Page 132 of Puck Prince

“Nope. He just came up and asked to dance. We didn’t even talk.” She rotates her mug in circles on the table.

“I guess he didn’t need to ask about me. He already knows everything he needs to know—where I live. Where I work. Who I’m dating.” I get a chill up my spine just stating the obvious.

“Is that why you’re leaving me?” she pouts.

“Kind of. If I move across town, it’ll be harder for him to find me. And it’ll keep you safe, too. I’d never forgive myself if anything ever happened to you, Kenny.”

“I know,” she sniffs. “I just wish you didn’t have to move out.”

“I tell you what: we can have girls' nights. My new place has an amazing balcony and so much room. You should come see it!”

“Are you already under contract?”

“Pretty much. They agreed to hold it until I made a decision, but I’m going to call them right now.” I pull out my phone and dial the number. While it rings, I turn back to her. “Also, it’s unfurnished. I’m going to need help?—”

“Shopping?” Kennedy bolts up. “Girl, why didn’t you say so?! All is forgiven. I’ll go hop in the shower real quick. We’ll go to WorldMarket and HomeGoods—oh, and Ashley because they have a retro line out now, which is so 70s chic and…”

The property manager answers the phone, and I turn away from Kennedy to focus.

“Hello! Hi. Yes, this is Callie Coleman. I looked at the two-bedroom condo on the third floor yesterday?”

“Callie, yes! I was hoping you would call.” That must mean she doesn’t know what Owen and I got up to in the walk-in.

“I thought it over, and I am in love. I'm ready to move in ASAP. Just show me where to sign the papers!” I’m giddy as I smile into the phone.

“Oh. Well… Hmmm. That’s interesting.”

At no point in history has that response been good news. “I’m sorry?”

“The paperwork has already been filled out.”

“It has?” My heart plummets. “Someone signed for it?”

“Yes. Early this morning. It’s under lease as of… an hour ago.”

The swell of hope in my chest deflates like a sad balloon.

“I thought you said I had forty-eight hours to sign the paperwork. That was the agreement.” I am trying not to yell. Or cry. Or reach through the phone, strangle her, and then steal the keys so I can go squat in the apartment and never leave.

“Yes, that was the agreement. But then it was signed for.”

“That’s the problem,” I grit out. “You let someone else sign the lease before I could.”

“If you’d like to co-sign with your boyfriend, I can try to work that out,” she says, sounding every bit as confused as I feel. “But it’s not necessary. The two of you have the apartment.”

I stop. “My…boyfriend?”

“Yes. The gentleman that was with you yesterday afternoon. Owen Sharpe? He is your boyfriend, right? I didn’t just lease the place out to a random guy, did I?”

No, but she did just lease it to a dead man.

“No,” I chirp with false cheer. “Nope, that’s my boyfriend, all right.”

“Alright. Well, great!” She sighs with audible relief. “He’s coming by to pick up the keys and then it’s all yours! Happy move-in day!”

Right.So, so happy.

I end the call and throw my phone across the room onto the sofa.

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