COMPLETED. A university student. A professional hockey player. They've proved they can be friends. Can they be more?
Although they're both in their early twenties and living in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada, their lives couldn't be more different. Cami...
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At first, I thought it was ironic that I had never been to Taylor's apartment in Winnipeg and yet was about to step foot into his Toronto place, but the more I thought about it, the more sense it made.
In Winnipeg, we had lots of places where we could hang out if we wanted a quiet, private place; in Toronto, it seemed like there were people everywhere, and those people knew who Taylor was because of course. Besides, based on the little Taylor had said about his Winnipeg apartment building, it seemed like a place you wanted to spend as little time in as possible. I didn't think it was bad, necessarily, but if it was like most of the apartments in Winnipeg, it was small and grey and cold.
But this place, this condominium complex in downtown Toronto, seemed unbelievably swanky.
Everything about it, from the evergreen bushes standing in urns near the front doors to the polished marble floors in the lobby, was well manicured.
"How can you afford this place?" I joked with Taylor on the elevator ride up to his floor.
I was only half-joking, actually.
"I can't," he said, pressing the button for his floor and then glancing at me. "The team owns a few condos in this building, and they allow some of the new, younger players to live in them until they have enough time and money to get something more permanent."
Damn, that was a pretty sweet deal. Living in a place like this for free? Where do I sign up? Was it too late for me to become a professional hockey player? Actually, would it even matter? Everyone knew that women hockey players were vastly underpaid compared to their male counterparts, but that's a rant for another day.
"Okay, this is it," Taylor said as he opened the door.
Oh. My. Millionaire.
The place was huge. And sophisticated. And if I had to guess, furnished with nothing less than Restoration Hardware. Maybe Pottery Barn, if the decorators wanted to cut a few corners at some points.
"This is it?" I gawked."You said that like you were about to open the door to a box. Taylor, this place is incredible! Jesus!"
I couldn't help myself. Without even bothering to kick off my boots—the ground was dry, free of snow—I bounced around the shiny, hardwood floors. The design was open-concept, with the kitchen, dining area, and living area coexisting flawlessly without any walls. I had always thought of myself as a house person, but I could certainly see myself in a condo like this. Of course, it was probably just as expensive, if not more expensive, than a house.
Based on how clean everything was, it was either that Taylor was hardly in here or there was a cleaning service.
I looked at him over my shoulder. He was still at the entrance, watching me with an amused gleam in his eyes, and pulling off his shoes. Shit. My guilty conscience led me back to the front where I took off my Sorrels.
