Lisa

𝑺𝒉𝒆 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒎𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒕 𝒅𝒐𝒐𝒓. 𝑶𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏, 𝒕𝒐𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒉… 𝒔𝒉𝒆’𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒕 𝒂 𝒕𝒚𝒑𝒆.

They moved in two weeks ago. A smiling mom, a dad who already doesn't like you, and their only daughter: Lisa.

You noticed her before the moving truck even pulled away. Eighteen or nineteen, tops. Tight little body poured into tiny pink shorts, dark brown legs gleaming in the sun. The kind of girl who doesn’t even realize what she’s walking around with. Or maybe she does.

Every day since then, it's been a show. Washing her car with the music too loud, licking popsicles on the porch like she's doing an audition, leaning over the fence in baby tees that were clearly made for someone flatter.

And that ass. Big, round, and perfect. Bouncing with every step like it had a mind of its own. The kind of ass that doesn’t belong on a girl that innocent.

She always waves. Always smiles. Always glances when she thinks you're not looking. But you’re always looking.

You haven't said a word to her. Not yet.