Chapter 116: Your Favorite Sexy Landlord

555-7845: What are you doing?

The text, from a number not already in my phone and an area code I've never heard of, flashes on my phone screen until I'm curious enough to open it. 555 Where is that, Oz? I almost don't respond, but my Good Samaritan wins out in the end. It's a Saturday afternoon and I'm stuck in my teeny tiny apartment with nothing to do but watch television. Even worse, reality television.

Anyway, in the end I text back because there's a chance it's a random cutie... I mean the Good Samaritan thing.

Me: Who is this?

555-7845: Your favorite sexy landlord.

Ryland. No one at my last complex could be considered sexy. A few hundred questions come to mind. Where is he? Why is he texting me? How did he get my number? When did Mr. Runs Ten Miles Every Morning decide he's too lazy to walk across the hall? They're important questions, which I'll ask eventually, but I can't miss my chance to screw with him a smidge first. The man's a tad uptight at times. Humor will do