Page 41 of Reluctantly Yours

“I like that you’re small,” I say without thinking.

“What?” Her head jerks in my direction.

“Nothing.” I clear my throat, bringing focus back to the point that I need to make. “My girlfriend would not livehere.”

“You shouldn’t be so judgy,” Chloe says, standing from where she was crouched cleaning up the rubble. “I’m sure your closet is bigger than my apartment but this apartment has charm. Character. It’s not some cookie cutter fancy schmancy penthouse in Gramercy. And I’m on a budget.”

“My girlfriend doesn’t need to be on a budget.”

“I’m your fake girlfriend and we are going to last for like five seconds. No one will know where I live. It’s not like we’re going to invite Fred and Frankie over here for dinner. Which is a relief, because I’ve only got the one chair.”

I sigh, then drop down onto her twin bed. The thing nearly collapses under my weight. It may work for a small person like Chloe, but there’s no way this bed could hold much more weight. That thought makes me happier than it should. When she bends over to empty the dustpan into the trash under the sink, I argue that I would look away from her perfect ass if there was anywhere else to look.

I finally divert my gaze from Chloe’s ass and catch a glimpse of something small, gray and furry run past my shoes.

“Chloe?”

“Hang on. I’m trying to figure out what that sound is.”

“Chloe.”

“What, Barrett?”

She finally turns around. I point to the rodent on the floor.

It moves again and Chloe yelps.

My gaze darts to hers.

“Do you have a pet?” I ask like it’s a legitimate question. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if instead of calling her landlord about a rodent problem, she befriended it.

“Oh, yeah, that’s just Ralph,” she says nonchalantly, while also backing herself up against the wall.

Suddenly the mouse darts across the room and Chloe runs for the door screaming.

CHAPTER10

Chloe

An hour later, Marcus pulls up to a brownstone on 71st Street. Not because it took me that long to pack my meager personal items but because I spent half of that time arguing with Barrett about staying at his place.

I laid out a perfectly plausible plan to catch Ralph in a live trap and keep him as a pet. I’d feel much better about the situation if I knew his whereabouts. Barrett argued that where there is one, there are many. I counterargued that as a collective they could probably make me a dress while I was sleeping. Barrett said it was only a matter of time before they used my rental designer wardrobe for their nests. Or started chewing up my books.

That got me packing faster than you can say Colleen Hoover.

Ultimately, I agreed to move into Barrett’s place temporarily while the mouse and maintenance issues in my apartment are being resolved. It was a tough decision, living with small possibly disease-ridden rodents or Barrett.

But my new living arrangement with Barrett will be as temporary as our fake relationship, even shorter if the sobs of my landlord through Barrett’s phone are any indication. She’ll have that place in tiptop shape in no time.

I do a double take out the car window. The brownstone is white stucco with black-framed windows and an archway door to match. Plant baskets with tidy green shrubs line all ten windows from which warm yellow light flows.

The windows are like porn. I imagine a decorated Christmas tree filling the large one on the main floor. Yes, it’s June, but a girl can dream.

A black wrought iron gate and railing leading up to the stoop.

This place is quintessential New York City. Or at least the New York City I had envisioned before I found my two-hundred-square-foot budget apartment in East Harlem.

“I’m covered in dirt and sweat. You can’t expect me to meet the governor looking like this.”