Page 10 of The Last Person
We stop at the south-facing room first, and I’ll admit I’m blown away when I see how big it is. A king-size bed is the first thing I see when we walk in, and beyond it is a wall of windows. There’s a comfortable chair in one corner by the windows and a desk at the other.
On the wall opposite the bed are two doors. One is closed, and I’m assuming it’s a closet. The other is open to the bathroom. I wander inside, taking in the large space with a double-vanity sink—why the fuck do I need that?—a large tub that my achy muscles would be happy to soak in after a game, and a large glass-enclosed shower stall with two rainfall showerheads.
“What do you think?” Mark asks, standing in the doorway of the bedroom.
“It’s great,” I say, though my voice doesn’t sound like I mean it. Why does this apartment have to be so fucking perfect? And why does Mark seem so happy about it?
“This has to be your room. You could fill the entire window with plants,” Hardy says.
I nod absently, walking back to the window and looking out at the city beyond. I could see myself living here. Staring out the window at night, watering my plant babies, writing at the desk in the corner. I swallow as I turn back to the bed. Lounging there with Hardy in my arms.
Nope. Those are the kind of thoughts I’m not allowed to have because they only lead to heartache.
“Can I see my room?” Hardy asks like a little puppy.
Pushing down everything else, I chuckle and gesture toward the door. “Let’s go.”
We head to the other room, which is similar to the one we just saw, though the closet is bigger—perfect for Hardy—the wood tones are a little darker, and there are more grays and darkblues in the bathroom compared to the white and sandstone tones of the other one.
When we get back out to the living area, I notice the dining table off to the side of the hallway that I didn’t catch when we came in.
“Where does that hallway go?” Hardy asks, gesturing to the one that runs between the dining area and the fireplace.
“To the two guest rooms, laundry room, and bathroom.”
Hardy’s eyes go wide again. “I want to see.”
“Go ahead,” Mark says with a laugh.
Hardy takes a step, then looks back at me.
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
Once he’s down the hallway and safely out of earshot, I whirl on Mark.
“What are you doing?”
“Uh, helping my friends and teammates find an apartment?”
“Mhm. And how long has this place been on the market?”
He shrugs. “A few days, I think.”
“And it’s still available? I figured a place like this would’ve been snapped up quickly. Unless someone pulled some strings.”
“I don’t know what you’re implying.”
“You’re meddling.”
He leans over the counter on his elbows, tucking his hands under his chin like a perfect angel. “What would I be meddling in?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know. Hallie, Frannie, and Kennedy do, which means everyone else does. And I don’t need them meddling secondhand.”
He stands up straight and puts a hand to his chest.
“I’m offended you think I need the Baker girls to talk me into meddling. I’m an Abbott. Meddling runs in my blood.”
“Well, don’t meddle with this. It has every chance of blowing up in all our faces—our friend group and the team.”
