“I saw you two walk into the restaurant together.” Eleanor waggles her eyebrows at me like some sort of peepshow pervert.
This was exactly the sort of reaction I wanted to avoid.
“It means nothing.” I knew someone would notice, and it makes sense that Eleanor would be the one. She wants me and Carter to be together so badly. When she’s not working or fending off bad dates she met on that one dating app she swears by, she’s cozied up in bed at night reading romance novels that fill her head with all sorts of things.
None of them realistic.
Listen, I’ve read a few romance novels in my time, and I eventually had to stop because I truly believed they were giving me too high of expectations. Expectations the average man couldn’t meet. I try to tell Eleanor that too, but she won’t listen. She’s a firm believer in romance.
Me? I’m more of a thriller reader. The more blood and murders, the better. I don’t know what this says about me as a person, but I try not to analyze myself too closely.
“You two look good together,” Eleanor continues.
“Nothing is happening,” I say, my voice firm. “He’s not interested.”
“Really?” Eleanor raises a brow. “He keeps sneaking looks at you.”
We’ve been at the restaurant not even an hour yet. It’s a weeknight, not very busy, so Michael, my brother, put us in the smallest banquet room that people normally have to reserve for special occasions—and they charge extra for this room too. The moment we arrived, Carter and I went our separate ways. He’s been fully embraced by the men who are here tonight, and they’re currently having major bro moments as they figure out they have a lot in common with each other.
I’m of course with my lovely ladies, and at first we were all talking about Caroline’s trip to London and how we all want to go with her when they return for the Wilder Hotel grand opening.
Caroline eventually went to refill her wineglass and Sarah followed her. Candice went to go hug on her man because he smells like a pine tree and I’m just the slightest bit jealous because how delicious is that?
Then I remember how good Carter smells and how I wanted to inhale him earlier. All my jealousy goes straight out the window. I’m content.
Not really, but if I keep telling myself that, maybe it’ll come true.
Eleanor cornered me because that’s her specialty, and now here I am, having to deny the fact that there’s nothing going on with me and my roomie, when really, deep, deep down inside, where no one can see, I wouldn’t mind maybe just kissing on him a little bit. Smelling him. Touching him.
Oh God. This is bad. So, so bad.
“What do you mean, he keeps sneaking looks at me?” My back is to the group of men standing in the opposite corner of the room, and as subtle as I can be, I slowly turn my head and glance over my shoulder.
And meet Carter’s—oh fuck me sideways—smoldering gaze.
I quickly face Eleanor once more and she frowns when she sees my expression. “What’s wrong?”
“He’s looking at me.”
“I told you,” she says triumphantly.
Grabbing her hand, I pull her in close so I can whisper-growl into her ear. “He’s looking at me the same way he did that night we uh—hooked up.”
“Ooooh.” Eleanor actually bounces on her feet and claps her hands. “This is so great!”
“No. No, this is not so great. Not at all. He lives with me. We see each other every single day.” I try to grab Eleanor’s hand again, but she won’t let me. She’s still bouncing and clapping. “I can’t hook up with him again. Not now.”
“Who says you’re going to hook up again?” Eleanor’s gaze returns to the group of men. “He’s not even looking at you anymore.”
I glance over my shoulder yet again to see that he is indeed, still looking at me. I turn my scowl on Eleanor, but she just starts laughing. “Tricked ya,” she says. “You’re so funny.”
“Ha ha.” I storm away from her and march over to Carter. He’s not looking at me now, too engrossed in whatever Alex is saying, and they all burst into laughter right when I reach up and tap Carter on the shoulder.
“Oh. Hey.” He sounds surprised to find me standing there, silently fuming at him. The pleasant expression falls from his stupidly handsome face. “You all right?”
“Can we talk for just a minute?” I grit out.
Now he looks flat out uneasy. “Sure.”
I start walking and he stays where he’s at. I wave a hand at him like he’s my old deaf dog, indicating I want him to follow me, and he does, just like the good little puppy he is.
Okay. That’s not nice. Carter Abbott is not a dog. Well, he sort of is, what with the way he treated me in the past and the fact that we’ve never really talked about what happened, but I’m going to let that go.
We have to permanently let all of that go, if you get what I’m saying.
We tuck ourselves into the corner farthest from where everyone’s at before I start talking. “You have to stop doing that.”
He’s still frowning. “Doing what?”
“That smolder thing you do.” I sound completely illogical, but I don’t care.
“What are talking about? What smolder thing?”
“When you look at me, you—you—smolder.” I throw my hands up in the air, frustrated that I can’t describe it in any other way.
Smolder. I sound ridiculous.
Now he’s smiling, the dog. “I look at you in a particular way?”
“Most definitely,” I say with a fierce nod.
“Oh. I don’t mean to.”
“Well, you do.” I pause for effect. “And you need to stop.” Another pause. “Now.”
He stands at attention, snaps his feet together and salutes me like the annoying ass that he is. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I really hate it when you do that,” I say with a sigh.
“I can’t win with you, Stel. I send you looks, looks I’m not even aware of, and you don’t like it. You tell me to stop and I agree that I will, and you get mad at me.”
I start to say something, but he’s on a roll and cuts me off. “I’m just trying to have a good night, have a few drinks and make some new friends, and you’re all up in my business. Telling me to stop smoldering at you, which is a weird-ass request, but I’m going to do my damnedest to abide by it. Cool?”
He smiles.
And it’s a good one, that smile. It almost makes me forget myself.
Almost.
“Cool.” I nod, trying to look friendly, like his outburst didn’t bother me, but it’s tough. I can’t smile. I’m still scowling, and my breathing is accelerated, and Carter smells so good, so warm and cozy and spicy and—and—
I hate him so much. Really I do.
“We good?” he asks, his voice a little softer. A little sexier.
“Sure.”
“When women say sure, they don’t mean it.”
“You’re making this worse.”
“Then I’ll shut up now.” The dog has the nerve to reach out and gently squeeze my shoulder. “Don’t leave without me, okay? I don’t want you walking home by yourself.”