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Finally, we reach my apartment. Under the maple tree out front, I search in my bag for my keys. “Thanks for walking me home.”
Rory slides his hands into his pockets, gaze roaming over the old building. “Invite me up.”
Delight and nerves spin together in my stomach. “This again?”
“Hartley,” he teases as I roll my eyes, smiling. “Where are your manners? I said I was going to see you home safe and I take this very,veryseriously.” His grin turns roguish. “Besides, I want to see your place.”
“You’re scheming.”
He blanches, looking overly offended. “I would never.”
I’m shaking my head to myself even as I unlock the front door. Why am I letting him in? He should go home. “You would.”
He smiled tonight, though. A lot. And he laughed and looked happy. We laughed together. So for some reason, I’m holding the door open for him as we head inside.
As we ascend the second-floor stairs, he sniffs and makes a face. “Smells weird.”
I shrug. “Someone on the second floor makes a lot of cabbage rolls.”
We keep climbing the stairs, and he studies the carpet, stained and threadbare, with fraying edges. “This place is really old.”
“It’s cheap, and the landlord isn’t a creep.” I give him a tight smile as I lead him down the hall to my door. “Okay, well, I’m at my door, so. Thanks. Good night.”
He tilts his chin at it. “Show me your place.”
My stomach pitches with a nervous feeling. Rory comes from money, and he already thinks my building is gross and weird. “Go home, Rory.”
“I hate my place. I want to see yours.”
“Your place is no doubt a hundred times nicer and a hundred times bigger than mine,” I say as I unlock my door. “And I’m sure it smells a hundred times better.” The door creaks as I swing it open, and I gesture at the studio. “Ta-da.”
Rory steps inside, looking around as I take my heels off. Although I’m fairly tidy, my furniture is shabby, my kitchen is tiny, and the carpet is an ugly brown color.
“You’re not staying,” I say as he kicks his shoes off.
He slips off his jacket. “Where’s the rest of your apartment?” He shoots me a grin, feigning confusion.
“Very funny.”
His gaze lingers on my tiny two-seater kitchen table, the couch, and my bed before he stretches his arms out, looking between the walls. “I can almost touch both walls at the same time.”
“No, you can’t.” Yes, he almost can. My face is going red with embarrassment. “You have a big wingspan. Your dick must be huge. Okay, you’ve seen my place. Time to go.”
He gives me a look like I’ve grown another head, but his eyes flare with amused delight. “What did you just say about my dick?”
Oh god. I’m flustered. Why do I say the weirdest things around him?
He takes pity on me and turns away, studying a picture on my bookshelf of me and Pippa from a few years ago. She has the same one in her place. “Is the team not paying you enough?”
“They pay me enough.” Above market rate, which is another reason I’m holding on to this job as long as I can. “I don’t like wasting money on rent.”
His head tilts as he reads the titles on my bookshelf. “Are you a cheapskate?”
I laugh in frustration. “No. I’m saving for when I open my own studio.”
Understanding passes over his features, and he glances around my apartment again, wandering over to my dresser.
“That makes sense.” He nudges the crystal dragon on my dresser, smirking at me over his shoulder, before he picks up a bottle of perfume, takes the cap off, and sniffs it while his eyes linger on a framed photo. “That’s your mom, right?”
