Page 66 of Daring the Hockey Player
"What part of feeding yourself and not destroying our home wouldn't be appropriate?" Jasper asks. He's genuine in his question, and he breaks eye contact to bend down and grab a cutting board from the cabinet.
"It's your money. I'm not going to spend it." Just like when I told him that I wasn't going to let him, or his brother, pay for my clothes or shoes after the fire.
"She's honest," Charlotte quips. "But if you want someone to take your money—" She holds out her palm, willing to take whatever cash he's offering, which happens to be none for her.
"Oh, I'm sure there are plenty of girls out there for that," Jasper says. He smiles at me as he starts chopping up the vegetables, and I stretch out on the sofa, invading Charlotte's space.
She gets the hint and shuffles to the empty chair, making sure that when the time comes for Jasper to join us, he's forced to sit on the sofa with me.
That wasn't my plan, I swear. I just wanted to stretch my legs. But it isn't long before he's got dinner in the oven and the timer set.
He opens the fridge and grabs a beer. "Do you girls want another drink?" he offers.
"Yes!" we both say in unison.
Jasper brings two more hard lemonades over to the living room and a bottle of beer for himself. "You should buy the bottles of hard lemonade," he says. "They don't have such a metallic taste."
"Maybe I like the metallic taste," I quip. "And the ease of opening it." I shift around, sitting up so that Jasper has room on the sofa beside me, and pop the top when he sits.
He clanks my can with his bottle. "Cheers."
Charlotte holds her drink up in unison, giving us an air version clank rather than getting up from her chair. I commend her for taking the empty chair.
After a minute, Jasper places his beer on the coffee table beside the couch.
"You can put your feet back up," Jasper says, and I raise an eyebrow, curious. I shift back slightly, moving my legs to the couch but keeping them bent, making sure not to encroach on his space. This is still his house, and while I shouldn't feel like an outsider—I pay rent—it still feels like his place, and I'm just a guest.
Not that he ever makes me feel that way. On the contrary, he does everything imaginable to make me feel welcome. He put out fresh towels and even texted me from the hotel that he was at that they had cute tiny shampoos and asked if I wanted him to steal any from housekeeping's cart when he walked by.
For the record, I said no.
I can afford to buy my own shampoo, body wash, and a new toothbrush. And while he has someone bring him groceries because he's too busy to go shopping, there's a store a couple of blocks away that I walk to from the apartment to do my own shopping.
I keep my knees bent, my feet right beside his legs, but I don't rest my body on his. That's a line that we haven't crossed, and I don't think that he wants my feet, clad in knee-high pink and black polka dot socks, on his lap.
"Aren't you glad you moved in with a roommate who happens to be an amazing chef?" Jasper boasts.
"Amazing? I've yet to taste any of your meals." He's always out at a game, practice, or traveling for the team. I press my toes into his leg, nudging him. "How do I know you're not trying to poison me? Lure me into your beautiful abode where you steal my weeks' worth of clothes, shiny new laptop, textbooks, and smother me with a pillow in my sleep?"
He gently grabs my legs, pulling them down onto his lap. "Are you sure you're not a drama major?" he quips.
Jasper pins me with his stare, and I feel the air knocked out of my lungs from the intensity of his gaze. His fingers move to my feet. I'm not sure if he's about to tickle me or give me a foot massage.
"I should probably go. I’ll grab dinner on the way home." Charlotte stands, and she interrupts the moment, shattering it like glass.
Jasper sits up straighter, his hands hovering over my feet, but he no longer pays me the same attention that he did. He reaches for his beer on the coffee table and takes a swig.
The man never strikes me as nervous, which makes me more concerned that he could be regretting the heated gaze we shared.
It was nothing.
Just a look.
"You're welcome to stay," Jasper says. He takes another sip of his beer. "Dinner is on. I made enough for three."
"Well, when you put it like that." Charlotte plops back down on the chair.
I take a sip of my second hard lemonade, which tastes even better than the first.
