Page 6 of Hold the Pickle
I don’t answer that as I hurry to my apple-red Jeep, ready to put a deposit on the studio the minute I arrive. It will have to work. I’ll cut my grocery budget. Eat ramen. And send Mom less, damn it.
I leap up onto the driver’s seat and pat Bernadette’s dash between the collection of tiny rubber ducks. “Don’t worry, you will never be on the chopping block.” My Jeep is a classic, leftover from my dad.
I spot Rescue Princess stomping up the sidewalk. She unlocks the car in front of me, a Jeep that is a newer model of mine in a color they call Earl blue.
Huh. At least my evil opposition has good taste in cars.
I pull out and drive around her, giving a wave that I hope she knows is sarcastic. Good riddance. Faking my scrubs? And who is she, Miss Wear-Designer-Clothes-to-a-Hellhole?
But when she pulls out behind me, then takes my same route, turn for turn, to the next apartment complex, I have a sinking feeling I’m going to see her again, real soon.
We’re headed to the same available unit.
The last furnished one for ten miles.
Here we go again.
3
NADIA
No, no, no, no, no!
I slam my palm against the steering wheel as I realize Scrubs Boy is pulling up to the same apartment complex as I am. Again.
I lean my head against the backrest as I kill my car. Why is this happening? Why are furnished apartments so rare in LA?
I have to get this place. It’s a tiny studio and costs more than I wanted to pay, but I need it.
When I step out of my Jeep, Scrubs stands on the sidewalk, arms crossed over his chest.
It’s an impressive chest, even though I’m no longer interested in cuddling up to it.
But he certainly gave me more than a once-over when we first met. He’s a boob man. I saw that gaze.
Maybe I can use that?
I’m not a womanly wiles kind of girl. The last time I flirted with a guy, he thought I was fainting.
But I can try.
I attempt a saunter to my walk, only to have my shoe go sideways in a deep crack in the road. I stumble, tilt, and right myself. But my shoe stays behind.
Smooth, Nadia. Real smooth.
I bend down to put the ballet flat back on.
When I look up, Scrubs is watching me.
I try to bounce my step again. I get no closer than two sidewalk squares when he holds out his arms. “Oh, no you don’t.”
I halt. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t get any closer with your perfect hair and pretty face and demonic soul.”
I spit out a laugh. “Demonic soul?”
“This manager is a man. I talked to him yesterday when I made sure this place was furnished.”
