Page 62 of Daring the Hockey Player
My body is a temple.
Do you know that bullshit? Well, as an athlete, I believe it. The food that I put into me provides me with nutrients and keeps me ready for game day. If I snack on crappy foods all day, I don't have the same endurance for a game.
"I'm ready," Amber chimes as she waltzes into the kitchen. "But we should talk."
"About?" I glance at her over my shoulder, shut the fridge, and spin around her to face her. Usually, those words aren't ones that I like to hear.
"The rent."
"Right," I say with a nod. "What did you pay for your place?" I know without a doubt that my apartment is going to be well outside of her budget. It's disgusting how much property is in New York City, and I don't expect her to contribute half when I know her income isn't anywhere close to mine. She's in college and working, I think, part-time. We haven't really broached that subject recently, either.
"I was paying $2,850 in rent."
"Can you continue to afford that?" I ask, getting right to the point. My rent is upward of $14,000 for a two-bedroom, two-bathroom in Manhattan. I'm not about to ask her to split the mortgage. She makes less than a tenth of what I make in a year, and I'm signed for a three-year contract.
"Yeah, I can swing it." She forces a smile, and I get the impression that she's probably struggling to pay her bills. Unless she comes from money, and I've seen no indication of that from Amber or Emerson, I can't imagine how she can afford to make rent working part-time.
"Pay me half your rent, $1,400, and that should be fair and equitable. Plus, I've got the utilities covered."
"You don't have to—"
"I know, but I want to," I say. "You're going to be replacing your wardrobe, textbooks, and whatnot."
Amber groans. "Don't remind me."
"Any chance one of those books you could use?" I ask, pointing at the piles of bags in the hallway. I should take them down to the car and donate them, but I doubt there's enough room in the Porsche for all of it.
"Nada," Amber says. "It's fine. I'll use my good looks and charm to convince the teachers to give me A's."
"Yeah, I don't think that works in college, but maybe if you show them your boobs."
She smacks my arm, throwing her head back and laughing. "Half my teachers are women."
"Doesn't mean they don't appreciate a nice set of tits when they see them."
Her cheeks burn, and she grabs one of the bags I plan on sending to a thrift shop. "Just leave it. I'll call someone to pick all that crap up."
"We can drop it off on the way to dinner," Amber says. "At least some of it."
"That's the opposite direction, and it's fine. I'll text a friend. He'll have it gone by the time we get home."
"Seriously?" She looks at me like I've grown two heads. "What kind of friend makes things disappear from your apartment?"
Grinning, I stare at her, tilting my head. "Are you sure you want to know?"
She snorts and shakes her head. "Not really. I don't need to be an accomplice to any crimes."
"One of my friends lives in the building, and he works near the thrift shop. If I pay him a hundred bucks, he'll be ecstatic to take the bags down there for me."
"I'll do it for a hundred bucks," Amber quips.
"Do you have a car?" I've never seen her drive in the city, but it's possible she could have a vehicle parked somewhere.
"I'll lug the bags on the subway." The smile on her face grows. "Imagine all the looks of me dragging three bags down the stairs and onto the subway station platform."
"With the weight of those bags, someone is bound to think there's a body in one of them."
"A jagged, sharp, book corners body," she quips.
