Call Crystal

You stare at your phone for a while.

Considering you managed to get Crystal fired today, she doesn't owe you any favors. On the other hand, your options are limited.

"Yes, Mike," she answers.

"Uh, hi Crystal. You know how I've been couch surfing with Jeremy?"

"And?"

"And he got fired for taking me in."

"Wow, you're just a typhoid Mary these days, aren't you?"

"I talked to his boss. I pretended to be him and said I'd kicked myself out and got Jeremy his job back."

"I find it hard to believe anyone would mistake your voice for Jeremy's."

"Well, his boss is probably a racist. I put on a fake accent and I'm sure he didn't suspect anything."

"God, are all managers idiots?"

"Seems likely. Anyway, I'm out a place to stay."

"And you want to crash here with me in the two weeks I have before my rent is due and we're both homeless."

"Well, put that way..."

"Fine, whatever. I'll text you my address."

Twenty minutes later, you're ringing the outside door of her apartment building.

It's not the greatest... somehow you expected she would be living in one of the fancy new condo complexes they're building in the city. Still, it's halfway up a midrise, probably dating from the sixties before Silicon Valley had it's great high-tech boom.

She buzzes you in, then opens her door for you and you freeze.

She's wearing what looks to you like silk pajamas. Yes it's pants and a top but they're both so sheer and clingy that you can't help making out the shape of her body underneath. Clearly she's not wearing a bra. The points of her nipples create little mounds in the top. And the pajama bottoms cling to her long legs and to her ass. You're pretty sure she's wearing a thong underneath but it certainly does nothing to disguise the hot shape of that butt.

"I guess I should be flattered." She finally breaks the silence.

"I... you're very pretty."

"Which earns me the right to be treated like a ditzy blonde, right?"

"No, that doesn't seem fair."

"Come on in, Mike."

If anything, her efficiency is smaller than Jeremy's place. Instead of Jeremy's large (if uncomfortable) couch, she has a little loveseat.

"I guess I can sleep on the floor," you volunteer.

"We'll discuss sleeping arrangements later. Are you hungry?"

Considering all that's been going on, you've certainly worked up an appetite. "Definitely."

"Come on. I made spaghetti. Hope you're not a vegetarian."

"Nope."

"Great. Sit."

Her little table seats exactly two and she fishes a candle from somewhere, then hands you a bottle of wine and an opener and a book of matches and asks you to do the honors.

By the time you've wrestled the cork out with her very inadequate opener, she returns with two bowls of steaming spaghetti, a bowl of salad, and a plate of toasted garlic bread.

"This looks delicious."

"Yeah, my parents gave me the wine to celebrate my promotion. Big joke, huh?"

"You know I'm super-sorry about what happened."

"They're assholes anyway. I don't know how many times I had to put up with having my butt squeezed in the elevator but it was a lot."

The spaghetti is great and the salad is... well, salad. That said, you live in Northern California so salad ingredients are all local and fresh. As for the garlic bread, you make sure Crystal eats a piece before you dig in. No way do you want to blast her with garlic bread before she's prepared to defend herself.

After a few minutes, you slow down and Crystal looks at you. "You were hungry."

"Yeah, I had a busy day."

"Fine. Now we need to talk."

Oh, shit. You've had plenty of experience with women saying you needed to talk and you can't think of a single time where it worked out well.