Page 72 of We Can't Be Friends

“Good.” He pushes away. “Follow me.”

I listen blindly.

“This is your place?” I stop in the middle of the kitchen, doing a terrible job at hiding my shock and enthrallment.

The first floor is an open concept. His kitchen flows into a dining area into a living room. When you enter, you walk down a small hallway that opens into a kitchen fit for a Michelin star chef. Granite countertops, stainless steel appliances. The kitchen island is a deep blue, like his suit from the hotel opening, with a breakfast bar extension. Barstools are tucked away on either side. The cabinets in the rest of the kitchen are a beautiful natural wood. It’s modern with clean lines and minimal, but homey. Light and dark. Warm and cozy. As is the rest of the place.

There is a dining room table that seats eight. The long wood table complimenting the cabinets. Cohesive light fixtures hang above the table and island.

My feet propel me forward into the living room. My hands trails along the couch.

On one side of the living room is floor to ceiling windows. Massive drapes hang from the ceiling pushed to either side, and I can only imagine the light these windows let in during the morning. The sunrises overlooking Lake Michigan I could watch.

A U-shaped white couch, with an area rug that pulls in the blue of the island.

My head swivels, body rotating to take it all in.

“Please tell me you didn’t hire someone to decorate your place and that this is all you and Liam.”

Callum chuckles. “Liam and I didn’t hire someone to decorate the place. This was all us.”

My eyes narrow on him. “Thank you for placating me. This is stunning.”

“You think?”

“I do.”

“It’s different from yours.”

“Three of my places could fit in here,” I respond bitterly. Of course it’s different from his. I don’t have the salary of a CFO. I barely have a salary that covers my iced latte intravenous therapy.

“That’s not what I meant.” His tone lightens.

“What did you mean?”

He shrugs. “Your place is colorful. Soft, bright, and feminine. This is a bachelor’s pad.”

“It’s better than some of the bachelor pads I’ve been in. There’s usually a resemblance to an insane asylum. Too much white and little to no furniture.”

I do another spin before facing Callum. His head is cocked to the side, brow raised.

“How many bachelor pads have you been in, Dais?”

“Judging?” I mirror his expression. Then I let my mouth rise into a smirk. “Jealous?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, Pretty Boy. Show me where I’m staying.”

Cal gives me a tour of the rest of the place. Downstairs are two bedrooms, each with their own bathroom, and a half bathroom off the living room. One bedroom belongs to Liam, the other is their shared home office.

Upstairs is his room. And now my room. Across the hall from each other.

“This is me.” He leans against the wall next to his door. “That’ll be your room. Sheets are clean.”

I walk inside, instantly locating the large king-sized bed. I throw myself face first on top of it and groan into the comforter.

The mattress dips.

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