I laughed, but it didn’t last.
His fingers slid up my side. “What? You don’t like that idea?”
I exhaled and dropped my forehead against his shoulder for a second. “It’s ...” I moved back a little to look into his eyes. “I want that too. I just don’t know if I can swing it.”
His brow furrowed. “You mean financially?”
“Yeah, because I still don’t have a job.” I exhaled. “And my savings aren’t exactly looking great. I thought I’d have something by now, even if it was part-time, but everything either screws with training or pays like shit, and I’m trying not to burn through what I’ve got before I get a job.”
His hand moved to the back of my neck. “You’ll figure it out.”
“Yeah, maybe. But talking about getting a place with you when I can’t even say for sure I could cover half feels stupid.”
“How bad is it?”
“Bad enough that I might need to start living off of ramen noodles.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I shrugged. “Because it’s my problem.”
“No.”
I blinked. “No?”
“No.” He shifted beneath me and sat up. “You don’t get to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Shut me out of shit because you decided it’s yours to deal with alone.”
I held his stare. “I’m not shutting you out.”
“You kind of are.”
I started to argue, but he wasn’t wrong, and that was annoying as hell.
“Rowan.” He grabbed my hand.
I dragged the other over the back of my neck. “I just don’t want to be the guy sitting here talking about getting a place when I can’t afford it.”
Keaton was quiet for a beat, then he asked, “You think I care more about money than I care about us being in our own place together?”
I swallowed.
“That wasn’t rhetorical,” he added.
“No,” I answered. “I don’t think that.”
“Good.” His hand slid back to my waist. “Because I don’t.”
I let out a slow breath.
He leaned back against the headboard; I followed and sat beside him. “And LA might help.”
I frowned. “How?”
“You do well there, someone might want to throw sponsorship money at you.”
