Page 16 of The Right Move

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.

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