God, I’m crushing the hopes and dreams of an eighty-year-old.
Iris frowns and then sniffs as she shakes her head.
“I don’t believe any of it,” she snaps, turning her attention back to the TV. She points at the door, glaring at me over the rims of her glasses. “If you’re going to sit there, picking it to bits, you know where the door is, missy.”
I stand up, still laughing and lean over, kissing her on the forehead.
“Unrelated to this, I do have to go.”
Iris looks at me, shocked I’d want to go anywhere and miss the end of The Bachelor, never mind the fact that it’s a three-year-old episode—I’m disappointed in myself that I know that.
“Where are you going?” she demands. “You better be leaving me for a date.”
“I hope not.” I frown. “Though, if I know my brother and Annie, they’re probably trying to set me up with someone.”
“Good,” she snaps. “You need a good kick in the butt.”
“Thanks,” I say, laughing. “Though I could say the same about you.”
“Pfft.” She sniffs. “Who would want to take this old thing out?”
“I think you’d be surprised,” I say with a grin.
Remind me never to introduce her to the world of Internet fetishes, or it won’t be the sounds of The Bachelor I’d be trying to block out at night.I walk back into my apartment, panicking when I see the time. Shit, it’s later than I thought it was. I race down to the basement, gather my laundry, take it back upstairs and toss it on my bed. Then I have a shower. I wash as quickly as I can get away with, then I jump out, and quickly dry myself. After a short deliberation, I leave my hair down to dry naturally, then I dab on some makeup and shuffle my way into my black skirt, along with a low pair of heels.
On the way out of my room, I grab my shirt from the bundle of washing and throw it on, ignoring the way the still damp material makes my skin crawl. I don’t have much choice but to wear it since the snoopy sweater is out of the question. Sighing, I grab my phone in my purse and race out the door. I haven’t even left, and I already regret agreeing to this.I didn’t expect so much traffic getting across the other side of town, so by the time I pull up outside their house in Pasadena, I’m really late. My phone beeps as I unbuckle my seat belt. I fumble through my purse, already knowing it’s Annie or Matt. I’m right.
Annie: Where are you? You’re still coming, right?
Me: Yes, relax. I’m outside, about to come in.
I pound on the front door. Matt answers. He shakes his head and glances at his watch.
“What?” I say. “It’s not like you gave me a whole lot of notice about this dinner party,” I say with a frown. I push past him as he chuckles and then shuts the door.
“Like that would’ve made a difference,” he scoffs. “So, what was it this time?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Well, you’re always running late, and you always have some half-assed excuse ready to go, so hit me with it.”
I glower at him. He knows me too well.
“I got distracted with my eighty-year-old neighbor watching The Bachelor,” I say with a sheepish grin. He shakes his head and groans.
“If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t believe that, but you…” He smirks at me. “The funny thing is, for somebody so anal, you suck at time management. How does that even work?”
“Anal?” I glare at him.
“You know what I mean. You like control,” he says. “So why don’t you control your time better?”
“Shut up,” I say, poking my tongue out at him.
“You shut up.” He grins. “Now get outside. Everyone’s already sitting down, and you’re ruining my dinner party.”
I hear a distinctive laugh that sounds like a hyena wrestling a polar bear that can only be Raina.
“I thought Annie said Raina couldn’t come,” I say suspiciously.
“Did she?” Matt’s voice lifts to a high pitch, and I groan.
“Matt.”
“What?” he asks, shaking his head. “I didn’t tell you because you’d think this was a setup, and it’s not like that this time, I promise.”
“Then what is it like?” I say.
“I’ve just got a friend staying with us and everyone else coming tonight is a couple, so I felt bad for him. And you’re the only other single person I know at the moment. I needed things to balance,” he says, speaking quickly.
“Balance?” I shake my head. “You owe me for this. If he tries to hit on me, you owe me double.”
“Fine. I’ve got to go back and check on the risotto,” he says, waving me off.
I shake my head then take a deep breath, glancing at my reflection in the hallway mirror before I walk out onto the patio.