He takes my now room temperature coffee and pours a bit in the sink before turning back to the fridge and filling my mug with ice. Pulling a small carton of milk from the refrigerator, he sets them both down in front of me.
“I don’t have any creamer, so hopefully milk will do. You’re not lactose intolerant too, are you?”
There’s a nervous bounce in his eyes as he looks at me, as if he can’t handle another thing I won’t eat or drink. “Milk is great. Thank you.”
“Let’s talk about your lease.”
“You still want to let me live here after I threw a shoe at your door and told you what a colossal clusterfuck my life is?”
“I don’t know if I’d use the term want, but it’s only temporary. Until you’re back on your feet.”
Temporary. I’m over my entire life being temporary. I want stability and a future, but I’m one hundred percent fine with this living situation being temporary. Ryan won’t be able to handle me for long anyway. I can tell.
“Okay, let’s talk about the lease.”
He takes my now empty plate along with his own and begins washing them in the sink. “How much can you afford in rent?”
I don’t get embarrassed often, but two of my more embarrassing moments have occurred with Ryan Shay so let’s add this to the list. How am I supposed to tell one of the most attractive men I’ve ever met how much money I make? Looking around his apartment, it’s clear he’s never felt financially strapped, at least since he was drafted by Chicago. His place is phenomenal, and I don’t make enough money to even rent the linen closet.
Keeping my eyes down, I ask, “My max budget, or how much I can afford while still eating and putting gas in my car?”
“How much could you pay a month that you could still save money for your own place and feel comfortable with all your other expenses?” Ryan puts our plates and forks on the drying rack next to the sink.
“A thousand?” It’s a question, not a statement. That’s stretching it while having only seven months to save, but I could eat ramen packets and survive.
He raises a questioning brow. “My sister said you were having financial issues. You could find somewhere else to live for a thousand. That’s the whole point to you being here, to save money.”
Fourteen thousand. I have seven months to save fourteen thousand dollars and that’s if everything goes smoothly.
I knew fertility treatments were expensive, and I was aware that they were most likely in my future. What I hadn’t planned was that I would be paying out of pocket to get my eggs frozen at age twenty-seven after my life-long love and who I thought was going to be the father of my children decided to sleep with someone else.
My doctor warned me we should’ve started trying years ago, but Alex wasn’t ready. I don’t blame him because I wasn’t ready either, but he continually made it a point to dangle the whole “I want to start trying soon” thing in front of me. Which is why I didn’t seek out egg freezing sooner while I was still on my parents’ insurance. No, he had to wait until I was a year too old to be covered by them to put his dick in someone else.
Diminished Ovarian Reserve—such a formal phrase to say my ovaries are aging more rapidly than the rest of my body.
Even though my body is in its late twenties, my eggs are on the brink of retirement thanks to my mother’s genetic line. If I want to keep the option of biological children someday, I need to do something about it yesterday, and seeing as I can’t afford to take time off work, my plan is to save, save, save until next summer—hockey’s off-season.
Ryan grabs a notepad and pen from a drawer. I’d assume this is his “junk drawer” but the guy has pens lined in a row and every little thing has its specific place. Psychopath.
He writes Blue’s temporary leasing agreement on the top of the pad of paper.
He underlines temporary twice.
I don’t know what’s more annoying—the blatant reminder he doesn’t want me here or the nickname I earned over breakfast.
He writes his first line item—Rent.
“How do you feel about five hundred bucks a month?” He hovers the pen over the page as he leans on his forearms.
I try my very best not to stare at the bulging veins running down his muscular arms as I go over his offer, but he sure is distracting.
Five-hundred bucks a month? That’s nowhere near enough to charge me. That might not even cover the extra utilities I’ll be charging to his bills.
Maybe he really does want me here and this is his way to get me to stay? I can afford five-hundred bucks a month.
“Only…” he continues while my mind is still reeling over the possible hidden meaning behind his words. “If you take another five-hundred dollars a month and put it in a savings account for your own place.”
And never mind. He’s going to charge me next to nothing in order for me to leave as soon as possible. It’s generous nonetheless and I’m no martyr. If he wants to pay my way, I’ll gladly let him. He clearly has the money. Little does he know that though my savings account will be filled, it’ll be allocated in a different way.
“Deal.”
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.