Page 44 of Boyfriend of the Hour
“So, why does a rich guy like you need a roommate anyway?” I asked as I followed Nathan into the elevator. “What’s the catch?”
Nathan glanced at the operator, who acted like a piece of furniture. “No catch.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t believe you.”
Nathan shrugged. “Maybe I’m just making up for the fact that I offended you multiple times.”
The elevator operator didn’t even twitch. Talk about professional.
“By offering me a place to live?” I pressed. “That’s a crazy way to say you’re sorry.”
“By doing you a favor,” Nathan clarified. “I assume you’ll want your own place eventually, so this wouldn’t be permanent. I have a spare room that needs to be filled. When you find a better job that you actually want, you can save up and move out, and my conscience will be clean. Everyone wins.”
I watched him as the elevator continued upward, looking for any indication of deceit. A twitching eyelid, a shifty gaze.
But Nathan only watched me right back until the elevator stopped, and the operator opened it onto the ninth floor.
“Come on,” he said. “There are a few more amenities up on the general tour.”
I stepped out, expecting to find a hallway like the one where I’d made my escape only days before. Instead, I found myself staring through several glass walls, each marking the boundaries of a few different exercise rooms available for residents.
It was the last thing I’d expected to see in a prewar building in New York.
The place had its owngym. Its own pool. A barbecue patio. A squash court.
It wasn’t an apartment building. It was a freaking resort.
“There’s a weight room and some cardio machines.” Nathan ticked off the different areas as we walked down the hall. “A sauna down the hall and a pool on the deck that’s open in the summer. And down there is a studio I thought you might be interested in.”
I hobbled toward one of the glass doors. “A studio?”
Through the glass was a room lined with mirrors on both sides, a ballet bar affixed to them, with some various gym equipment and heavy bags stashed at the end.
It was a dance studio. Which Nathan had chosen to show to me. Tonight.
“I, um, thought you might want to use it sometime,” he said. “To…practice.”
“On my crappy knee? Doubtful.” I eyed the mats in the corner. “I could do some Pilates and barre work, though.”
Nathan dropped my bag on the floor, then leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, which made his muscles bulge distractingly, even in his pea coat. “It’s none of my business ifyou continue dancing or not, but it seems like you want to. I’d assume you should keep up your strength as best you can. If you’re not interested?—”
“Oh, I am,” I said quickly. “I—” I sighed. “Sorry, I’m just overwhelmed, and it makes me snappy. I haven’t actually been inside a studio in months. The last time I did was after I was cleared by my PT. I fell even worse than when you caught me.”
My cheeks heated at the memory—not of falling in front of half the New York dance community months ago, but of tonight and how it felt being carried around in Nathan’s arms like I weighed literally nothing. The broad refuge of his chest and the brightness in his eyes when he’d offered to take me here.
Now, however, he was all business.
“Well, it’s available if you want it.”
Nathan paused, forehead crinkling with thought. Then he shook his head, and I found myself dying to know whatever he’d been thinking.
Or maybe I didn’t want to know. Maybe it was the same as everyone else—that I was an idiot for even having that dream in the first place.
“I thought it might make up for…” Nathan straightened and rubbed his palms together. “The other misunderstandings between us. Moving in here will solve both our problems.”
“Except for the one about how we don’t even like each other?” I joked.
Nathan blinked rapidly. “We don’t like each other?”
