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Alright, this one isn't too bad. I am the rare young bachelor that actually enjoys cooking and before I moved out of my parents house, Dad and I had a few arguments about eating the things I had bought for specific meals. He said I was acting like my mother, being dramatic over some stupid fancy butter for some weird meal. I ended up getting myself a mini fridge to keep in my room as an added precaution, my own way of sticking it to the man.
4. The toilet seat should be closed after every use. This includes both the cover as well as the seat itself. Any residue on either seat shall be removed immediately.
Immediately is such a harsh word, I am starting to feel like this chick already has it out for me. I come from a family that is almost all boys, but we learned from an early age how to respect the one woman in the house.
5.There shall be no visitors permitted in the apartment between the hours of 8:00am and 5:00pm. Due to the nature of varied sleep schedules, this rule is in place to ensure that the apartment maintains a minimal level of noise during the day.
I remember Delaney saying something about her roommate - Melanie I guess is her name - working nights. Luckily, I work during the day so it's unlikely I will even be home during her imposed no visitors rule. That being said, she better not think that means she can cause a ruckus while I am sleeping just because it's during the night hours. Honestly, I think our schedules are opposite enough that we may never see each other anyway.
6. Don't let minor problems become major resentments. If there is an issue, speak up. Keep communication open and work through problems like proper adults.
I can't really think of any reason I would have some kind of problem with her. As long as the bills stay in range so that I don't have to change my lifestyle, I don't really care what she does. She already sounds like a pain in the ass, but hey, aren't we all in our own special ways?
7. Each member of the household is assigned a specific zone of the apartment to maintain. Both parties are expected to maintain their personal living spaces as well as their designated zones to prevent any excessive mess and potential bugs or rodents. Melanie is in charge of cleaning the kitchen and bathroom areas. Ashton is in charge of taking out the trash and maintaining the common areas such as the living and dining rooms.
Designated cleaning zone? I mean I can be thankful that I don't have to clean the bathroom since there's no way I would be able to get it to this woman's standard, I can already tell. I do know how to sweep and run a vacuum, so that shouldn't be too hard. Fuck, I wonder if she is going to expect me to dust. Hopefully that's not the case.
8. Laundry is to be done on a rotating schedule to ensure balance between both parties. Sunday shall be used to wash bedding and both parties are permitted to use the laundry machines at this time. Melanie will complete her laundry on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. Ashton will complete his laundry on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
Three days a week to do laundry? I barely even do laundry once a week as it is, let alone having three assigned days for it. And is she going to monitor if I am washing my sheets on Sundays? This chick keeps getting crazier and crazier I swear. It's not that I don't appreciate having some balance since we will be living together, but does every little thing need to be scheduled and regimented like this? Would the world end if she did a load of laundry on a Wednesday instead? Part of me is itching to test that theory, to see how far I can push these restrictions she has set before she cracks.
9. To keep all parties safe, the door should remain locked at all times. The curtains should be closed within an hour of sundown. If both parties will be away at the time of sundown, the shades should be shut by the last tenant to leave the apartment. Emergency contact numbers are posted on the fridge in case the tenant cannot be reached and should be used at the tenants’ discretion and not overused.
Is she really that concerned about someone peeping in the windows? Damn, she must be hot. Maybe the door will stay locked because we hit it off so well we are both constantly naked. The idea has my pants tenting and my balls tightening. Fuck, it's been too long since I got laid now I am fantasizing about some chick I have never even met. I adjust my dick into a position that is less painful, pulling it up to rest against my pelvis instead of trying to bust out of my zipper.
10. There is to be no sexual intercourse of any kind while the other tenant is in the apartment. If sexual intercourse in the residence is planned, a courtesy notification shall be sent to the other party to advise of any time restrictions for returning to the apartment. To ensure respect between all parties, a notice of three or more hours is ideal and preferred.
Well I guess she saved the worst rule for last. I can't even usually give my dick three hours notice that we are getting laid, let alone sending a courtesy text to my fucking roommate. The only logical way around this is to just never bring a girl back to the apartment. I guess a second alternative would be to tell her every night that I will be getting laid - optimism at its finest. Plus, from what Delaney told me, Melanie works nights so I shouldn't have to worry about that last one too much. Hookups during the day are few and far between since I usually work anyways.
It's a lot. Mostly just how specific everything is. I mean, it probably wouldn't be the worst thing I have ever signed, but my hand doesn't want to autograph it just yet. I send a text off to Delaney, asking if I can stop by the shop to pick her brain a little before I sign. It's not like I have much of a choice, all my shit is packed and I have to move.
