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Oh, fuck it.
Mrs. Allerton hobbled out, her stick tapping extra loudly against the floor. Her beady dark eyes were hidden behind huge spectacles that took up half of her wrinkled face, and her white hair was still styled in rollers.
She clutched her robe tighter to her chest. “Mason? Mason, is that you making that racket?”
Kirsty swallowed. “Sorry, Mrs. Allerton. That was me knocking on his door.”
“Knocking on his door?” She leaned in to see her. “Oh, Kirsty. Couldn’t you call? I thought it was a bombing.”
Sweet Jesus…
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“No, no, it’s fine. You young people have no respect for the news anymore. I only wanted to see what was going on in the world, but here I was, thinking I’d be on the news tomorrow.”
She’d started it now.
“Do you know there’s a fellow at the water plant who got poisoned with syphilis?”
“I did not,” Kirsty said politely.
“Mmm. I’ll have to see how he got poisoned. See if I can do that for noisy neighbors.” She adjusted her glasses and looked at us both. “Keep it down. Reruns of Wheel of Fortune are about to come on, and I don’t like to be interrupted in them.”
I held up my hands. “No more noise, Mrs. Allerton, I promise. I apologize for my sister’s rudeness.”
“See that you’re right.” She grunted and, after a painfully slow turn, shuffled back into her apartment, her stick still thumping against the ground.
“I’d hate to live beneath her,” Kirsty muttered, shoving past me into my apartment.
“Mmph.” She had a point; the woman liked to complain about noise, yet she was the noisiest one of everyone in the building. “What do you want, Kirst?”
“I have a surprise for you,” she repeated, this time a lot brighter. “You’re going to love it.”
“I doubt that.” I scratched my balls and walked into the kitchen ahead of her.
“Do you have to do that?”
“Do what?”
“Scratch your balls when I’m around.”
“Yep.” I reached down and did it again for good measure. “You banged on my door and you woke me up. You can handle me having an itch, Kirsty.”
She wrinkled her face up in disgust. “You’re gross.”
“Yep. What do you want?”
She put her purse on the kitchen island and hopped onto one of the stools. “I have some good news for you.”
“I doubt it.” I switched the coffee machine on.
“No, it is, I swear.”
“Again, I doubt it, but I’ll humor you.” Turning, I leaned against the counter and folded my arms across my chest. “What’s the so-called good news?”
She leaned right forward and grinned. “I got you a date for Friday night.”
She did what?
I blinked at her. Was I hearing her right? Was she seriously telling me that she had me a date for Friday night? For the high school reunion I was only attending because my also-single best friend was making me?
Fuck me dead. My sister had lost it.
“You did what?” I finally managed to say.
“I got you a date,” she said, seemingly unbothered by the fact I was not happy.
Actually, she probably knew, she was just fucking ignoring me. The little shit.
“Kirsty, I don’t want a date,” I said slowly. “I planned on going in, showing my face, and getting the fuck out of that hellhole.”
She shook her head. “You need a date.”
“I beg to differ.” I hit the button on the coffee machine. It spat steam before it released the milk that came out before the coffee. “I don’t need a date. I don’t need anything. I’m going with Trev.”
“You can’t go to your reunion with your best friend. You’re not a woman.”
“I also can’t go on a first date there with a woman.”
“Ah, see, this is the best part! It’s not a real date.”
She was going to give me whiplash by the time she left.
“What are you talking about? Did you drink an espresso again? You know those make you hyper.” I pulled my cup from beneath the machine and added two sugars.
Kirsty groaned. “Listen—I was on Craigslist—”
“No good story ever started with that.”
“And I was browsing, as you do, and I found this ad that made me laugh. Hold on, let me get it and I’ll read it for you.”
“You’re good, Kirst, really. I’m not taking a date.”
“No, no, you are. She has the same weird sense of humor as you do. You just have to pretend to like her.”
“No pressure, then.”
“Listen to this! She’s a hoot!” She sat up a little straighter. “Okay. Name: Lauren Green. Age: Twenty-five. Profession: I’d have to kill you if I told you.
“Offering my services as a fake date for one night only. Got a wedding you need a date for? I’m a classy girl in public with a dirty side in private. How about a family get-together where you’re the only single grandchild going? This blue-eyed brunette with a passion for pizza is the one you’ve been looking for. Or if you’re heading to a party and need to make that one person jealous—I’ve got an ass you could crack diamond on. Contact me at [email protected] with your needs. And no, I’m not charging. But I’m not buying my own drinks either.”
