I give an exaggerated shrug in response. “You’ll have to answer that question yourself.”
Shaking his head, he grins. “Let me give you a quick tour. This is the living room,” he gestures at the room before us. “The remote’s right here.” He proves me right by sliding open thedrawer on the left side of the couch and pulling it out, waggling it back and forth before replacing it.
“How very tidy,” I murmur.
He pauses, looking at me. “Is that … is that a problem?”
“Nooo,” I say. “Not for me. Is it a problem for you?”
“Uh …” His brows knit, and he scratches his cheek. “No. It’s not always quitethistidy, though, I have to admit. I had Miss Kim make sure it’s spic and span just for you.”
“Miss Kim?” I clarify.
“She cleans my place once a week. A few of us on the team use her. She does a great job, and she was thrilled when I told her a young woman was going to come stay with me. You’ll meet her next week—she comes on Tuesdays, though I had her come again yesterday to do a last sweep, and she lectured me about making sure everything was put away and spotless for you.”
“Do you normally keep your remote in the drawer there?”
He gives me a sheepish look and shakes his head slowly. “No. It’s usually on the coffee table.”
“What else is usually on the coffee table?”
A shrug. “I dunno. Maybe a mug or a cup that I haven’t bothered to take back to the sink. I usually have my tablet or my laptop out. I take calls out here pretty often with my agent, but if you’re home, I’ll do those in my room.”
I’m not trying to laugh at him, but he’s kind of adorable with how he’s trying so hard to make sure his home was tidy and welcoming for me but veered so hard into museum-quality cleanliness. “You don’t have to become a minimalist on my account. I don’t care if your tablet or laptop or the remote is out. Or if you leave mail or … I don’t know … the newspaper on the coffee table or the breakfast bar”—I gesture toward the kitchen we haven’t even gotten to yet. “I mean, I’d rather not be buried by trash and junk, but …” I make a show of looking around. “I don’t think we’re in any danger of that happening.”
His sheepish grin grows. “Okay. I think I can handle that.”
“Do you have a secret stash of junk somewhere I should know about? If I open the hall closet, will everything fall down on me like in those kids’ shows?”
Now he laughs and shakes his head. “No. I’m generally pretty organized. I don’t like when my place gets too messy—hence hiring a cleaning service—but it usually looks more like someone lives here than the display place you see now.”
“Oh, good. I was a little worried for a second. I’m not a huge mess maker or anything, but I’m definitely not a hide-everything-from-sight level of tidy either.”
“Noted.” He sets the remote on the coffee table, glancing at me as he does so. “Should we continue the tour?”
“By all means.” He shows me around the kitchen, then down a hall on the opposite side of the living room that leads to his bedroom, an office-slash-workout room, and a guest bedroom. “This is your room,” he says, opening the door to display a room featuring a large bed covered in a quilt that’s all reds and pinks. A pile of pillows covered in white pillowcases is stacked against the headboard. There’s a side table with a lamp on one side, and when I go in all the way, I see a dresser in the corner by the closet. The room’s also big enough to house a small desk and chair on the adjacent wall.
“Wow,” I say, my voice hushed. “This is …”
“You like it?” Jason asks, genuine concern coloring his tone. “The quilt is one my grandma made. Miss Kim insisted we use it in here for you.” He scratches his cheek. “I remember you being more of a tomboy and not really liking pink, so if you prefer something else?—”
He cuts off at the sharp shake of my head. “No. This is perfect. Your grandma’s quilt? Seriously?” For some reason, that brings tears to my eyes, but I blink them away, hoping he doesn’t notice.
He shrugs, hands in his pockets. “It’s just a quilt,” he mutters.
But it’s not. Not to me. It’s a family heirloom, and he thinks I should use it.
“Thank you, Jason,” I whisper. “This room is perfect.”
“Well, make yourself at home.” He wheels my suitcase over and sets it near the foot of the bed. “Your bathroom’s next door. It rarely gets used, so don’t be afraid to make it feel like yours. If you need anything at all to make the room, the bathroom, hell, the apartment work better for you, just tell me. Within reason, of course.”
“So I can take over the workout room and make it a practice studio?”
He squints at me. “Ididsay within reason.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “Okay. I was just checking where the boundaries are. Honestly, there’s plenty of room in here. I can practice in here.”
“Or you can practice in the living room. Like I said, make yourself at home. There’s still a couple more weeks before training camp and preseason, so I’ll be mostly home right now. But before long, you’ll be on your own about half the time. You have free range of the apartment. Don’t feel like you’re only allowed in this room, especially if I’m not even here.” He turns to leave, but stops himself. “Even if Iamhere. I don’t want you feeling like you can’t be comfortable in the shared spaces.”
