Chapter 3
three
. . .
Rachel
The guy who answers the door is not Jeremy Lewis. In an instant, I realize I’ve made a terrible mistake.
“Hey, Rachel,” the big, strong, broad guy says in a surprisingly deep voice.
“Jake. Hi. I didn’t recognize you.”
Last I saw him, Jake Lewis was fifteen years old, pimply and wearing braces, a lanky string bean in oversized hockey sweaters.
This guy…
Jake Lewis is hot .
He’s tall, well over six foot, and nearly as wide across the chest. He’s wearing a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up his strong forearms. The fabric stretches taut across his biceps, like the seams can barely contain his muscles. His nose looks like it’s been broken more than once, and his short beard adds definition to his strong jawline. He smells like Irish Spring soap and that little humanizing fact makes me lose my nerve.
I can’t do this.
“I didn’t realize you lived in Boston,” I say casually as I follow him into the apartment. It’s on the twentieth floor of a ritzy, fifty-floor building. There’s no way I’ll be able to afford the rent here. Even splitting the rent with another person—or five—it has got to be way out of my budget.
“Moved out here a few years ago. They decided to keep me,” Jake says, running a hand over his short hair.
“They?”
“The Grizzlies,” he coughs.
I blink. “You’re still playing hockey?”
Guarded, he nods.
“You’re playing hockey for the Grizzlies ?” My voice goes up in pitch.
Jake chews the inside of his lip as he nods again.
“Fuck, that’s awesome!” I reach for him, then pause. “That’s really fantastic, Jake. I know how much hockey always meant to you.”
He clears his throat. “You didn’t know? I thought my mother told everyone back at temple.”
“My mom probably told me in the middle of an epic kvetching session,” I try to play it off. “I’m not really involved in the gossip train.”
His weak smile tells me I’m not successful.
“What do you need a roommate for? If you’re playing for the Grizzlies, you can probably afford to live alone.”
Shit. I probably wasn’t supposed to say that.
“I prefer to have someone else in the apartment, especially with how often I travel,” Jake says casually.
“Oh. Right.” I forgot about that. He’s probably on the road all the time. Good. That means I won’t have to see too much of him.
“Besides, you need a place to stay,” he continues. “It’s not like I could tell you to kick rocks when I have a perfectly functional spare room.”
“I mean, you could.”
Jake shrugs. “Yeah, but I won’t.”
“Why aren’t you?” I turn it back to him.
“Because I won’t,” he says, like it’s that simple.
And maybe, for him, it is.
He clears his throat again. “Let me show you the place.”
The living room is understated, simple black and white with a dark blue accent wall. His furniture is similarly simple, too, a leather sectional and armchair center by a glass coffee table. Through the open living room, I can see a stark, clean, black and white kitchen with stools at the marble countertop.
“This is the living area,” Jake says, waving at the space. A giant TV is mounted on the blue accent wall. “I have all the streaming channels plus cable, whatever you need.”
My eyebrows go up. “You have cable?” I didn’t think anyone under the age of 40 had cable anymore.
He shrugs. “I like it. Plus with all the blackouts, I can’t watch half the college football games if I don’t have cable.”
“You’re still a Michigan fan?” I tease.
He was too young to do the recruitment thing when I knew him, but even back then, his eyes had been on the Maize and Blue and the NHL, knowing college hockey would get him to the big leagues.
And it did. Clearly, it paid off for him.
“Yeah. Go Blue,” Jake says without a hint of sarcasm. “Took my squad to the Frozen Four two years running.”
I notice he didn’t say he won the Frozen Four. That’s probably something I shouldn’t ask about, either.
“And now you’re with the Grizzlies.”
“They drafted me. I spent some time with the minor league team before they called me up. Signed an extension three years ago. I’m here to stay now.”
I shake my head. “Must be nice.”
“Yeah. It is,” he says, with a hint of steel in his voice. “Why are you here, Rachel?”
“I need a place to stay.” I swallow nervously. “If you don’t want me here?—”
“How did a girl like you wind up needing to move in with a virtual stranger?”
I scrub a hand over my face. “Because I’m dumb.”
“Don’t say that.” He pulls my arm away from my face. “You’re not dumb. You’re a fucking nuclear physicist.”
Forcing a laugh, I taunt back, “So I guess I’m not the only one in the gossip circles.”
Jake shakes his head. “Nah. I looked you up.”
My eyes go wide.
“Had to make sure I wasn’t offering my place up to a serial killer.”
“I promise I’m not a serial killer,” I tell him dryly. “I just… my boyfriend and I broke up, and I couldn’t stand the idea of staying in our apartment for a freaking day more, so I moved out with no plan. And then I realized I’m thirty-one and can’t crash on my friends’ couches anymore. So… here I am.”
He squeezes my elbow. “Well, I’m glad you’re here.”
My stomach leaps. “You are?”
“Yeah. It’ll be great to catch up. Like summer camp,” Jake says with a broad grin.
I snort out a laugh.
“Come on. Let me show you to your room.”
The bedroom is basic, already situated with a bed, nightstand, and a small desk and chair. Across the hallway is a bathroom with a sleek, shiny, silver shower.
“My office is through here,” he says, pointing at another door.
“You have an office?”
He laughs. “I don’t use it much. If you need to work from home or whatever, you can use it.”
“Most of my work has to be done in the lab or in the lecture hall,” I say carefully.
“Yeah. Right. That makes sense.” He nods a few times. “Well, the offer is there.”
I lift my chin toward the last door. “That’s your room?”
His cheeks flush pink. “Yeah. Do you, uh, want to see it?”
My eyebrows go up. “Uh… sure?”
He leads me down the short hallway to his bedroom. And then my jaw drops.
The first thing that strikes me is the view. He has floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown below. The room is huge—funnily enough, that is not the first thing to register. An enormous bed is situated in the middle, with a recliner by the windows. His bed is haphazardly made, like he just tossed the blankets back over the mattress in a rush.
That makes me think about what he’d look like in that bed, his strong body warm and cuddly, his hair rumpled from sleep.
No. It’s entirely inappropriate to lust over my new roommate. It’s even more inappropriate to think about what he’d look like underneath that white button-down straining over his strong muscles.
Jake clears his throat. “You okay?”
Startled, I nod, turning to check out his bathroom. “Yeah. I’m—holy fuck .”
He has a soaker tub. A giant, claw-foot, old-fashioned soaker tub.
“I—you—will you marry me?” I blurt.
He chokes. “What?”
“That’s inappropriate.” I squeeze my eyes shut and try to recalibrate. “Your tub. That’s gorgeous.”
His eyes widen. “Well, you can use it anytime.”
“Oh. No. I couldn’t—I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“Rachel.” Jake reaches out and squeezes my arm again. “You are many things, but you are not an imposition.”
And when he says it… I almost believe him.