CHAPTER EIGHT
555-7845:What are you doing?
The text, from a number not already in my phone and an area code I’ve never heard of, flashes on my phone screen until I’m curious enough to open it. 555 Where is that, Oz? I almost don’t respond, but my Good Samaritan wins out in the end. It’s a Saturday afternoon and I’m stuck in my teeny tiny apartment with nothing to do but watch television. Even worse, reality television.
Anyway, in the end I text back because there’s a chance it’s a random cutie… I mean the Good Samaritan thing.
Me:Who is this?
555-7845:Your favorite sexy landlord.
Ryland. No one at my last complex could be considered sexy. A few hundred questions come to mind. Where is he? Why is he texting me? How did he get my number? When did Mr. Runs Ten Miles Every Morning decide he’s too lazy to walk across the hall? They’re important questions, which I'll ask eventually, but I can’t miss my chance to screw with him a smidge first. The man’s a tad uptight at times. Humor will do him good.
Me:Rico? When did you get a new number?
I switch the contact over to Ryland’s name while I wait for his reply. It takes considerable effort to not list him as Rhino, but I refrain over concerns he wouldn’t find it as funny as me.
Ryland:Who the hell is Rico?
Me:This isn’t Rico?
Ryland:Where can I find this Rico? He and I need to chat.
Me:Oh you know Rico. He likes to pop up on occasion.
Ryland:Is he from your old building?
The man cannot pick up on a joke. For fear he’ll burst over here demanding I take him to Rico, I move on since he won’t play along. But not without a heavy sigh to the empty room.
Me:What do you want, Ryland?
The texts volleyed back and forth between us with mere seconds in between each. I visualize him sitting on his couch waiting for me to respond each time. I don’t feel so crazy when Ryland’s as crazy as I am.
Ryland:HA! I knew Rico didn’t exist.
All righty then. I make a mental note to remember Ryland does not understand the fun to be had in fake texting.
Me: Rico would never get a new phone and not tell me in advance. How did you get my number, Ryland?
Ryland: Wow you’re testy for a woman who texted me. Do you have cabin fever?
Me who texted him? Is the man on drugs? Does he say this shit to rattle me? I can’t figure him out… or why I can’t stop smiling at the silly things he does. I shake my head at him even though he can’t see. My phone buzzes with another text before I respond.
Ryland: I’m wondering if my fair tenant has plans today and if she’d like to come with me to procure lunch?
I’m always interested in lunch.
Me: What kind of lunch?
Ryland: Something tasty.
This whole back and forth is ridiculous. I’d walk over to his place, but I’m the injured one in this situation. The least he could do is come to me.
Me: Would you just come over so we can talk in person?
Ryland: No can do, good buddy. Grant’s here and you don’t want his kind classing down the place. Trust me.
What, in the super-rich and kind of cute guy-next-door way? Yeah, I certainly don’t want Grant over here ruining my view of the wall.
