RILEY

I’ve wanted to fuck my neighbor Damien since the night he fixed my bedroom window last summer and I caught him staring at my legs like he wanted to spread them right there on the ladder.

There. I said it. No pretty excuses, no pretending it’s just a harmless crush. I’m nineteen now, and for over a year this man has lived in my head rent-free, turning me into a dripping, aching mess every single time he so much as looks in my direction. He’s thirty-five. Divorced. The quiet, intense architect who lives alone in the sleek modern house next door. Tall, broad-shouldered, with that hint of silver threading...