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I wasn’t surprised.
Everything in this place was nice.
I’d grown up painfully poor. Because of that, I knew the difference between the cheap stuff that used to fill my childhood apartments or trailers, even hotel rooms, from the good stuff.
Junior’s place was full of the good stuff.
Real wood tables, luxurious, supple leather couches. A giant TV.
The whole place was massive, and kind of like a loft, with the bedroom separated from the main space with an L-shaped wall, blocking it from view, but not closing it off completely.
The bathroom was situated under the loft that seemed to serve as a storage space.
Junior didn’t have a lot of personal things. The closest thing to decor he owned was several large houseplants. He also had several work stations, including a standing desk situation, and a normal desk setup. And I was pretty sure the coffee table opened up like I’d seen in a catalog once, so you could use it as a laptop stand.
A man like Junior seemed to have the best of everything.
The bed was no exception.
“I washed the sheets too,” Barry declared with an encouraging nod. “And there are extra toothbrushes in the bathroom.”
“Oh, great, thanks,” I said, then made my way toward said bathroom, wondering where Junior had gotten to.
Apparently, the loft.
I made my way into the bathroom, taking a moment to myself, and not at all becoming insanely jealous of his fancy-ass bathroom.
He didn’t have a tub. Which, I guess, made sense. I didn’t know many men who took baths. But he had one of those giant showers that had walls with black separators which resembledthe windows in the rest of his loft. It had several different shower heads sticking out from the walls and down from above.
The space was massive, too.
In my bathroom, if I wanted to blow dry my hair, something that required me raising my arms, I had to open the door to the living room, or I’d ram my elbow into the door.
But his vanity was like a solid five feet from the door with tons of storage underneath, and a big mirror.
He also had a luxury I’d never had in my entire life.
A linen closet.
There was a knock at the door that had me letting out a little squeak of surprise.
“It’s me,” Junior called. “Got a shirt for you to wear,” he added.
“Oh, great, thanks,” I said, opening the door to take it from him.
“I don’t want you to go home until we talk,” he said.
“I don’t want to go home either,” I admitted, too tired to pretend things weren’t royally fucked up.
“I’ll sleep up in the loft,” he said.
“What? On the floor?” I asked, brows pinching.
“It’s fine.”
“No. Don’t be ridiculous. We’re both adults. We can share a bed,” I said, shaking my head.
“Yeah?” he asked, brow quirking up. “You sure?”
