Thin Ice (Power Play Series Book #2)

Chapter Twenty-One × Whether We Pay For It - Or Not

"And this, would make a great nursery." The real estate agent, whom I have anointed garbage mouth, tells us as he gestures to yet another room in this lost maze of a house. I'm pretty sure there's at least ten other rooms that are exactly the same size as this one; yet each seem to have been flickered and flounced with by an interior designer.

Of course the one he's bringing us halfway into is decorated with stuffed animals and oddly selected wallpaper. There's a crib situated in the corner with random animals hanging above it, one of which just happens to be a stuffed elephant. Mr. Fluffypants 2.0? I think not.

But still, it's a nice touch. If only I was with child.

"Or office?" He offers, when he's met with awkward silence and an exchange of eye contact between Erik and I. And by Erik and I, I mean Erik staring at me and wondering how long it is until I burst into tears. Anyone that believes having an abortion is an easy way out, clearly has never had one.

"It's great." I finally say, swallowing the protruding lump in my throat. The same one that makes an appearance anytime kids or babies are mentioned. Or anytime I see a Toys "r" us commercial. But considering they're on the verge of bankruptcy, those times are few and far between.

For a moment, I allow myself to wander into the room and imagine what life would be like with a child. Loud? Stressful? More stressful than it is now? Erik on the road and me trying to juggle the responsibilities of my internship while auditioning for Teen Mom 2?

Well aware that we're under the watchful eye of a stranger, Erik makes his way towards me. "You okay?" He wonders, as usual his hands finding their way to my waist. He never does seem to care if others are watching us; I think that's just myself. I have a theory that in another life he would be an exhibitionist. And in another one, a monk.

I give him a small smile, the sadness that for some reason has parked its way in my soul, making a reappearance. But as I've told him; and myself; and my therapist - I'm fine. "Let's see what else there is." I tell him, refusing to answer the question and lie; but also not wanting to burst into tears in front of a random real estate agent.

I blame global warming; and my period; and anything and everything that isn't myself.

"And this, is the primary bedroom." Steve tells us a few minutes later as he Vanna Whites a massive space that's been anointed a bedroom. It's unlike anything I've ever seen in real life; and even a rare occurrence on HGTV.

There's a small entry-like way in the beginning; as if a few seconds of warning time before you're alerted to the fact that there are others in the room. They have it staged with a few arm chairs and overpriced end table. Along with a fake plant that I would definitely not be able to keep alive.

When we move further in, we're met with the rest of the room - the main course, so to speak. It's a large open space with a fireplace and floor to ceiling windows on one side. Right now, it's home to a California King bed and sturdy bedframe; I can already sense Erik wanting to take it's measurements and possibly imagining what it would be like to make love in here.

I say this in hopes, because I'm imagining the same thing.

"And here, we have spacious his and hers closets." Steve tells us, pointing in the direction of even more doors. Doors within doors within glass, within doors. I would need a map to not get lost in this maze.

"Definitely enough room for all your stuff." Erik jokes, lightly nudging his shoulder with mine as he looks around the space for another one. Another closet, not shoulder. He's not a three-shouldered type of King.

I roll my eyes playfully, knowing well enough that between the two of us, he probably has more stuff. All I have is Wal-Mart tank tops and a few things from H&M. If I were to describe my closet in one word it would be cheap; work-friendly; uninteresting.

Meanwhile, his is filled with designer suits and thousand dollar shoes that are in storage due to lack of space.

"Wow." I hear him say, then venture towards his voice to find the bathroom. A double-sink marble countertop; private water closet; and huge soaker tub, already in place. I don't even know what it would cost to get access to this place, but I can tell you with certainty that it's far more than I could ever afford on my internship budget.

Even with the moving out and loss of cost of rent from my downtown townhouse, I'll barely be able to make ends meet. I'm already drowning in debt as it is. And moving to a place like this, would only exasperate that situation.

"And a shower big enough for two." Steve jokes, making just one of his many off-handed comments as Erik fits himself underneath the showerhead.

**********************

"So, how much is it?" Before I even ask the question, I already know the answer. Too much. Don't worry about it. Let me take care of it. I know that's what Erik will say. But everything in life has a price - whether we pay for it, or not.

Steve clears his throat uncomfortably, exchanging a look with Erik and confirming my suspicion. They already discussed price beforehand and telling me what the number after the dollar sign is, was determined to be a not. But I want to know, I need to know. I need to know how much debt I could potentially be getting into. I need to know the number.

And will the place be going into just Erik's name, in which case if things blow up between us, I'll have nowhere to stay? Or if we get married, will Erik be the one holding the proverbial pocket bag; and I'll be the wife going to her husband every time she wants to get a bite to eat? I think not.

"Can you give us a minute?" Erik asks Steve, for the second time, making me feel like our discussions our private and not for anyone to see. Or I suppose he just doesn't want others seeing potentially what could be a lovers quarrelled. I guess that's the territory that comes with being famous.

When I was a kid, screaming matches in Wal-Mart were a regular thing. There was no need for TMZ, because we entertained all. I'm telling you, I'm still waiting for my paycheck.

"What do you think of the place?" He asks me, once Steve, the lurking lemon has stepped outside to take a fake phone call. Or maybe he's just leaving a voice memo for himself to buy more hair gel. I think I saw a Dollar Tree on the way here; I'm sure they'll have a full supply of whatever he needs.

"How much is it?" I ask, reminding myself to stay focused and not get distracted by Erik's puppy brown eyes or the way his hands make my skin feel. I still feel my heart speed up when they touch my body; and a lingering emptiness whenever they leave. I wonder if this is what love is supposed to feel like. I wonder if I'll ever be prepared to face the fact that I'm addicted to it and would die if he left me, but that's just between you and I.

He chuckles, pulling me towards him until our bodies touch. "You didn't answer the question." He points out, gazing down at me with a look that could make even Vladimir Putin melt. Stay focused, Rosie. Don't get caught up in the feeling. Because you know what happens when you stop being logical and start falling into this pattern of neediness.

"Neither did you." I point out, allowing myself to look back at him for a moment before looking away. It's hard to love someone and keep them at arms distance at the same time. I don't think I'm doing a very good job anymore. I used to, but I guess now I'm just at this hockey player's mercy.

"It's a really good deal for this neighborhood." He finally answers, allowing me to break away from his touch and wander around the room. I know that sometimes my up and down-ness of emotion can be difficult for him to understand; it's hard for me, sometimes.

But the prospect of buying a place together; getting married; having kids. Well, everything's only perfect in fairy tales. And as I've learnt by now, those don't exist. Not in the way we want them to, anyway. Not in the way of Cinderella getting swept off her feet by Prince Charming and never having anything to worry about again. There's always something that comes up. And I for one, would like to know what it is.