Page 98 of The Jerk in Apartment 1B

“I thought you weren’t dating for two years.”

I shrug. “I didn’t mean it. I was angry when I said that. Angry at Asher and men in general.”

“So you’re going out with him,” Scott says, folding his arms over his chest. “You told him yes?”

“We’re going to dinner. Now could you leave? I really want to get some sleep. It’s been a long day.”

He backs away from the door. I close it and lock it and hear him walking back to the party. I’m sure Bridget is there, waiting for him, wondering why he left.

I’m wondering about that too. Why did he leave his party to come find me? Why does he care that I went home? He has Bridget, who he’s probably taking to his bedroom right now.

I change out of my clothes, wash off my makeup, and get into bed. Hours pass before the party quiets down and I’m finally able to sleep.

The next morning,I wake up at nine and see a text from Scott on my phone, sent a half hour ago.

Want to work this morning? I need help with the party cleanup.

Knowing he was with Bridget last night, I don’t want to be around him right now. But he pays well and I could really use the money.

Be there in a few minutes, I text back.

I brush my teeth, put my hair in a ponytail, throw on yoga pants and a t-shirt, and head over there.

Scott answers the door wearing jeans with no shirt, his hair wet, like he just got out of the shower. Did he do this on purpose? Did he purposely answer the door looking like that so I couldn’t resist him?

No, he wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t want to be with me. He wants to be with Bridget. Maybe she’s still here. In his bed.

“Thanks for coming over,” he says.

“I need the money.” I go past him into the apartment. It looks like a tornado went through the place. The inflatable chairs are tipped over. Plastic cups are scattered all over the floor. There’s empty liquor bottles on the tables. “What happened?”

“I had a party,” he says, like that’s the only explanation needed.

“Is it always like this after a party?”

“It’s usually worse.” He hands me a fifty-dollar bill. “If that’s not enough, let me know. I wasn’t sure how long it’d take to clean up.”

I stuff the bill in my pocket. “What do you want me to do?”

“Deflate the chairs. Haul everything back to the storage room. Toss the cups and bottles.”

“You got a garbage bag?”

“In the kitchen.”

I follow him in there, trying to forget what he did to me on the counter. But it’s all I can think about, especially when he looks so damn hot without a shirt and with his hair all wet and tousled.

“You want some breakfast?” he asks. “I was just about to make some eggs.”

“I’ll pass. I should get started.”

“You can’t work on an empty stomach.” He smiles a little. “Come on. You can take a few minutes for breakfast.”

“Okay, fine, but let me help. We’ll be done faster.” I open his fridge and take out the eggs.

“What’s the rush?” he asks, getting a skillet. “You have to work soon?”

“No, I just want to get this over with.”

---