I'm Sorry| Wyatt Oleff

I strolled down the sidewalks of Southern California slowly; my eyes focused on the dragging lace of my battered black converse high tops. Of course I wasn't looking where I was going making me bump into someone. Anastasia, this is why you can't leave the house.
"I-I'm sorry," I whispered not daring to look up.
"It's cool," the semi-deep voice said chuckling at the end. I flinched waiting for the hit, looking up confused when it didn't come.
"Holy shit! She's hot!" The person behind him yelled in disbelief.