AllFreeNovel
Share Us
~ Darren ~
Past
Istand in front of the facial-recognition scanner to unlock my door.
“High tech,” she comments as she follows me inside.
Her jaw drops.
The ceiling at my place is almost twenty feet high, floor-to-ceiling windows surround the great room, the flooring—Kempas hardwood imported from Malaysia—stretches the length, and the furnishings come mostly from Bentley Home or Brabbu.
“You can take off your sweater. I’ll adjust the temperature so you won’t get cold,” I say, pulling a clothes hanger from the closet.
She slides off her sweater and hands it to me to hang up.
I look over her figure. “Nice dress.”
“Thanks. It belongs to Simone. She lent me the jumpsuit I wore to the fundraiser.”
Doesn’t she have clothes of her own besides the sweater? I wonder.
Talking to my AI device, I give the instructions to turn up the thermostat two degrees.
“Drink?” I ask Bridget.
“Water would be great.”
I show her into the kitchen, which is much larger than my needs, given that I don’t cook.
I get a glass. “Still or sparkling?”
“Still. Sparkling makes me burp.”
I put the glass into the filtered water dispenser.
“So where do you keep your pots?” she asks.
Does she really think I want a lesson on boiling eggs? Kimberly and I didn’t even make it through dinner before we were tearing each other’s clothes off. With this one, I have to take her grocery shopping and let her teach me how to boil eggs before making it to first base? Is she that oblivious?
But I open the cabinet door to show her the cookware.
“You have nice stuff,” she says, taking out a pot. Looking it over, her eyes enlarge. “This is a Duparquet! I saw this on a cooking show once. A simple fry pan costs like four thousand dollars.”
“I don’t know a thing about cookware. Cheryl outfitted the kitchen for me.”
Bridget shakes her head as she looks at the pot as if feeling sorry for it. “And you don’t even cook.”
I watch her fill the pot with water and notice her shoes don’t go with her outfit. She’d make an incredible candidate for one of those makeover television programs. She’s definitely the frumpiest thing to walk through my doors. Only she’s not intrinsically frumpy. She just chooses to be.
“Last time you told me to put the eggs in first,” I note.
“Right. Well, you can do the water first if you make sure you put the eggs in gently.”
I open my refrigerator and pull out eggs. She takes two and puts them in the pot.
I wonder what my mother would think if I showed her Bridget.
“You want me to hang with a better crowd, how’s this?” I imagine saying to her.
