Page 88 of The Jerk in Apartment 1B

“She’s not going,” Scott says, grabbing a plate and coming around the counter to sit next to me. Does he really have to sit there? He could’ve sat on the other side of Cole.

“Why aren’t you going?” Cole asks me.

“She thinks adults aren’t allowed to have fun,” Scott says, reaching across me to the bowl of eggs.

I shoot him an annoyed look. “I never said adults can’t have fun.”

“You implied it,” he says, spooning eggs on his plate. “Multiple times.”

“What I meant is that your parties are like college frat parties, not parties appropriate for someone your age.”

Cole laughs. “I think she just called you old.”

Scott turns to me. “And what kind of parties are appropriate for someone my age?”

“A nice dinner party, with maybe three or four couples.”

“You want me to have couples over? And be the only single person?”

I see his point. Bad example.

“Okay, so invite single people. The point is, there’s no pounding music, no kegs, no beer pong or dancing on tables. It’s just a few people having a nice sit-down dinner.”

“Sounds boring,” Scott says, helping himself to a cinnamon roll.

“I agree,” Cole says. “I’ve been to those parties and I couldn’t wait to leave.”

“They don’t have to be boring,” I say. “It depends on who you invite.”

“Just show up tonight,” Cole says. “Then you can decide if our parties are really that bad.”

Scott leans over to me. “Could you pass the bacon?”

I grab the plate and hand it to him, ignoring how good he smells. I really love that cologne he wears.

“So how did this start?” I ask, tearing off a piece of my cinnamon roll. “This Saturday breakfast tradition?”

The room goes silent. I glance at Cole, then Scott.

“Is it a secret?” I say with a laugh. “Or what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Scott says, his eyes on Cole. “We can’t remember when it was. It started when we were living in California.”

“You lived there too?” I ask Cole.

He nods. “Scott and I went to college out there.”

“When did you move to New York?” I ask Cole.

“After I was kicked off the team.”

“They didn’t kick you off,” Scott says. “You were injured.”

“Which is why they kicked me off the team.”

“How’s your leg?” I ask. “Is it getting better?”

He shrugs. “Depends on the day. Like right now? It hurts like hell, but yesterday it was fine.”

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