Housewarming Gift

I’ve been waiting for this Craigslist ad for months. Some grad student wanting to sublease her swank one-bedroom apartment. It’s one of the most sought after apartments in the entire city. It could be mine for only $1000 a month — nearly three times what I’ve been paying. If the pictures are any indication, it would be the perfect bachelor’s pad. Never mind that I have a girlfriend.

I fire off an email letting the girl know I’m interested. There’s no doubt it’s already gone. I continue drinking my whiskey and eventually fall asleep.

Morning comes. Sunday. There’s a new message in my inbox. Yes, the apartment is still available. I can come check it out, just give her a heads up. Maybe the stars are aligning. Maybe I can get out of the moldy shithole I’ve been living in. Maybe I no longer have to live with too many roommates and a dog.

I arrange a showing. I bring my girlfriend and her friend along. I secretly want to fuck my girlfriend’s friend, just for novelty’s sake, but I keep it to myself. I use the call box.

“Hannah, it’s Nick. I’m here to check out the apartment.”

“Ok. Come on up!” Her voice is that weird mix of raspy and hot.

Up the elevator we go. We wander through a labyrinth before arriving at the room.

“527. This is it.” I knock on the door.

“Hey!” she says as the door opens. She’s shorter and cuter than I expected. Straight, dirty blonde hair and a slender physique. Good but not great face. A solid 7.

The three of us waltz in and we introduce ourselves to one another. All I can imagine is the world’s most epic foursome. In my mind, I line them up on their hands and knees on the kitchen island and see how far I can cram my tongue up each of their buttholes.

She’s a grad student. She’s moving because her mom has cancer. I’m getting a kickass apartment out of the deal and the poor girl’s mom is dying. I simultaneously want to hug her and fuck her brains out.

I get lost while gazing into her hazel eyes. I’m listening to her, but I can’t hear a word she says. Something about the washing machine, I think. Time stops. I feel a connection to her, like we’re the only two people in the entire universe. I know she feels the same way, even if only for a split second.

She gives me her number in case I have any questions. I tell her I’ll get back with her in a day or two to let her know whether I want to take it. I text her the next day, telling her I do.

We carry on a lively text exchange. I want to ask her out for drinks but I’m too much of a pussy — I mean, she met my girlfriend for God’s sake. Instead, I walk the tightrope between keeping things professional and being flirty. I phrase things in a vague enough manner that they could be interpreted as come-ons if she were so inclined.

The process moves forward. She flies back to wherever. I pay the deposit and the first month’s rent and pick up my keys.

I look around the apartment. It’s completely empty. Sterile. But it’s quiet and modern. It would be the perfect bachelor pad if only I were single. The grass is always greener.

A spark goes off in my mind and I walk into the bedroom. I know she left some panties here, I think. I have no basis for thinking this. Just sheer intuition. I begin rummaging through the dresser.

Sure enough, there’s a lone pair of blue panties in the bottom drawer. I like the shape of them; they’re the kind that set high on the hip. I don’t like the fact that they’re lace, but beggars can’t be choosers. I unfold them and take a closer look. They’re still a little damp.

I take a long inhale and smile. Maybe life isn’t so bad, after all.

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