And with that, Prince Carter the Dog trots off.
Twelve
Carter
I do my best to not even glance in Stella’s direction for the rest of the evening. I concentrate on the guys I’m hanging out with—even Michael, Stella’s brother, spends time with us before he has to get back to work—and when we all settle in at the table to start eating, Stella sits on the same side as I do, but on the opposite end.
I can’t even see her pretty face throughout the entirety of dinner.
But I can hear her. Hear her laughter, which is as light and airy as a tinkling bell. I catch a glimpse of that sexy as fuck red lace shirt every once in a while. How can I not? She stands out among the crowd in that shirt. Vibrant red lace clings to her curves, and those plump red lips of hers match.
I’m not supposed to think about her like that, but I can’t help it. She’s gorgeous. She’s fun. Feisty as hell. Sexy as hell too.
No matter how tempted I am, I know we can’t we fuck around again. That could end in disaster, and I know it.
“Carter.” I turn to my right, where my sister is sitting next to me. She says something else, but her voice is so low, I can’t hear her, so I lean in closer. “What do you think of Eleanor?”
I frown. Run through the women’s faces in my memory bank and come up short, which is ridiculous because I know Eleanor is in this room. At this very table. “Which one is she?”
Caroline rolls her eyes and leans her head to the side. “She’s sitting next to you. On the other side.”
“Oh.” She’s blonde. Pretty. Friendly. Very curvy. We haven’t talked much since we sat down. “I’m not usually attracted to blondes.” That sounds like a good excuse, right? Even though it’s a giant lie. My most recent ex is a blonde.
“Hair color has never stopped you in the past,” Caroline points out.
“How would you know?” Seriously, I never brought any of the women I’ve dated to meet my mom or my sister. Considering I was in L.A. and my family was here, I never got the chance.
“I’ve seen photos. Women would tag you on Facebook,” Caroline says with a little shrug.
“The women I dated were on Facebook? No one I know uses it.”
“Women who are dating attractive men and want to show off their fabulous lives definitely use Facebook,” Caroline explains. “Everyone has a Facebook profile. Even you. How do you think I saw all those photos?”
She has a valid point. Lately I haven’t posted on social media at all. Who cares about what I’m doing? I move back home, I’m living with Stella like some sort of homeless charity case, I can’t work up the energy to find a job, and I haven’t done a damn thing about Grace Ricci’s house.
I think I’m having a midlife crisis at thirty.
“Dating one of your friends is risky,” I tell my sister. “I don’t want to fuck it up.”
“Carter,” Caroline chastises, and I think she’s calling me out for cursing but instead she says, “I think you getting with any one of my friends would be amazing.”
My brows shoot up at that comment. “Are you serious right now?”
“Of course! What if you ended up marrying one of them? Then she would be actual family! Talk about a bonus.”
She doesn’t mean it. She’s only thinking of the most idealized end result in what would most definitely be a perilous situation. There are no guarantees I’d marry any of Caroline’s friends if I were to date one of them.
Not even Stella.
Besides, I’ve already been with her very best friend and now I can’t touch any of them. Talk about weird. I’m sure there’s some sort of girl code among them, just like us men have bro code. But do any of them know Stella and I hooked up? I know for damn sure Caroline isn’t aware.
Shooting a glance toward Eleanor, I decide to test my theory.
“Hey Eleanor,” I murmur as I angle my body closer to hers.
“Yes, Carter?” Her gaze meets mine, but her expression is wary. Like she’s afraid of what I might say.
“So my sister was telling me just now that you’re single.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Caroline whisper-hisses behind me.
I briefly glance over my shoulder. “I’ve changed my mind,” I say out of the side of my mouth, just before I cast a giant smile in Eleanor’s direction.
“Um, yes. I’m single.” Eleanor clears her throat, her gaze skittering toward the end of the table where Stella sits before jumping back to me. “You are too?”
Nodding, I keep my smile in place. “It’s hard to meet people when you move to a new place.”
“It’s not new if you grew up here,” Eleanor points out.
I chuckle. “True, but I left over ten years ago. So it feels pretty new to me.”
“Understandable.” She smiles, and it makes her even prettier. My sister hangs out with very attractive women. When I was younger, I would’ve never even considered poaching from her friend group. The age difference was too broad. As we’ve gotten older, the age difference feels less important.
“So what do you do?” I ask.
“Oh! I’m a hair stylist.” Her gaze scans my head, as if she’s checking out my hair. “You could use a trim.”
“I haven’t got my hair cut in a while. Before I left Los Angeles and moved here.”
“It’s still a good look on you.” The horrified expression that immediately follows her remark tells me she didn’t mean to say that. Meaning she didn’t want to flirt with me.
Hmmm. I wonder why.
“Thank you.” I smile, and her cheeks flush crimson, and I reach out, toying with a strand of her hair. “Your hair is beautiful.”
Oh, I am most definitely flirting with her on purpose, to see how far I can take it before she gives. Panic flares in her eyes and she looks around, as if she’s afraid someone will notice us. I keep my focus entirely on her, shifting a little closer, invading her personal space.
“Um, thank you,” she says nervously, tucking the hair I just touched behind her ear. “I’m a natural blonde.” Her cheeks turn even redder. “I don’t know why I just told you that. You didn’t ask. And like you’d care.”
“There aren’t too many natural blondes out there,” I say.
“I do get it highlighted, so I’m not all natural.” She looks down at her lap, her expression morose. I’m guessing she’s beating herself up internally. She’s a little awkward, but sweet.
“Do you color your own hair?”
“Oh no. One of the women I work with cuts it and does my highlights. And I do hers.”
“So you can recommend each other,” I say.
“Definitely.”
“I’ll have to come in sometime and have you cut my hair.” I pause and send her a look. A lesser version of the smolder I normally send Stella, if you will. “I’m sure you’d do an excellent job.”
Eleanor’s eyes are wide, and she appears completely panicked. I’m guessing she recognized the smolder and doesn’t know what to do with it? “You’d need to call and make an appointment first. I’m actually pretty booked.”