12
1168 Words
His eyes lighten, the skin slightly creasing around the corners, but he doesn’t fully smile. “You’re not going to fight me on it? You’re not going to offer to pay me more?”
“Nope.” I pop my shoulders. “I think you can afford to house me just fine, Ryan Shay.”
His attention falls back to the pad of paper and the corner of his lips lift as he writes $500 + $500 in savings next to Rent.
Next line item—Rules.
Here we go. “Let me guess. Quiet hours start at 8:30 PM, and you conduct a small human sacrifice before every home game that no one can find out about.”
“Cute.”
I lean my cheek on my palm with a smile. “You keep saying that, Shay, and I might get a big head over here.”
“No guests,” he says as he writes the same thing.
“I can’t have friends over?”
“Stevie can come over.”
I lightly laugh in disbelief.
“And Zanders,” he offers as if he’s giving me more options. “A couple of my teammates too.”
My brows lift excitedly. “An apartment full of NBA boys? Sign me up.”
“Not for you.”
“You’re no fun.”
“I don’t want strangers here,” he continues. “So, no overnight guests.”
“You’re really no fun. Are you jealous already, Ryan? We’ve only lived together for twelve hours, and you can’t stand to see another man with me. Is that it?”
He motions with his index finger, circling in my general direction. “This thing works for you? You get through life this way?”
“The charming thing, you mean? Twenty-seven years, baby.”
Another light lift of his lips. Well, if that’s not the most addicting thing I’ve ever seen.
“I’m not cockblocking you. Do what you want,” he says, and the words don’t sit well with me. I liked the idea of him being my over-possessive roommate who couldn’t stand another man to be near me because he wanted me for himself.
“Just don’t do it here,” he continues. “I don’t want strangers here. Not to sound like that guy, but I can’t go anywhere without being recognized. My apartment is my safe place, my only true moment of privacy, and I’m not willing to lose that. So no guests. This is non-negotiable.”
“I get it,” I brush him off. “I work with a professional hockey team, remember? I understand the spotlight thing.”
“No, you don’t get it. This is different. More extreme than anything the guys on the Raptors have experienced.”
A moment of silence lingers between us as he holds my stare, unyielding. I hadn’t done my typical internet stalking session on Ryan Shay, but maybe I should’ve. There seems to be more that he’s trying to say without coming off like a cocky pro-athlete and now I wish I understood the unspoken words.
When I met Stevie’s brother six months ago, I had to keep myself from searching his name on the internet. He was unquestionably the most attractive man I’d laid eyes on, but more than that, he didn’t like me. And that bugged me more than I’m willing to admit. I didn’t want to know about him because he didn’t want to know about me.
“No guests,” I agree.
“Promise?”
Apparently, it’s a big deal for him to allow a total stranger into his home. I didn’t realize. I’d taken this living situation lightly, but clearly, he hadn’t.
I sit up straight, hoping he can see how serious I’m taking it now. “I promise.”
His chest deflates as he writes No guests next to Rules.
He follows that up with No friends. No food. No fun, referencing a line from my terrible third impression.
Well, I’ll be damned. Ryan Shay has a sense of humor.
“What about your guests?” I ask before we can veer too far off that subject. “Where do you…entertain your guests?”
His eyes lift to me before they trail down my face, glide along my neck, and linger a little longer on my chest. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth, and my n*****s harden from the attention, straining against the thin tank top.
He smirks at that, and f**k, is it gorgeous.
“What are you asking?”
Jesus, his voice got husky.
I swallow, crossing one leg over the other to dull the sudden throb from his panty-melting grin. “I’m asking…” I hesitate, as if the thought of knowing where Ryan Shay has s*x isn’t making the spot between my legs painfully ache. Clearing my throat, I begin again. “I was wondering—”
He leans in closer across the island as he keeps his eyes locked on mine. “Are you asking where I f**k, Blue?”
No. We aren’t doing this. He’s not the one that gets to be in control here. I get to make him uncomfortable with my outgoing personality. He doesn’t get to slide in here with his weird, control-freak thing and that sultry voice and ask if I’m curious about his s*x life. I am, God, I am, but no.
“Actually, no.” I straighten. “That doesn’t seem like something I want to know.”
“You sure about that?” He nods towards my breasts.
My n*****s sure as s**t want to know where Ryan Shay f***s. They’re practically ripping through my tank top, wanting to find out. Two smiley faces on the fabric are perfectly lined up, and they’re puckered so far out from the rest of the shirt, they’re practically screaming at my roommate to find out where he has s*x if it’s not here.
Huffing, I rub my palms over them, trying to get them to stand down. “What the hell, Ryan? You’re supposed to be shy when it comes to talking about girls.”
“I’m not shy. You just surprised me with how goddamn blunt you were the first couple of times we met.” He straightens. “But I don’t have overnight guests here. I think that’s all you need to know.”
Well, okay then. Clear line drawn.
He adds the third line item which seems like the final one—Signature. Sliding the notepad across the island to me, he holds out the pen.
“That’s it?” I ask with skepticism. “Pay you five-hundred dollars a month and don’t have guests over?”
“Plus make sure you’re quiet when you come home late from road trips, and I’ll do the same. Be nice to my doorman, and maybe we can work on the messy thing.”
I raise a brow. “Now you’re asking for too much.”
- Writer
