LISA
I've spent the entire cab ride back to my place trawling through five million photos of Louis on my phone. Guess that happens when you don't have a partner/friends/life.
I've become a freaking cat lady.
My time at home in my industrial-style condo with its sleek black granite and oak paneling in the Gaslamp Quarter is usually spent glaring at a computer screen with the furry dictator pottering around somewhere in the background.
So, when I walk into my apartment, I'm hit with an immediate ache in my chest. I think I miss my cat.
Thankfully, I spot a note on the kitchen counter and quietly cheer. My father and Felicity have just left for the marina. I quickly snatch my phone from my bag and call Jennie to see if I can pick up Louis. It goes straight to voicemail, and I mull over what to do.
Glancing at the wall clock, I mutter, "Only a couple of hours earlier than we had arranged. Oh, whatever." Swiping my keys from a glass dish, I rush across the parquet floor and head out the door.
I do a quick grocery run at Trader Joe's for all things Jisoo hates – health foods, green vegetables, and pressed juices. I chuck in some mixed berry vitamin gummies, too. Once I've dropped the box off at her duplex in San Carlo, I make a beeline for Jennie's.
"Hello?" The intercom squeals at me.
"Jen. Hi, it's Lisa. Sorry, I'm early. Was just, um, passing by and hoping to pick up Louis?"
"Oh, sure." At least that's what I think she says, but there's terrible feedback from the intercom.
"Shitshitshitshit."
I hear things being thrown around. She mustn't have hung up.
"Jennie?"
It goes silent.
"Yes?"
"Can you please let me in?"
"Sorry. Of course!"
The buzzer sounds, and taking the stairs two at a time, I make my way up three flights. A short Italian man grunts hello in the hallway, and I almost grunt back, but settle for a smile instead.
A door suddenly swings open, and there she is.
Pink-faced with those dark whirlpool-like eyes blinking at me. Her naturally wavy blonde hair sticking out in every direction.
A weird feeling ignites in my chest.
She's wearing a faded t-shirt that has seen better days, and I think she's wearing shorts, but they're obscured by her top. Her feet are bare, and I seem to be fascinated with the curve of her neck.
A little shorter than me, her face has a little mole just above her eyelid on an ivory canvas while her lashes reveal a depth to those soulful eyes that she seems completely oblivious to.
I could stare into those eyes forever.
Stupid me.
"Hi," I say because my brain seems to have forgotten other words.
She smiles cutely. "Hi."
I'm not blind.
Of course, Jennie Kim is attractive.
Willowy and toned, with long, playfully mussed black hair and a perfect mouth. She's not my usual type, which is probably more refined. Women that wore expensive suits and chatted fondly about vacations on the French Riviera.
Chu has been in my ear about being more open-minded, hence my dates with the wholesome Georgia, but that doesn't seem to be going anywhere either.
Still, Jennie is intriguing.
