No Strings Attached

Chapter 3

All packed up and ready to go, we headed to the lobby where unfortunately Eric would be working. Before we got to the door, my dad stopped me to say, "Why don't you go on to the car, and I'll take care of the bill."

I gratefully took the keys from him, and headed off to try to remember where I parked the car. When I found it, I unlocked the trunk to put in my bag, and slid into the drivers' seat. Putting the keys into the ignition, I shifted the car into reverse so I could back out of the spot. I pulled around to the lobby door so my dad could easily hop in, and we could leave.

Almost as soon as I pulled up, my dad opened the passenger door.

"Step on it," he said before he even closed the door. "Before he follows us."

I chuckled at his comment, but internally I wondered if he was really joking. So I pulled out of the parking lot a bit faster than I normally would have.

--

Eight hours later, my dad was shouting at me to make the correct turns and then cursed when someone cut us off. Boston folk sure are vicious, I thought. They need to learn manners. In Wyoming we never had traffic anxiety.

"Okay, T, up at that brick building ahead you'll turn left," my dad coached.

When I got within 100 feet of the stop sign I engaged the left turning signal, preparing to make a sharp turn, making us that much closer to our new home.

It looked clear, so I spun the wheel left at the brick building. Some idiot made a rolling stop at the sign and didn't even care that we were there first.

"Shit!" my dad yelled from beside me, clutching the dashboard.

I slammed on the brakes and banged on the horn.

The bastard honked back so I reached my hand out the window and flipped him off while slowly starting to move again.

My dad gave me the "Swearing is not very lady-like" look, so I said "What? You're allowed to scream cuss words, but I can't flip off a jerk?"

He had no response for this, so I smiled internally.

After about ten minutes we pulled up to a crappy looking five-story building with a ton of paint chipping off the exterior. God, it's ugly.

"Well, here we are," my dad said.

I glanced at him disapprovingly. "I thought you came out here to look at it."

"I did," he stated.

"Then why did you follow through with the deal?"

"Because you should see the inside. It's actually really great."

I shrugged. "If you say so," I sighed, unbuckling my seatbelt.

We grabbed our suitcases from the trunk and made our way to the landlord's office.

"We are the Littletons. I came a few weeks ago to check out apartment 3-C," my dad told the chunky man behind the desk with a 5 o'clock shadow.

"Yep," he said, munching on a doughnut. Here are your keys, he said, not even looking up from his computer.

I inconspicuously shuffled over to the side of the desk to see what was so engrossing on his desktop. I stifled a chuckle as I catch a glimpse of PornHub on his browser. Is that gay porn?

He noticed me covering my mouth with my hand and clumsily switched the page to something that wasn't much better...Tumblr with a picture of a shirtless girl right on the dashboard. He eventually just gave up and closed the tabs. His background was a Victoria's Secret model seductively leaning on a motorcycle. At this point I couldn't contain my laughter, and he aggressively clicked the Start button so the screen showed the beautiful Windows 8 Start screen.

My dad stared at me disapprovingly, and gratefully took the keys from the landlord. "Thank you, Sir," he said as he headed towards the elevator and stairs.

I followed behind him, still laughing a little.

"Race ya!" I exclaimed, snatching the keys from his hand, and sprinting up the steps two at a time. He impatiently pressed the up button for the elevator repeatedly, frantically looking to the closed doors to the elevator and up to me, already up the first flight of stairs.

My dad and I often did this. I was scared stiff of elevators and my dad has terrible knees. When I was four, my family was staying in a hotel and I was playing with my mom. I ran ahead of her and shut the elevator door on her, giggling like the child I was. She obviously let me beat her, as I had little stubby legs and waddled like a penguin. But I wished she'd caught me when a bolt of lightning struck the hotel and caused even the backup power to shut off. I was stuck in an elevator at four years old for two hours. I've never been in one since. So since then I raced my dad up and down the stairs while he takes the elevator to see who got to the room or the bottom floor first. If we were on the third or fourth floor I usually won, but much further and my dad beats me to it, because even my large feet can only take me so quickly.

Since our apartment was on the third floor I easily beat him. Just to have some fun I opened the door and went inside, closed it behind me, and dropped my bag to the floor. I used it as a pillow, and I shut my eyes to act like I was taking a nap. I didn't even take the time to observe my new home.

My dad entered the apartment seconds later and slammed the door shut to wake me up.

I yawned artificially. "Oh, hi, Dad. Where you been?"

"Just out for a stroll," he said sarcastically.

I grinned at him. "Well that's take a tour ofthis place, shall we?"

~~A.N.~~

I apologize if you live in Boston and disagree with the way I described the driving. I'm just going from my experience. I'm sure you're very kind.