Park Avenue Punk by Aria Cole

It’s been five years since I last saw her.
Years since she broke my heart.
Five tortured years since I forced myself to hate the girl I loved.
But I couldn’t stay away.
And every part of me felt that old familiar pull to her when Deven caught me red-handed outside of her building on Fifth Avenue.
I’m not who she remembered. I’m the Park Avenue punk, tagging the city’s buildings one night at a time.
She may have saved my ass once, but I won’t let her sway her curvy hips into my head again.
Or so that’s what I told myself even though I knew it was a losing battle when it came to Deven.
She’s my heart’s worst enemy. I plan on making her feel every cold-hearted inch of my hate, one forbidden moment at a time.