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Summary
“I’m Ryland Grace, from the third floor.”
Dangling at his side, his hand felt useless and exposed. Ryland stuck it out instead; the man’s eyes snapped up and Ryland noticed they were a light blue.
Supple leather slid into Ryland’s hand, grasping him with a firm grip, pumping twice. Ryland stared, feeling warm.
“I’m also on the third floor,” the guy said softly, startling Ryland into looking up again.
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Or, Ryland gets a new neighbor and is mostly normal about it.
