Page 1 of 1 Last Shot

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KANE

I'm just about ready to leave when I hear it.

"Here we are! Welcome to my new apartment. What do you think?"

There's an obvious pause that sounds through the thin walls. Then…

"It's… cute," comes an older woman's hesitant voice. Then she hurriedly adds, "It'ssocute! The exposed brick really brings the… um… thefarmhouselook together. Very popular nowadays, I hear.”

Another pause, and I can tell by the commentary and rich-lady tone what her next sentence is going to start with.

“But…”

There it is.

“…wouldn’t you prefer to live in a better area? I know you’re only planning to live here for a few months, but I looked up the city's crime rates, and this area doesn't seem the safest, honey. And you know I can get Richard to find you a nice little townhouse in Old City and have you moved in by tomorrow."

I slam the fridge door closed and force myself to swallow the rapidly growing anger inside me.

I workeddamn hardto get into this apartment building. When I moved in six months ago, I picked itbecauseit was the nicest apartment I had ever seen, and in the best area of the city I could afford. And yet, this lady couldn't be more obvious about the fact that she thinks this is the slum of the city.

If only they could see what an actual shitty living situation looks like.

Memories of exactly that start to seep into my thoughts, so I reach for my water bottle and chug the whole thing in an effort to distract myself. By the time I'm tossing it forcefully into the trash can, I can hear my new neighbors talking again.

"—safe, I promise. I checked the crime rates, too, and they're no different from some of the areas you work in now. It's a city, Mom, just like New York City. And I didn'twantRichard to set me up in a boujee house. I wanted to create a fresh start here on my own. I already hate that I had to dip into my trust fund for the deposit for this place."

My scoff is automatic, as is my headshake.Looks like I guessed the rich thing right.

I grab my backpack and sling it over my shoulder, pausing as I debate how to get past the Fresh Prince family. I don't feel like doing the meet-the-neighbor thing, especially with a spoiled rich girl and her parents. I'll just have to wait until I can hear them move into the back of the apartment so I can slip out.

Thankfully, it doesn't take long. I hear them discussing her décor options, an older male voice chiming in for the first time, and then their echoing steps start to wander. Eventually their muffled voices disappear into what I know is the one bedroom in the back, since the apartment is a mirror of my own.

Grabbing the keys to my bike, I quickly escape into the entryway that our apartments share and then down the steps to the street. By the time I've swung a leg over the bike and pulled a helmet over my head, there's still no sign of my new neighbor.

It isn't until I rev the engine that I see her.

And that relieved breath I just exhaled for avoiding a social situation gets immediately stuck in my chest.

The one I can only assume is my new neighbor steps out onto the landing at the top of the stairs, lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the bright sun when she does. I don't think she's noticed me on the other side of the street, which gives me a moment to shamelessly look her over.

With her hand casting a shadow over her face, her body is the first thing I notice. She's average height, though noticeably thin—not in a fragile kind of way, more like an incredibly lean kind of way, if the impressive line of muscles on her exposed legs are any indication. This girl is clearly an athlete.

And then her attention catches on me. She stops scanning the street, and she takes in the fact that I'm sitting on my bike across from her apartment building, my gaze glued to her. Thank God my helmet is already on and she can't see me clearly enough to know that.

Gingerly, she lifts the hand that was shielding her eyes and gives me a little wave.

Fuck, this girl's beautiful.

With her face uncovered, I can finally zero in on the details of her face. She looks young, her skin perfect and her smile too friendly. I have to tear my gaze away from her plump, pink lips and the intoxicating smile they're curved into. Instead, I watch as a few strands of her untamed, wavy brown hair flow into her face from a breeze, and as she shyly tucks them behind her ear while she waits for me to return her greeting.

I don't wave back.

I just rev my bike again and speed off, letting the wind on my skin cool the anger I feel at my own reaction to this girl who’s too pretty for her own good and too different for mine.

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