“Do you live with him?” he asks, meeting my eyes again.
My brows pull tight. “Richard?”
CJ jerks his chin.
“Yeah. I mean, I did,” I answer. “I need to move out. Even though he’ll probably be in jail for a while, I don’t want to live there.”
“Are you getting an apartment?”
“I can’t really afford one,” I reply. “I don’t work right now. I can’t with my school schedule. I have savings that pay for gas and groceries and stuff like that but I can’t really afford rent. I’ll probably just go live with my parents in Thomasville. It'll be a drive to school, but I don't have a lot of options.”
“You could move in with me,” CJ suggests.
My brows raise. “What?” I ask, voice quiet.
CJ taps the folder in his lap. “My insurance’ll cover a nurse to stop by once a week. You’re a nurse. Aside from making sure I’m healing properly, you could help me out around the house since I’m not going to be able to do much. They said I’ll be on crutches for a while. I can’t imagine keeping up with shit while I’m getting around on those. It’s probably going to be a pain in the ass.”
“But, I’m not a nurse,” I tell him. “Not yet anyway. I’m not qualified for that.”
“You’re training to be one, aren’t you?” he asks, the corner of his mouth lifting when I nod my head. His shoulder jerks. “Consider me practice. Hands on is the best way to learn, babe. And besides, Thomasville is over an hour away. That's really fucking far to be driving all the time.”
“I can’t afford rent though. I told you.”
“Did I say anything about charging you rent?”
I think for a beat—no, he didn’t—then I shake my head.
“You helping me out is your rent. You’re doing me a solid,” he explains.
I chew on my bottom lip, thinking on this.
Hmm. I’d be doing him a solid. He needs someone to help him. I can be that person. I should be that person. CJ wouldn’t need anyone if it wasn’t for me.
We can be roommates. We’re friends so, why not? Yeah. Totally. This will work.
“Okay,” I decide. “But what about sleeping arrangements? We should probably work that out ahead of time.”
A slow, satisfied smile twists from one corner of CJ’s mouth to the other.
I sit up taller, blinking at him.
“I got two bedrooms. Relax,” he says, voice wrapped around a chuckle. He lets his smile settle into a smirk. “Though, I’m all for sharing and will absolutely not fight you on it if that’s something you’re feeling strongly about.”
“I think separate bedrooms is a good idea,” I share, ignoring his charm. Or, at least, trying to ignore it. “I want to do this right. This is a job. I want to look at it as a job. If I’m going to be helping you get better, I don’t want to be distracted.”
CJ grins.
Oh, boy.
“I’m not saying you’re distracting,” I tell him, smiling a little because I can’t help it.
And because he is a little distracting.
“That’s exactly what you’re saying,” he counters, keeping the grin. “So, it’s settled. You’re shackin’ up with me.” He grabs the folder off his lap and chucks it back onto the tray.
“I’m moving in to help you heal,” I correct him.
“Shackin’ up,” he reaffirms, giving me that grin again.
I shake my head, but let this argument go, mainly because I have something more important to discuss with CJ.
“I don’t think we should tell Reed,” I say, watching his grin slowly fade. “Not right away, anyway. He won’t understand why I’m doing it. It’ll just raise questions.”
Questions that could lead to my brother hating CJ. They’re friends. I would never want that.
“I’m not going to lie to him,” CJ informs me, pulling his arms across his chest and leaning back. “If he asks if you’re living with me, I’m giving him the truth.”
I nod, telling him, “I get that. I’m not asking you to lie, I just don’t think we should advertise it.”
“You don’t think he’s going to ask where you’re living now?”
“I’ll just tell him I’m living with one of my friends from class. He won’t question it.”
CJ shakes his head, face still tense. “He finds out the truth, either from asking me or on his own, how he reacts is on you,” he shares.
“I know,” I say, thinking about how angry Reed could possibly get after catching me in my lie. But as long as he’s angry at me and not CJ, I’m fine with that.
I push to my feet after checking the time on my FitBit.
“I should go. I need to check in with my supervisor before I’m marked as late,” I say, pulling the bottom of my scrub top down and smoothing it out. “Do you know when you’re getting released?”
“They’re saying tomorrow. Wednesday at the latest,” CJ says, looking at my scrubs and smiling. His eyes sparkle with mischief.
“What?” I ask slowly. Reluctantly. I’m not sure I want to know what CJ Tully has on his mind right now.
He lifts his gaze to my face. “Just thinking about how many times I would’ve had my linens changed if you were the one asking me,” he shares, smile growing into a grin.
My eyes widen. I immediately turn and start moving around the bed, heading for the door. And because I’m moving in that direction, CJ has no idea how big I’m smiling right now.
He’ll never know.
Two days later, I’m carrying two suitcases and straining under the weight of the duffle bag slung around my neck as I step up onto CJ’s porch.
His rancher style home is in the middle of nowhere, down a winding dirt road and set on a good amount of acreage, which I wasn’t expecting. For some reason, I figured CJ lived in a neighborhood like Reed and Beth, or like my parents. But this seems to fit him more. Surrounded by woods and set back far from the road, CJ Tully can totally pull off the lumberjack look living here.
He can totally pull off the lumberjack look living in New York City too. He’s got the build for it.
And the hands. I’m sure lumberjacks have big, rough hands.