In my profile is a description I definitely didnotwrite, nor did Penny. I read it out loud. “If you aren’t rich or don’t have a yacht, then pass. You’re not my type. I only date men who are 6’7” or taller. If I don’t receive a diamond ring by the third date, then we’re over. I’m here for marriage and marriage only…to someone rich.”
“This is like the ultimate man deterrent,” I whisper. “Who did this? Because I didn’t.” I look at Penny.
“It wasn’t me. I actually want you to do well on this app. That right there will have every man in a hundred-mile radius running.” She points at my phone. “Did you see you went from being twenty-two years old to eighty-three? Whoever did this is fucking with you.”
“Somebody must have hacked me. It’s just another sign I should have never made a profile in the first place.”
“You have a hot bodyguard now anyway. You don’t need the app.” She winks at me.
I give her a look. “I don’t have anyone. The hot bodyguard and I are just friends.” Even though he said we’ve already been on two dates. I don’t say that though. “I’m deleting the app now.” I go into my phone and first delete my profile and then the app. “There. Done,” I say, throwing my phone onto the coffee table.
“It’s probably a good idea to delete it because I can guarantee Mr. Model is not just a friend. You can keep telling yourself that, but I have a feeling the man wants all up in your lady bits.”
I roll my eyes and change the subject. “How’s your profile doing? Did you match with the shirtless tattooed hottie?” I ask.
She blushes and waves a hand. “We did match, but the conversation has only been surface level. Says he’s in the middle of a move or something and shouldn’t have been on the app in the first place. By the way, did you see that the empty space next door has been sold? It’s been on the market forever.”
I narrow my eyes at her because I feel like she’s leaving out more than she’s letting on. The blush on her cheeks says she is, but I’m a nice friend and answer her question. “I did. I wonder what it’s going to be.”
“There's a rumor it’s going to be another antique shop, but someone also said a pet daycare. I’m not sure.” She shrugs and takes a sip of her wine, changing the subject again. “Have you talked to the police about your stolen camera? I can’t believe you were robbed twice in one week. That’s got to be some type of record.”
I sigh. “You’re not wrong. I called them the other day and they didn’t have any updates. I think it’s safe to say I’m shit out of luck. I can’t keep shooting with my vintage camera though. The film is expensive and I’m going to have to charge an astronomical amount to make it worth it. Kyle tried to set me up with a few shoots this weekend, but without my digital camera, it’s too hard. So, if you need me for any extra shifts coming up, I’m down.”
“Of course. We’ve got to do something though. You should call the police station every day. Make their life a living hell so they prioritize your case. Because there’s no way that couple isn’t going to do it to someone else.”
I nod in agreement. I hate that this even happened. My string of bad luck is just that: bad luck. And any extra money I had just left my pocket, so I can’t even save for a new camera. It’sgoing to be an uncomfortably tight month the rest of the month, but what’s a girl going to do?
It’s not like I have any other choice. I’ve been in this position before and always get through it.
By the time I leave Penny’s house, I’m exhausted.
The last few weeks have caught up with me and I just want to crash, but I can’t help but think of Lucas as I lie awake in bed. I wonder what he was up to this weekend. Did he think I was a virgin when I left him in the parking lot the other day? Does he even like virgins?
“Ugh,” I groan to the empty room and fluff my pillow behind my head.
Why do I even care?
~ ~ ~
When my alarm goes off at four thirty, all I want to do is snuggle back in bed and sleep. But money is calling my name and I scrub my hands over my face and throw off the covers.
The last thing I expect to feel as I swing my feet onto the floor is water.
“What the fuck.”
I look down and there’s at least two inches of standing water under my feet.
“No, no, no, no,” I say to no one.
This can’t be happening.
I reach for my phone and dial Gary, the landlord, who lives on the other side of the building. I don’t care if it’s four thirty in the morning. I don't have time for this.
“Hello?” the groggy-sounding man asks.
“Gary, it’s Jordan in apartment 124. I’m standing in two inches of water right now.”
That perks him right up. “What? Give me a minute. I’ll be right over.” And he hangs up.
