Chapter Eleven
Tayler
“What about that place?” Quinn asks me as we leave the dirtiest, grossest apartment I’ve ever seen.
“It was dirty. Who knows what’s lurking beneath the carpet?” I pretend to shiver. “God, disgusting.”
“We have one more place left, right?” My best friend is so sweet. She’s doing her best to keep the faith.
“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.” Ignoring the weird look on Quinn’s face, I pull into a parking lot next to a three-story brick building. It looks like someone renovated an old school. It’s promising. “Here’s hoping,” I mutter.
We make our way to the front door. There’s a small sign telling us where to find the rental office. We step in and walk slowly down a long hallway to the door with a sign that says simply “Manager.” I try the knob, but it’s locked, so I knock. We wait for a minute or two, and I knock again. Yeah, I’m impatient. I’m not hopeful about this place. It looks run-down.
When we hear a growly voice say, “Hold your damn horses,” my first thought is Luke. Only the voice sounds even more gruff.
The door creaks open, and an old guy in a robe and jeans snaps, “What?”
Shit. I’m not in the mood for this crap. I’m about to snap right back when, thankfully, Quinn answers, “We’re here to look at an apartment.”
“I called earlier,” I add. “My name is Tayler.”
“Tayler’s a man’s name.”
“It’s also mine, uh,sir.” I’m aware I sound just a tad sarcastic, but you should not, I’m this close to throat-punching this guy.
“Fucking confusing if you ask me.” He reaches back and pulls out some keys.
At least that’s a good sign. It means the place is still available, which is also bad because that most likely means it’s crap that nobody else wants.
“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?” Quinn asks. The poor girl is still wearing that stupid boot. She has a hard time getting around on that thing.
“Nope. Exercise would do you good, girl.”
I’m about to let the asshole have it when Quinn surprises the fuck out of me. “I exercise. Don’t judge a book by its cover.”
He snorts. “If I did, you’d beWar and Peace.”
Again, I want to jump into the fray, but Quinn doesn’t give me time. “That’s rude.”
He stops moving and looks right at Quinn. “Pardon?”
I stifle the giggle that’s trying to escape. She’s over his bullshit too. “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.’” Then she says, rather mockingly, “Someone your age should have better manners than that.”
“Well.” He chuckles. “You’re a spitfire, ain’t ya?”
“Yes,” my bestie deadpans.
“You’re a pretty thing.” Then, lowering his voice, he adds, “For a big book.”
Fuck this guy. I’d like to do something, but by the time I decide that, we’re at the door. “This’n needs to be cleaned up and painted.”
“Oh, great,” I grumble. That’s code for “it’s a shithole.”
