Page 4 of Betting on the Boy Next Door
Mrs. Lipsky answers before I can. “Josh. Twenty-nine and married to his work.” She locks her box and turns to leave.
“Thanks, Mrs. Lipsky,” the girl says, smiling.
“Sexy bastard!” the parrot squawks as Mrs. Lipsky turns the corner into the courtyard. I hear her mutter something to him, but I don’t catch it.
The girl’s smile grows to a grin at the parrot’s catcall. “Mrs. Lipsky rescued Ahab from a tiki bar in Galveston. His manners aren’t great. I’m Ruby, by the way. I’m in number twenty-one.”
“Josh,” I say, then feel stupid because Mrs. Lipsky already told her my name. “Uh, the sexy bastard.”
She laughs. “Twenty-nine and married to your work. I got it all, I think. Welcome.”
“Thanks.”
“What kind of work are you married to?” she asks as she opens her mailbox.
“Paperwork.” That feels like ninety percent of my job.
She points to her chest. “Librarian. Not single. But all my roommates are, in case you and work decide to have an open relationship.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Will you have any roommates?”
“Just Bernice. We’ll share a room. She’ll be here tomorrow. I’m using the small bedroom for an office.”
“Oh.”
She looks slightly disappointed to learn about Bernice, my temporary red tail boa. I’m snakesitting for one of my old roommates who’s out of the country for two months on some oil job. But I don’t clarify because I’m not looking to date right now. I’ve got way too much to prove at the firm before I can even think about it.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” Ruby says. “Sometimes when you make a big move, you don’t realize all the stuff you need, so holler if we can help with the basics.”
“Thanks, Ruby. That’s nice of you.”
She waves and leaves, and when I finally open my mailbox, I’m surprised to discover a card inside. I pluck it out and smile at Reagan’s handwriting on the front with a postmark from yesterday on it.
I lock the box and walk back to my place, laughing when I pull out a card with a toddler in Star Wars underwear on the front. Inside, it reads, “Congratulations on your big boy pants!” Reagan signed it, “Love you, little brother.”
It means a lot, coming from her. She’s three years older, and she’s been the perfect kid, meeting and exceeding our parents’ high expectations. I have . . . not. Which is why I have to outwork everyone at the firm; it might be the only form of atonement my dad will understand.
An hour later, I’m setting up my desktop computer in my office when a knock calls me downstairs. I open the door to find Ruby there.
“Hey, neighbor,” I say.
“Hey, Josh.” I like that she says my name like it’s the hundredth time she’s used it. She’s a comfortable personality. “I talked to Mrs. Lipsky, and we’re throwing a patio party on Monday night to welcome you. Does that work? Will you be around?”
“Um, yes. But a patio party?”
“The four units on this side all come out on our patios, bring food, open all the connecting gates, and wander back and forth and talk. The neighbors you haven’t met on your other side are Hugo and Jasmine. They’re artists, and they’re in for the party. We’re thinking at six?”
I’m usually still at the office, but I say, “Sounds good. I’ll see you then.”
After I close the door, I place a delivery order for some basic groceries, including chips and queso for the patio party. I make a note to get some Torchy’s Tacos delivered on Monday too so I can make a good impression.
Not that it matters too much. Unfortunately, these days my house is somewhere to sleep in between hours at work.
Chapter Three
Sami
