Page 37 of So This Is War
“Okay. Do you need my email so you can send me access to your calendar?”
“Yeah, just text it to me, and I’ll introduce you to everyone I work with.”
“Do you want to have morning meetings? I can bring you coffee, and we can discuss the day.”
“Uh . . . you don’t have to do that,” I say even though the thought of her delivering me coffee in the morning, and then sitting cross-legged on my desk has its charms.
“Not a problem. Just here to make your life easier.”
“Thanks.” I move her down the hall. “This is the spare guest room that no one ever uses.” She pokes her head in, and I know she spots the comfy bed and the large, decorated, cozy space. I feel guilt in my gut, knowing she has to move into the cold, brick-exposed dungeon where I just squished a mouse where she’s supposed to sleep. Lucky her. “I, uh . . . I just feel like if you’re in this room?—”
“You don’t need to explain,” she says. “I get it. We have to keep things separate. I’m seriously grateful for the space you’ve given me. Dead mouse and all.” I cringe, the feel of it under my foot still throbbing in my toes. “Also, I love what you did withthe throw pillows and the comforter. Did you design the bedding yourself?”
At least she’s good at changing the subject. And has a good eye for style.Good taste in designers. Clothes . . .
“I did.” I stick my hands in my pockets and puff my chest with pride. “Spent a lot of time in West Elm, trying to figure out what I liked.”
“You did a fantastic job . . . Levi.” Fuck, that sounds good rolling off her tongue. “You really have an eye for design and colors.”
“Thank you,” I reply, letting the compliment go straight to my head.
It’s not very often I receive the praise I deserve. Lord knows my fucking friends don’t offer it up. I know the fans love me and shower me with accolades, but that’s hockey. What about the other parts of my life? Like my decorating sense. My baking. My ability to create love connections. What about the shit that really matters? Hockey is a game—okay, my job and livelihood—but I’m talking about life here.
After just a few minutes with Wylie, she has me feeling like the king of the mountain. Wait until she tries my coffee cake—what fucking dreams are made of. She’s going to be writing sonnets in my name. Shimmying her tits in satisfaction, moaning all over this goddamn apartment from the perfect ratio of yellow cake to crumble topping.
“And is this your bedroom down here?” she asks, moving down the hallway.
“Uh, yeah, but you don’t have to?—”
She opens my bedroom door, revealing the pitch-black room. It’s such a contrast to the rest of the apartment. Of course, I still have the dark tones, but instead of lightening up the space with soft cream tones and camel colors, I kept everything black—fromthe furniture to the walls to the curtains and the bedding. Not an ounce of color.
“Wow,” she says as she moves around my mid-century modern canopy bed. Her fingers draw along the dark wood up to the strategically placed hooks. Her eyes flash mischievously to mine. “Seems to me like someone enjoys a little kink in their lives.”
A little . . . okay.
Ignoring her statement, I say, “Not much you need to do in here.”
“I’d say, seems like the room carries its own agenda.” She drags her hand over the velvet comforter. “Soft.” She sits on the edge of my bed and crosses one leg over the other, testing the bounciness of the mattress. “Not too firm, not too soft. The perfect balance for better . . . thrusting.”
For the love of God, don’t say thrusting while you’re on my bed.
I can barely take the image of her propped up on my mattress, let alone her running her hands over my hooks or testing out my mattress.
“I assume I’m going to be doing laundry for you.” She hops off my bed and moves to my closet. “Oh, an in-closet washer and dryer. This will make it easy. Is there a certain way you want me to fold your clothes? Your underwear?”
“Uh, you don’t have to do that,” I say.
“I insist.” She winks. “Anything to make your life easier.”
She keeps saying that, but at the moment, she’s making things harder . . . if you know what I mean.
“And not that I was looking too much, but you did an impeccable job organizing your closet. Seems like someone has been paying attention to how to be efficient with space.”
“It bodes well for you that you’re noticing things others don’t. My friends seem to find my details in organizing pointless. I, onthe other hand, find it soothing and valuable, especially when packing for an away trip.”
“Oh yes, I can see how that would be beneficial. Very smart, Levi.”
If I was wearing a suit, I’d be proudly gripping the lapels right now.
