I want to slap him across the face for proving me wrong, tell him to go screw himself, but I bury my anger deep inside me. I keep my head down and follow him to a white door with a keypad above the brass doorknob.

“The code is zero-four-two-six,” he says, typing in the code before turning the knob and shoving it open.

The living room is an open space with maple hardwood floors. The walls are made out of thick glass, and the city twinkles like stars below us. The view is breathtaking.

“Do you have blinds to cover the windows?” I ask. I try to tear my eyes from the windows but it’s so mesmerizing.

“You mean curtains? Yup.” He pauses for a beat. “I don’t use them because I love the view of the city.”

Gently, he tugs me by the arm, pulling me in a different direction.

There’s a black suede sectional couch and a flat screen television that sits on a metal entertainment center. Everything about this apartment screams bachelor pad. Magazines of cars, auto mechanics, and finance are neatly stacked on a rack by the sofa.

I’m not a slob, but this looks too clean for my liking. Leather and expensive cologne with a hint of cinnamon assaults my nostrils, like I’m drowning in his scent.

I’ve never lived in anything remotely as nice as this place. The closest I’ve ever lived to something nice was a two-story house when I was thirteen years old. Mr. and Mrs. Kent fostered me for two years before they sent me back because they couldn’t handle taking care of me and a newborn.

Their daughter abandoned her son to chase after a man who got her hooked on crack. And I wasn’t a stroll in the park. I lashed out and stole food. I was a troubled teenager. It was my fault they kicked me out. If I was a good kid, maybe they would have kept me.

I follow him to the kitchen. Midnight-black cabinets with gray marble counters and stylish lights hang from the ceiling. A stainless-steel fridge, stove, and dishwasher decorate the kitchen. Since my rent is super-duper cheap, I plan on adding bright colors to this black and gray kitchen. I’ll buy yellow pots and pans, colorful baking utensils. I haven’t been able to bake in a long time.

We walk into a sprawling bedroom. The headboard is molded to the black walls. The bed is decorated with a pink floral duvet with matching sheets, and just like the living room, the wall is made out of glass. I’m starting to fall in love with this place.

“Was someone else living here before I was?”

“No, as soon as I left work, I contacted my interior designer to go pick out a bedroom set and shit. This room used to be my gym.”