“Who knows what’s lurking underneath the carpet.” She shivers. “God, disgusting.”
I didn’t think it was that bad. Yes, it needed a good scrubbing, but the bedrooms were big and the kitchen looked decent. “We have one more place left, right?” We’ve been looking at places off and on for almost two weeks. Every place in our budget either needed to be condemned, or it was only big enough for one person. A small one.
“Yeah. If this one doesn’t work out, we’re screwed. I’m going to have to live in my car or crash at your place.”
I don’t think that would go over very well with my roomies, but I don’t say it aloud. No need to add to her bad mood.
I watch as she pulls into a parking lot next to a three-story brick building. It reminds me of the old school with the condos that Cooke and I looked at, but this one hasn’t been remodeled. Actually, that building isn’t far from here. Down a block or two. Too bad that place is out of our price range.
“Here’s hoping,” Tayler mutters.
I push the car door open and step out on the gravel lot. I follow her to the front door, where a sign tells us the rental office is on the main level, to the left. We enter and walk down a long hallway, finding the office at the end. It’s certainly not as nice as Cooke’s building. This corridor needs a coat of paint and a good mopping.
At the door marked Manager, Tayler tries the knob, but it’s locked. Next, she knocks. We wait for a minute or two, and then Tayler knocks again. She’s about to do it a third time when we hear a gruff voice yell, “Hold your damn horses.”
Tayler and I look at each other, but our expressions remain stoic.
When the door creaks open, a man about my grandpa’s age stands in only a pair of old jeans and a satin robe a la Hugh Hefner. “What?” he snaps.
When Tayler doesn’t respond, I say, “We’re here to look at an apartment.”
“I called earlier,” Tayler finally says. “My name is Tayler.”
“Tayler’s a man’s name.”
“It’s also mine, uh, sir.”
“Fucking confusing if you ask me.” He reaches back, and I hear the clanging of keys. When he steps out of the apartment, he’s holding a huge ring of them. “Top floor, girls.”
We follow him to a set of wooden stairs that have seen better days. There are cracked boards, and several planks are completely missing.
“Stairs are gettin’ fixed next week.”
Sure they are. “Is there an elevator?” I ask.
“Nope. Exercise would do you good, girl.”
Fuck. Doesn’t he see the boot I’m wearing? Besides, I didn’t ask for commentary on my exercise habits or my body. God, I’m sick of people. “I exercise. Don’t judge a book by its cover.”
He snorts. “If I did, you’d beWar and Peace.”
I stop in my tracks. “That’s rude,” I say to the crusty old fart.
He’s stopped moving too. Turning around slowly, he says, “Pardon?”
“I said that’s rude. You don’t know me. You don’t know one thing about me, so don’t presume to say something as callous as ‘War and Peace.’” I use an old guy’s voice for emphasis. “Someone your age should have better manners than that.”
“Well.” He chuckles. “You’re a spitfire, ain’t ya?”
“Yes.” At least I’m starting to be.
“You’re a pretty thing.” Then, lowering his voice, he adds, “For a big book.”
Fuck this guy. I’m about to turn around and leave when he stops in front of the door at the farthest end of the hallway on the top floor. “This’n needs to be cleaned up and painted.”
“Oh, great,” Tayler grumbles.
“It’s a nice one,” the old guy replies. “Lots of people want to live here.”
