Why do you care if I eat breakfast?”

“Why are you refusing to go? I’ve got eggs, bacon, and homemade cinnamon rolls.”

That does sound good. My stomach’s growling just hearing him talk about it.

I sigh. “Did you forget what happened last night?”

“Not at all. Last night was great.”

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