My back hits my mattress, the springs pushing me back up with a bounce. I am going to have a new roommate in a few days and she sounds like a pain in the ass but hey, at least the new apartment will have actual rooms. Living in a studio is tricky, you never know where the different activities should take place. Can I fuck on the floor next to the window, or is that technically the kitchen? I know it's frowned upon to fuck in the kitchen because of sanitation or whatever, but what if it's not technically a kitchen, just a general living area that happens to have a stove?
My phone dings with Delaney's response, letting me know that I can stop by later this afternoon to Thornes In Bloom - her flower shop downtown - to drop off the completed paperwork. I have to get it to her today so that Melanie has time to make copies before move-in day. Not sure why I need a paper copy of her list of demands, pretty sure she will let me know if I step out of line or break any of them.
It's a Sunday and I definitely didn't plan to leave my place today, still recovering from my crazy almost hookup on Wednesday at Galactic plus all the change with moving. It's not like me to stay home, especially when the itch I tried to scratch on Wednesday has been left unscratched since then. Not that I didn't walk my own dog when I got home, making sure to wash my hands another three times to make sure whatever set her body on fire didn't take over my dick too. But my dick knows that it was my own hand taking care of its needs and not a beautiful woman like he truly craves.
I wouldn't say that I am a player by any means, but I rarely have to jerk myself off to get a release, enjoying the company of a woman at least once a week. Those women don't always get a second taste, but it's not because they don't want one. I hope that my new living situation won't ruin what I have going, my lifestyle is one I need to maintain for my own sanity. Then again, I have been in a rare dry spell since that girl at the club. Something about her has me contemplating everything - the way she took charge instead of expecting me to or the way she didn't hold an expectation for us after the deed was done. Not to mention the fact I didn't even get to show her a good time, the night ending in her storming out of the bathroom and me turning into an obsessive hand washer. She knew exactly what she wanted and wasn't afraid to take it if that was what it came to.
I roll off my mattress, the blanket coming with me and landing in a heap on the floor. I pull on the shirt sitting at the top of the box tower, tuck my phone into my back pocket and pat the other side to check that my wallet is where it should be. I fold the agreement enough times that it can squish in behind my wallet, then run my hand through my hair, making sure that it looks like I just rolled out of bed. My feet slide into my work boots - the easiest thing to slip on without having to mess with the laces since they are already knotted in the right spot so I can slide my foot in and out when I want to - and then I am out the door.
The biggest downfall of my current apartment is how far out of town it is. It makes bringing girls home a bit more challenging because we can't just walk, which means I usually have to convince them to get into a vehicle with me. I give the girls serious credit though, they rarely volunteer to get into a car with a strange guy they just met. It definitely doesn't help that my car looks like the one you were told to never get into as a child. I'm not even sure what color the original paint was at this point, it is so chipped and overrun with rust-colored spots. The interior isn't leather, which means there are years of the previous owners’ chain-smoking addiction turning everything a muted shade of yellow. The only part of it that isn't on its last leg of life is the engine, which I rebuilt myself over the years.
I was part of the automotive mechanic program at my high school and our senior project was finding a shitty engine, taking it apart, cleaning and restoring it, and then putting it all back together like a steel Humpty Dumpty. I had convinced my parents to let me buy this car with the stipulation that I couldn't drive it until I made sure it was safe to do so. Engine, tires, working brakes - that's really all you need for a car to be deemed safe.
The hinge on the rusty door cries out in pain as I open the driver's side to slide into my car. I don't bother locking it, no one would be dumb enough to steal this piece of shit. The engine squeals to life, the serpentine belt reminding me that it's desperate to be replaced. It takes me about fifteen minutes to get to Thornes In Bloom, getting lucky and finding a place to park on the bustling street. It's officially the holiday season now that Thanksgiving has passed and the crowds prove it. It's just after noon and I'm guessing the hoards of shoppers will be looking for a spot to have lunch and plan the rest of their attack on retail.
The sign out front of the flower shop is decorated with leaves in every color of autumn - orange, red, yellow, green - and it's refreshing to see Delaney is still holding out to change over to the holiday themes. The block letters are bold in white chalk, a bright contrast to the dark background and colorful leaves.
I'm FALLing for you.
Clever. I let out a low chuckle as I pull the large glass door open, a friendly chime ringing out above me as I enter. Delaney is standing in the middle of the shop behind the register. I have only been in here once - to get the flowers I brought Mom for Thanksgiving - but I at least gave her a little credit by supporting her store in the process.
Delaney's eyes meet mine and instantly wrinkle in the corners with her smile. My brother is a lucky son of a bitch having her love him.
"I'm not sure what I am supposed to call you now, since I'm not allowed to call you Pika anymore." She steps out from behind the counter, pulling me into a hug. I can't tell where the smell of flowers from the shop begins and the floral scent of Delaney ends. She was meant to do this.
"You could try calling me by my actual name, you know."
