The Sexpert

“Really?” he asks, his eyebrows high up on his forehead like this is the most surprising thing he’s heard today. “Why? Did you have a bad encounter with one as a child?”

I can’t tell if he’s joking because my fear of bulls is weird, or if he’s really asking, but I don’t have to worry about it, because the elevator doors open and Cheryl sings, “Here we are!”

Cheryl exits and Andrew waves a hand at me that says, After you, so I follow her out and stand in front of the massive, polished, hardwood double doors that have a little bronze plaque off to the side that says, Penthouse.

As if we didn’t already figure that out.

“We can have your name engraved on that, Andrew,” Cheryl says, pointing to the plaque. “Just tell me what you’d like it to say.” She beams a smile at him and when I look over my shoulder at Andrew again, he’s looking at me, not her.

“What?” I snap. “Why are you staring at me?”

It’s like he knows. Like he’s got some sixth sense that I am the target Pierce aimed him at. Like he’s putting two and two together and any minute now he’s gonna realize—

“Sorry,” he says, eyes averting to Cheryl. “They’re just eyeballs. Everybody calm down.”

“Let’s get inside,” Cheryl says. “There’s a lot to go over.”

Cheryl passes a key card over the security panel and it flashes green as the locking mechanism disengages. Then she opens the double doors with one of those ta-da gestures with arms outstretched. Like she’s a game-show girl presenting a brand-new car.

“Here we are! Notice the floor-to-ceiling windows highlighting the views. Come with me and I’ll point out all the landmarks for you.”

She hooks her hand into the crook of Andrew’s arm and practically drags him over to the windows. He’s looking over his shoulder at me. I’m still standing outside the apartment. He says, “Come on. She’s gonna show us the views.”

I consider turning around and leaving before I get caught in some trap I can’t get out of, but… the views. They’re like the ones from the fiftieth floor of the TDH building and I’m drawn to them.

So I push my glasses up my nose, sniffle from the overabundance of air conditioning, and walk forward with them.

His place, like mine, comes furnished. But this building is ultra-modern, so it has a sparse feeling to it. The couches and chairs are all a little bit retro-feeling. Those crisp geometric edges and skinny tapering peg legs. And they are brightly colored, but tasteful at the same time. Light blue and muted yellow.

“See, that’s Pikes Peak,” Cheryl says, drawing my attention away from the design. “The tallest mountain in Colorado.”

“No, it’s not,” I say.

“Yes,” Cheryl insists. “That is Pikes Peak.”

I look at Andrew, sick of Cheryl’s blatant flirting. “No. I mean Mount Elbert is the tallest mountain. Pikes Peak is the most famous, that’s all. It’s only fourteen thousand one hundred and fifteen feet. Mount Elbert is fourteen thousand four hundred forty feet.” And then I snort again, and say, “Pikes Peak isn’t even the second highest mountain in Colorado.”

“Well—” Cheryl starts to say, but I continue.

“It’s the twentieth.”

Andrew laughs. Cheryl looks annoyed.

“You into mountains?” he asks.

“Not particularly. But I grew up here. We had to memorize all the Fourteeners in sixth grade because that’s useful information every kid should know.” And then I almost snort again but catch myself just in time. “Didn’t you have to do that? Cheryl?” I look at her expectantly.

“I… I grew up in Nebraska.”

I nod at her, smiling. My smile says, I thought so. Not that I thought she grew up in Nebraska. Just not here. I’m suddenly weirdly competitive with the Nebraska-born leasing agent. Which is… unexpected.

“OK, well, there’s a lot more to see,” Cheryl says. “I’m sure no one here wants an impromptu lesson in the Colorado mountains.”

“I do. I love mountains,” Andrew says. Which catches Cheryl off guard because she makes a face that totally says, What? “Really. What else can you teach me? Eden?”

“I… Uh…” Was that innuendo?

I look over at Cheryl, who, I think, is asking herself the very same question, because she says, “OK. So, that’s the tour. How about we go back down and sign your lease, Andrew? You didn’t sign yet.”

“What about the pool?” he asks.

“The pool?” she says.

“Yeah, you said something about the pool downstairs. Crowded? What’s up with the pool?”

“Oh,” she responds, still kind of flustered and annoyed. I don’t know how I’ve wound up in some kind of odd jealousy triangle. I just wanted to sign my lease on my little studio and I now find myself standing awkwardly in a penthouse with a rich, cute guy who’s apparently been asked to destroy my life even though he doesn’t know it and a clearly ovulating leasing agent.