Dear Neighbor

Here I am. One of only two residents left in an entire building block in Lower Manhattan. A developer has managed to buy out everyone else except me and the manwhore in the apartment next door. I say manwhore because: 1. He’s the hottest thing I’ve seen on two legs. (it shouldn’t be a reason but it kinda explains reason number two) 2. The screams of ecstasy coming from his apartment on a regular basis. On the day I find out my boyfriend is a worthless, low-life cheating jerk, I get too drunk too care with my bestie and manage to lock myself out of my apartment. Then…I’m not exactly sure how it happened, but I accidentally/purposely kissed the manwhore. Turns out, sex on legs, six-foot and four inches of hard muscle is a hot-shot businessman who’s used to getting what he wants, but I’m not going there. No way. He’s not going to make me scream. He’s not getting into my bed, or my heart. Even if he is so outrageously irresistible…and he’s somehow become my fake boyfriend!