Page 16 of The Rent Just Went Up

She wanted to kill me, of course, and I felt terrible about it. She kept asking me why, but I couldn’t give her a good answer. I wasn’t even nineteen yet—how was I going to explain my deepest psychological issues to her? How was I going to explain that I thought she was going to leave me like my mom left my dad? I didn’t even fully know that myself at the time.

It took me years to understand that that’s the reason I’ve never had a serious relationship in my life. It’s also the reason I haven’t called Erika since I saw her last.

I wanted to. I truly did. I can’t even count how many times I picked up my phone, went to her contact, hovered my thumb over the dial icon, then tossed my phone aside again with a sigh.

If I call her and see her again, I’m going to fall in love, I thought. And then all those questions, the same questions that terrified me before, came rushing back and flooded my mind like a torrential rain.

“Well, well, well,”Erika says, with a perfectly blended smile/glare on her face. “Look who the fuck it is.”

Caroline glances at me, at her, then back at me. “I…should probably go,” she says, setting her tablet on the table. “The lease is here for whatever you decide, Malcom. Goodbye, Erika!”

“Bye,” Erika says with a forced smile. “Thanks so much for your help, Caroline.”

Caroline makes herself scarce, and I can practically feel the death-lasers shooting out of Erika’s eyes as she stares at me. I’m usually quite good with people—it helps to be in my profession—but for the first time in a long time, I don’t really know what to say, so I just say the first thing that comes to mind.

“How are you?”

Erika scoffs like I just told her the most offensive joke in the world.Wrong.“How am I?” she repeats. “HowamI? You’re kidding, right?”

“Well–”

“I don’t hear from you for a month, and the first thing you ask me ishow am I?”

“Well, it’s better than a cheesy pickup line, right?” I grin. Maybe some good ol’-fashioned charm will work on her. Doubtful, but maybe.

“A pickup line?” she asks, her eyes narrowing. “Why would you need a pickup line, Malcom? We’vealready had sex, remember?”

“Yes, I remember–”

“You took my virginity! Remember that?”

“Of course I do,” I reply. Christ, she’s already got me on the defensive. “How could I ever forget that?”

“So you take a girl’s virginity, and then you just never call her back,” Erika says, tossing her hands in the air. “Like I said, you really are the scum of the earth.”

I take a step closer to her. The scent of her soap fills my lungs, instantly taking me back to that night we spent together. “You should probably relax, Erika. You know this is a one-on-one interview, right?” I ask her. “Where you basically have to impress me so I’ll rent this place to you?”

“Oh, you’re going to rent it to me,” Erika snaps.

“I am, am I?” I reply. “And how do you know that?”

“Because you owe me,” she says. Christ, she’s just as much a spitfire as I remember her, and as she stands there glaring at me, arms crossed beneath those plump and perfect tits of hers, I can feel myself getting turned on.

I know I owe her. There’s absolutely no way I could possibly argue that I don’t. I completely fucked her over. What I did puts me right into the category of that shitty, cheating boyfriend of hers—well, maybe one step below, but close. But still, I can’t give in and acknowledge this to her. So I cock my head to the side and click my tongue against my bottom teeth.

“Ioweyou?” I ask. “How do you figure?”

I’mreallyfucking pushing it here, and I can see it when I watch the fire flare in her eyes.

“I wish I was a gun owner,” Erika says. “Like my son-of-a-bitch dad. So I could blast you in your smug face right now.”

“You don’t have some keychain mace?”

She thinks for a moment, then points an index finger in the air. “You know what–?” She turns, but before she can actually make a move toward her purse, I move right in and wrap her up in my arms. And God does it feel good.

The scent in my lungs, the warmth against my body, the feeling of how tiny her waist is and the plump press of her eighteen-year-old tits against my chest as she pounds against me with her fists and squeals for her freedom.

“Get the fuck off me!”

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