Page 4 of Boyfriend Maintenance

My parents aren’t happy with me. Even after six years. We’ve had a very rocky relationship since. Kitty has never shied away from letting me know how poorly I’ve run my reputation through the mud with her country-club set. Living the life of privilege isn’t something to just throw away for a temper tantrum. Yes, she still thinks I’m throwing a tantrum.

Honestly, I love my life. I love the freedom that comes with making my own decisions without worrying about showing up on Page Six. My life is perfect because it’s mine.

It’s nearly nine when Becca and I get back to the apartment. A large group of people huddle outside the entrance to our building. Thomas, still manning the doors, doesn’t seem concerned, so I assume somewhere in the group may be a resident or two. I’ve got my Digibot Go app pulled up on my phone. While Becca doesn’t play the game, she’s long past giving me grief over my obsession. I'm not ashamed to say that I’m obsessed with this newest internationally acclaimed mobile game, I just don’t normally announce it from the rooftops. Which is why I slow down and come to a stop before Thomas greets us and opens the door.

When I’m done, I follow Becca into the building. Still looking at my phone, I’m distracted by an email from Kitty that pops up on my screen, I slam into a thick, warm brick wall.

Well, not really, but when I look up, I see that I’ve run smack into the maintenance guy here in the building, also known as Jake. I’ve never formally met him, we’ve only had a few issues in our apartment over the years, and when maintenance shows up, I’m always at work. But he’s well known throughout the building. You should hear what some of those old birds say about what they’d like to do to him. The sauna is a hot spot for gossip.

“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention at all.” I shove my phone in my purse and step to the side, out of his way. He’s taller than me. With my heels on, I’m about five-six”, so he’s at least six foot. His hair is cut short, but it’s thick. I don’t get any further in my perusal because I’m distracted by his chuckle.

“No problem, I wasn’t watching where I was going either.” He’s smiling down at me and I can’t help grinning back.

“Oh, well then I guess it was the perfect storm.” Am I attempting to flirt? If so, I’m failing.

He laughs. “Yeah, guess so. Well, see ya.” He winks and strides right on by me and out of the building. Watching his retreating form, I have a chance to check out his sexy-as-sin muscular backside.

“Ahem. Would you like something to wipe up that drool you got there on your face?”

I snap out of it and glare at Becca. “I'm not drooling.”

“Right. And we don’t have a Skee-Ball machine upstairs. Admit it, that man is probably as sexy as they come.” She hooks her arm through mine and we walk through the lobby.

“You should ask him out.” Becca eyes me as she jabs the button to call the elevator.

“What? No way.” A confused look taking over my face.

“Why not? He’s hot, you’re hot. I bet he’s damn good with those hands of his.”

I shake my head. “He’s probably got a girlfriend. Or a wife.”

“No wife. I didn’t see a ring.” She’s one of those people who has an answer for everything.

“Plus, I think I flirted with him. He didn’t flirt back. So, he’s probably not interested.” I wonder out loud, Or maybe, I just suck at flirting.

“You’ll never know if you don’t ask him. I’d ask him out, but it wouldn’t end well.”

Cocking my head her way, I ask her why.

“Because the sex would be fan-fucking-tastic and then I’d take him home for Christmas and my parents would ask him what he did for a living. As soon as they found out he was the good ol’ maintenance man they’d shit a freaking brick.” Yeah, they probably would. Her parents would have totally betrothed her at age seven if that was still socially acceptable.

“We are cut from the same cloth, Bex. So why do you think I should date him?” The elevator door slides open.

She turns to me with a grin and walks into the elevator backwards. “Because you don’t give a rat’s ass what your parents think. So, you’re free to fall in love with anyone you want.”

“Whoa, who said anything about falling in love?” I follow her.

“Okay, screw. Screw anyone you want. Please, for the love of god, do that soon. You need to get laid.”

Wow, thanks, dearest best friend.

I must mutter the words because she just laughs.

“Emmy, when was the last time you got laid?”

I bite my lip. I’m trying to think, and I can’t stop the blush of embarrassment as I realize that I have to actually think so hard about when it was. Five months, maybe? Six?

“Somewhere between four and six months would be a safe guess,” I tell her just as the elevator beeps, announcing its arrival on our floor.

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