Chapter 2 — First Encounter
794 Words
If I had hoped the driveway moment was the last time I’d see Balcony Boy for the day… the universe decided to laugh in my face.
Hard.
Mom and I had just finished dragging two more boxes inside when she checked her watch and sighed.
“I need to head to the hospital for onboarding. Think you can handle unpacking a few more things?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I got it.”
“Call me if you need anything,” she said, kissing my cheek before heading out the door.
And just like that, I was alone.
Well… not really alone.
Because the bass from next door was still shaking the pavement.
I grabbed another box from the moving truck—this one labeled “RUBY’S CLOSET: DO NOT SQUISH”—and dragged it halfway down the driveway.
Except I couldn’t go further.
Because the black car was back.
Not just back—parked exactly where it had been before, blocking me in completely, like the universe had hit copy-paste on the inconvenience.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I yelled at no one.
I stomped toward the car, box still in my arms, and kicked the tire lightly—not enough to damage it, but enough to express my irritation.
Then I noticed the driver’s seat was occupied.
Balcony Boy himself.
His seat reclined. His arm draped across the steering wheel. His eyes closed, like he was taking a peaceful little nap in the exact spot that inconvenienced my entire existence.
I dropped the box with a thud and knocked on his window.
He didn’t move.
I knocked harder.
His eyebrow twitched.
His eyes fluttered open.
Slowly.
Like a cat who’d been woken up from a luxurious nap and hated the person responsible.
He turned his head, saw me, and frowned.
Then he pressed the button, and the window rolled down halfway.
“What now?” he asked, voice low, smooth, and dripping with annoyance.
I crossed my arms.
“You’re blocking our driveway. Again.”
He blinked once, lazily.
“Yeah. I know.”
My jaw dropped. “Then move!”
He tilted his head like I had just said something in a foreign language.
“Why? You’re not going anywhere.”
“I’m trying to unload boxes!”
He glanced at the box on the ground as if it were personally offending him.
“Looks like you managed to unload one.”
I felt my blood pressure spike. “Are you always like this?”
“Like what?” he asked, genuinely confused.
“Annoying. Rude. In the way.”
A flash of amusement sparked in his eyes.
“Ohhh, right. You’re the new neighbor.”
He said “new neighbor” like it was a diagnosable condition.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Unfortunately.”
He smirked. “Welcome to the neighborhood then, sunshine.”
I blinked. “Did you just call me sunshine?”
“Would you prefer princess?”
Before I could form a comeback, he tapped the accelerator lightly, rolling the car back about three inches.
Three.
Inches.
“Better?” he asked.
“No!”
He rolled back another inch.
I stared at him, speechless.
Was this boy… broken?
Was his brain wired backwards?
“Move. The. Car.” I said, through clenched teeth.
He held my gaze for a moment.
Then, finally, he sighed—dramatically, like I was giving him emotional labor he didn’t sign up for—and reversed fully out of the way.
As he did, sunlight hit his face, and for a split second, I saw him clearly.
Sharp jawline.
Dark hair slightly messy.
Eyes too intense for any human boy to legally possess.
He was stupidly handsome.
Annoying, rude, entitled…
and unfairly beautiful.
A terrible combination.
He leaned out the window as he passed me.
“Try not to scratch my car with your boxes, sunshine.”
“I’m not sunshine.”
“What are you then?”
“Someone who wants you to leave.”
He grinned—actually grinned—before driving off, music blasting as he sped down the street.
I stood there, hands balled into fists, teeth clenched so hard my jaw hurt.
“I officially hate him,” I whispered.
The universe didn’t argue.
I picked up my box and marched back inside, determined not to let some ridiculous, arrogant, rich boy ruin my first day.
But as I closed the front door, the bass from next door vibrated through the walls again.
I groaned and collapsed onto the couch, defeated.
Welcome to New York, Ruby.
You now live next door to the human embodiment of inconvenience.
And somehow, deep down, I knew this was only the beginning of the nightmare.
- Writer
