“I love you, too.”
“I’m gonna get going. My mom made dinner tonight—sounded important. I’ll text you later.” He smiled as he grabbed my panties off the floor, bringing them to his nose and winking at me as he put them in his pocket. “I’m gonna need these later when I jerk off.”
***
That was the second to last time I saw him. He broke up with me a week later, leaving me heartbroken and angry.
Chapter 5
Elis
Iwent back to the wall the next day.
Only, I didn’t get to check on the progress of my artwork, just the takedown, as city workers scrubbed a section of my tag off before a second crew followed up with white paint rollers.
All that fresh paint made my fingertips itch to tag it in something colorful again.
I swallowed, edging to the corner of the brick building across the street, my eyes following a line of penthouse windows at the top of a limestone building. Dozens of black iron balconies in a row, the perfect canvas for my handiwork.
But that wasn't why I was there. The real reason was her. I hardly wanted to admit it to myself. I always checked up on my work after I finished a piece—I liked the temporary nature of what I did—but now, instead of focusing on the graffiti, I was focused on the girl who lived in one of these buildings upstairs, a Park Avenue princess.
I frowned, counting the windows along the top row of apartments obsessively. Twenty-four, all equally spaced. Some with heavy drapes, some wide-open into the lives of their owners. Which one was hers?
I strolled down the street, searching the sidewalk at the base of the building as a doorman helped patrons in and out of fancy black cars. I kept walking, moving closer to the glow of amber lights as the ants wrapped in designer furs bustled in and out of the building with smiles on their rich upper-crust polished faces.
I hated them so much. I could taste their greed, their shallow facade of thinking they were better than all those they passed. My feet carried me closer as I watched the coming and going of the prestigious apartment buildings.
Injustice made me angry, and it’d been my experience that anyone with wealth like this had either bribed, manipulated, stolen, or dick-sucked their way to the top or would be willing to if shit hit the fan.
And shit always hits the fan with these people.
“Hey, no loitering, bum. Don’t make me call security,” the doorman called, waving an angry finger at me.
I smiled, taking my time as I walked to him, my grin growing.
“Back off, you little punk. Get out of here.” His voice was growing shrill, and I didn’t blame him.
The dark hood and crazy look in my eye were part of my schtick to keep people fearing me. It gave me the privacy I craved so fucking desperately in this city.
“He’s fine, Arthur.” Devlynn stepped out of one of the dark cars idling at the valet. She was dressed head to toe in black, a conservative turtleneck dress, and black tights down to her sensible black heels.
I wore all black to scare people off. She wore it and looked devastating.
Devlynn tucked her sparkly clutch bag in her elbow and laced her fingers in my right hand, shooting the doorman a smile as if to prove I wasn’t the criminal he thought I was. That I wasn’t anything to fear.
Wrong on both counts, assholes.
I shook my hand from her grip, and she shot me an annoyed glare before gliding on those high heels toward the revolving glass doors of her building. “Well? You coming?”
I tipped my chin to her, about to tell her to go fuck herself before I thought better of it—the desire to see what was behind one of those twenty-four balcony-lined windows was too powerful.
Research, I decided. I followed after her, flipping Arthur the doorman my middle. Devlynn didn’t see me do it. I’m pretty sure her bleeding heart would have kicked me right out on my ass for being so rude, but then again…her bleeding heart for broken things was probably more powerful.
I was the walking, talking proof. She saw something broken in me, a project she could fix. But she was the one who shattered me in the first place: her and her blue blood family.
I scanned the elegant lobby as we entered—the creamy handwoven wallpaper decorating the walls begged my fingers to mark it. I resisted the urge, turning my gaze to a hand-painted masterpiece on the domed cathedral ceilings where a crystal-drop chandelier hung from the center.
It was more opulent than any theater I’d ever been to, and my mom had dragged me to a ton of Broadway performances as a kid. I still cringed, remembering all the times we’d walked the red carpet at a Broadway premier, and she reminded me to straighten my back and smile for the cameras like I had a secret. The camera loved a secret, she always cooed a gentle reminder.