Lessons in Falling

Prologue

KINSLEY

TWO YEARS AGO

Iwave hello to Donald as I walk into the apartment building. The man is in his sixties with bronze skin and kind eyes that see everything that goes on here. He’s stationed behind the desk, and I slip him a candy bar with a wink.

“For my favorite guy.”

“You’re a doll, Miss Dane.”

I stop and we go through the usual banter—soccer, his grandkids, the way he wishes Nessa and I would settle down but not before we win the championship.

He’s watched us play ever since we moved into this building, asking questions about the game until he learned all the rules and knew the stats of all the players on the team. Every year, we try to get him a couple of tickets to see us play, and every time, he brings a big sign with our names on it.

I wasn’t kidding when I said he’s my favorite guy.

“Miss Dane, if you could do me a favor?” His voice is low and my eyes snap to his, his expression serious.

“What’s up?”

He gives a subtle nod toward where the mailboxes are hidden from view. Feminine laughter echoes off the marble wall, and I do everything I can to suppress the wince that threatens at the sound.

“There’s a new kid that just moved in next to you—”

“Royce.” I nod. “So far, he’s avoided Nessa and me at all costs.”

He chuckles but raises an eyebrow like the reason for Royce’s avoidance is obvious. Maybe it is, but I still like to think I’m approachable. “Two pretty girls are awful intimidating.”

“You’re set on makin’ me blush, aren’t you,” I tease, leaning a hip against the desk.

“Added bonus.” He nods toward the hall again, his tone sobering. “I think some of the girls on the floor below you are givin’ him a hard time over there.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can hear them, and I know he went right there when he came in but…”

I nod. “I’ll take care of it.”

“You’re one of the good ones, Miss Dane.”

“Tell that to the media,” I huff and he chuckles.

“It’ll be the first thing I tell ’em.”

I smile and then turn for the mailboxes, letting the mask I show the world slip into place. I hate the moments I have to wear it here. Nessa and I chose this building for its discretion rather than its connection to the downtown nightlife of Nashville, and more times than not, we can just be us.

But not right now.

“Excuse me, I just…if you could just…if you could just move, I just, just need to get to that one right there,” the male says, his voice rising the slightest bit.

“Can’t you see we’re busy? You can come back later,” she says in a snide tone that implies she’d rather he drop dead than spend another minute in her presence. She’s living off Daddy’s dime with a loyal social media following that’s as fake as her boobs.

“Well, that’s just not nice, is it?” I purr in a tone that’s saccharine sweet with a smile to match.

“Who do you think—” the one starts as she turns to look at me. Her eyes widen when she sees who I am.

“He asked you to move, and now I’m telling you,” I say, taking a step forward. “Move.”

She crosses her arms under her chest, pushing up her boobs like that does anything for me and makes a scoffing noise as she looks from me to her friend.

“Can you believe her?”

“Take your dollar store lip filler and your one-woman posse and go upstairs. You’ve already been asked nicely, and you’re being a bitch to someone who absolutely does not deserve it.

” Her mouth hangs open, but it’s the girl behind her who touches her lips softly as if she’s appalled by the insinuation that her filler might not be up to par, because it’s the knockoff kind.

You can tell by the way she’s checking and rechecking.

“It’s not a big deal,” I hear Royce say behind me, but I ignore him because it is a big deal.

“Move.” I make a shooing motion with my hands, and with huffs and sighs, they scurry away. “And bless your heart!” I call as their high heels click across the floor—also knockoffs, but that’s a battle for another day.

The hall is quiet as we both watch them go.

And it’s not until we hear the elevator doors close that I turn and look at him.

He’s the kind of guy that’s only slightly more of a boy than a man with his floppy dark hair and rich caramel-colored eyes.

His glasses are askew on his face, and he pushes them up, pushing them from the middle, not on the side.

He’s not trying to impress me. He’s probably embarrassed or nervous, but he doesn’t need to be. I can tell he wants to say something, but he doesn’t know how or he’s unsure how to approach it. So, I hold out my hand and wait for him to place his hand in mine.

“I’m Kinsley,” I say, with a smile that’s not as bright as usual. He’s the kind of guy who’s skittish, and I don’t want to scare him off.

“Royce. Thanks for your help.”

“Royce, huh? Can I call you Roy?” He stumbles over a response, and I smile. “Roy it is.” We gather our mail in silence, and I linger until he’s forced to meet my gaze. “You have every right to occupy the same space as everyone else.”

“What if I don’t want to?” he asks, his lips twitching up slightly on one side.

“Then make your own path.”

“I’d rather just deal with computers,” he says with a shrug. “Throwing elbows isn’t really my thing.”

I snort as I walk toward the elevators, pausing to make sure he follows. When he does, I add, “Yeah, but Superman was hot as Clark Kent too.”

That earns me a chuckle. It’s deeper than I anticipated and sends the most pleasant little zip of awareness between my legs. Royce isn’t my type—he’s young and impressionable, shy and adorable—but I think I might just have an innocent little crush on my new neighbor.

And I don’t hate it one bit.