Page 22 of One Wrong Move

“I need to live on my own,” I say. My voice wavers, but only slightly. “That’s what I’ve been doing most evenings; trying to find other options.”

“You can keep looking for an alternative place to live while crashing at mine,” he says.

“Nate, I can’t.”

“Because I’m Dean’s friend?” His eyes soften, but creases still line his forehead, letting me know he’s feeling frustrated. “That’s in the box. It will stay in the box. I told you, I’ll never be the one to open it.”

I shake my head, but I can’t find the words. The idea is outrageous. “You’re being so overbearing right now.”

“I know I am. But I also doubt I’ll be able to stop.”

“Nate,” I say with a sigh.

“Look, if you need more time to think about it, I’ll get you a hotel for tonight. For the rest of the week, somewhere in Chelsea, close to your job. But here… I can’t have you stay here.”

The corners of his lips tip up, and it’s the first time in an hour I see the Nate I recognize. Ever charming, ever self-deprecating. “For my own peace of mind, Harp. There’s no way I can live with myself, knowing you were being eaten alive by bugs in a room with no lock.”

“My studio has a lock. It’s just the building’s front door.” But I sink onto the single chair and prop my head on my hand. Looking around at the place, the decision almost makes itself. This place sucks. I know it. He knows it.

But I want autonomy, and moving in with Nate isn’t the way to get it.

At the same time… cohabiting with potential bed bugs and obvious mildew isn’t exactly living it up, either.

He probably has great water pressure.

A bed with a mattress that isn’t trying to kill me.

Neighbors that don’t argue or have loud sex.

“Okay,” I say. “But only for a week, until I find something else.”

“However long you need,” he says.

“Which will only be a week.”

His lip curves. “Okay. A week. You’ll have the place to yourself most of the time. I work almost every day, often late.”

“Of course you do.” I run a hand along the back of my neck and look at my suitcase. Already packed and ready to go. “Doing whatever it is you do for a living. Four years, and I’ve never been able to figure it out.”

“It’s not as interesting as your job.”

“Now you’re just being modest.” I sigh and head over to grab the few things I have next to the bed. There isn’t so much a nightstand as a small stool placed beside the metal frame. I throw everything into my backpack. It doesn’t take long.

“Modest,” he repeats softly. He takes down my stuffed suitcase and rolls it to the door. “Not something I’ve ever been accused of.”

“How surprising,” I say.

He chuckles. “I like you sarcastic. Do you have everything?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing in the mini fridge?”

“No,” I say. When he raises an eyebrow, I’m forced to admit the truth. “It doesn’t work. Hasn’t for a week.”

Nate shakes his head. “You’ll tell me the name of the landlord or agency later,” he says, “so I can shut this whole place down.”

“Sounds like a great way to get my security deposit back,” I say dryly.

---