“You don’t have to go through with this. This is way beyond the call of duty,” my brother informs his teammate.
Miles doesn’t respond immediately, still taking in everything I brought.
I pat his chest before heading inside to direct my brother and Rookie.
Half an hour later, my furniture is in place. The bedroom is nearly as large as my old primary.
Unpacking my clothes, I stumble upon another problem.
“Where are my shoes going?” I murmur to myself, a designer heel in each hand. The closet is nowhere near big enough for all of them.
For the first time, it’s setting in that I gave up my apartment.
Since I was a kid, I’ve always had a special place for my shoes. I loved collecting and arranging sandals, wedges and boots by color and style. Touching them and trying them on and picking the perfect pair was a comfort as much as a thrill. They were my decoration and my armor.
Emotion rises up my throat, a lump that won’t go away.
A hand finds my shoulder and I glance up. Miles gestures to me, and I follow him to his room and his closet.
“But this is your closet,” I point out.
Except compared to the last time I was here, only half a dozen pairs of basketball shoes remain on the shelves. The rest are wide open and look freshly cleaned, not a speck of dirt or dust to be seen.
He holds out his palms. “You’re more into shoes than I am. I want you to feel at home.”
I pass him the shoes, and he sets them on the shelf one at a time.
I agreed to be his roommate because I needed a place and didn’t want him to think I can’t handle being around him, but since we talked, he’s clearly spent time making space for me.
My body brushes the fabric of his Henley, which is the same blue as his eyes.
Exposure therapy, I remind myself. Miles Garrett is far from the perfect man. The more time I spend around him, the more I’ll realize it could never work—that no matter how funny and caring and attractive he is in small doses, more than that is stifling.
I clear my throat. “Rent. I want to contribute.”
He cocks his head. “It’s a condo. I own it.”
“Oh.” The soft carpet feels decadent under my toes as I shift on my feet. “Mortgage?”
“It’s paid off.”
“Then utilities.”
“Not necessary.”
“Groceries?”
“I have a delivery service when I’m home and an account with them.” He’s laughing at me now. His eyes are dancing as though he has a front-row seat at a show he’s been anticipating for ages.
“Netflix,” I say at last, triumphant. “I’ll pay for streaming.”
Miles cocks his head. “That costs money?”
“No, they just have a deal where hot people watch unlimited documentaries and trash TV.”
His slow grin is as bright as the sunlight streaming in the windows.
If I was waiting for the day Miles doesn’t affect me, I’ll have to keep waiting.