After Thirty Years Single, I Gave My First Kiss to My New Landlord

I’d been single since birth for thirty years. I’d never even held a man’s hand.

On my thirtieth birthday, my landlord kicked me out, my parents called me useless, and I couldn’t even afford a cake or candles.

Standing at the bus stop, staring at the rent reminders on my phone, I suddenly snapped.

The ridiculously handsome man beside me in a black shirt became my reckless target.

I rose on my toes, lifted my head, and kissed him right on the lips.

Soft, cool, with a crisp hint of tobacco.

I turned and ran as soon as I’d kissed him, even laughing as I went.

What was there to be afraid of? I had nothing to lose. In a city this big, who could find me?

I’d just treat it as a birthday present to myself for surviving thirty miserable years.

But the next day, I dragged my suitcase to the door of my new rental and knocked.

The moment the door opened, I froze.

The man I’d forcibly kissed yesterday was standing in the entryway, looking down at me.

He held the lease between his fingers, his voice as cold as ice.

“Tenant, you kissed me and ran yesterday. Now you’re trying to skip out on the bill?”

Me: ...Help! Can someone tell me why he’s my new landlord?