“Yes. Safety,” Sarah says with a nod.
I give them the finger because they’re waiting for nosy reasons, not safety, and I run up the stairs, making a lot of noise as a sort of warning to Carter that I’m home. I can tell the lamp is on in the living room, and there’s a light on in his bedroom too. Is he one of those people who never turns off a light? My stingy father would give him a lecture if he is.
I pull my housekey out of my tiny purse and insert it in the deadbolt, unlocking it before I crack open the door. “Leave,” I yell down at my friends.
It’s their turn to give me the finger and then they run off, both giggling like little girls.
Rolling my eyes, I push open the door farther and peek inside to find the TV is on, the sound turned down to a low murmur, and Carter is stretched out on my couch.
Fast asleep.
Slowly I shut the door and lock it, trying to be quiet. But it’s hard when your steps are wobbly and your vision is slightly impaired by alcohol. I go to the side table between the couch and loveseat and switch off the lamp. Big mistake, considering I turn and stub my toe on the nearest couch leg. The pain is so excruciating, I cry out, slapping my hand over my mouth, but it’s no use.
Carter jolts awake, sitting straight up. His bedroom door is open and the light is on, plus the light from the TV, so I can still see him. He glances around in adorable confusion, blinking everything into focus, and when he spots me standing there, mentally cursing through my pain as my toe throbs, his eyes go wide as if he’s shocked to see me. “Stella.”
I hate how he says my name and my entire body comes awake. It’s his sleep-roughened voice, I think, and how it caresses every single letter.
Okay. Clearly I’m drunk and I’ve lost my mind.
“Sorry I woke you up.” I shift my weight off the foot with the throbbing toe, wincing. “I stubbed my toe.”
He frowns. Runs a hand through his dark brown hair, messing it up further. He’s wearing a white T-shirt and light-gray sweats, and he’s very rumpled. It’s a good look for him. “Are you okay?” he asks.
I nod. Press my lips together. God, my toe hurts. “I’m fine.”
“I must’ve fallen asleep. On your couch.” He leans over and grabs the remote from where it rests on the coffee table and turns the TV off, shrouding us in semi-darkness. “Whoops. Sorry. Hope you don’t stub your toe again.”
I limp to the hallway and flick on the light switch that illuminates it. “I’ll be fine. Good night, Carter.”
Not bothering to look back or waiting for his response, I hobble-run into my bedroom and shut the door, leaning against it with my eyes closed. That interaction went…well. As best as it could, I suppose. Yes, I was awkward. Yes, he fell asleep and looked cute when I woke him up. Yes, I shouldn’t think about him being cute, but my defenses are down so I have an excuse.
Alcohol is the devil.
I change out of my clothes and into my favorite pajamas—red fleece pants printed with little black cats and a matching white T-shirt with a giant black cat face in the center—and use a makeup wipe to clean my face. I need to brush my teeth. And pee. Which means I have to go back out there.
It’s been a few minutes, right? I check my phone and see that yes, it’s been approximately six minutes since I locked myself away in my room like a child. He should be in his own room by now. Probably already sleeping. Which I should definitely be doing because my alarm is going to start buzzing way too soon tomorrow morning.
With a sigh I slowly open the door and step out into the hallway. At the same exact moment that the bathroom door swings open and out steps Carter. Toothbrush in hand, mouth full of toothpaste, and with no shirt on.
Heaven help me, he even makes brushing his teeth look sexy.
“I’ll be just a minute,” he says, his voice garbled since he still has a mouth full of foam. He retreats back into the bathroom and spits into the sink, then turns on the water.
I stand in the hall, shifting from one foot to the other, wincing from my still-throbbing toe. I splay my toes and make my way toward the bathroom door, not wanting to get too close, yet drawn closer all the same. Until I’m standing directly in front of the open doorway.
Just in time to see Carter turn off the water, drop his toothbrush into the holder—right next to mine—and then grab the hot pink towel off the rack and wipe his face with it. This brief moment with his face covered gives me the opportunity to blatantly check out his bare chest and oh my God, it’s just as perfect as I remember. Smooth skin stretched over sculpted muscle. Flat stomach faintly defined but not intimidatingly defined, if you get what I mean. The sweats fit him loosely, hanging low around his hips, and there’s dark hair between his pecs. A line of dark hair that starts below his bellybutton and arrows straight down, past the waistband of his sweats…
“Okay. It’s all yours.” He exits the bathroom, his body brushing against mine as he passes, and I wonder if he did that on purpose. My skin erupts in goose bumps from the contact and I repress a shiver. “Night, Stella.”
I scurry into the bathroom and slam the door, not even bothering to answer him. My need to pee momentarily forgotten, I brace my hands on the corners of the counter and breathe deep before lifting my head to stare at my reflection.
Holy hell, I look ridiculous. The childish pajamas are a nice touch—I’m being sarcastic—and my hair is an absolute mess. I don’t have a lick of makeup on, my eyes are already bloodshot from the tequila shots, and damn it, I look like a troll.
Not that I should care what I look like in front of Carter. I don’t want him to find me attractive. He’s just my roommate. That’s it. Yeah.
I need to keep telling myself that.
Nine
Carter
“How’s it going? Living with Stella? Are you guys becoming friends?”
What exactly does my sister know about mine and Stella’s…situation? I’m not sure. I’d guess she has no clue that Stella and I had sex in the past, which is a good thing. Meaning Stella kept that to herself, which is kind of odd considering they’re best friends, but whatever. I don’t want to deal with that right now. Her current questions are difficult enough to answer.
“It’s going as well as to be expected. And I don’t think we’re what you’d call friends,” I tell Caroline.
It’s been over a week since I moved into the apartment, closer to two. Within twenty-four hours of my moving in, Caroline and Alex left the country and went to England. That made me question why she was so gung-ho to move into Alex’s house, only for them to leave, but it was too late for me to ask her that, since she was already gone.
I can admit it was strange, not having Caroline around this past week as I readjusted to my new normal. She and Alex are pretty much my only lifeline here right now. Yes, I have friends who still live in the area, but I’m not close with any of them. We all went our separate ways after high school and didn’t try hard enough to reconnect.
If I had a job, I’d make some friends, but I still have zero ambition to look for one. I’m sure Stella thinks I’m lazy. I hardly leave the apartment, at least from what she sees. She goes to work so damn early she doesn’t know I get up around eight and go for a run down by the beach. Then I consider stopping for a coffee at Sweet Dreams, change my mind, and head back to our apartment, where I shower, eat breakfast, catch up on emails and ponder my life choices.