Oh God. This is bad. Dangerous. I can just imagine seeing Whoopi Goldberg say in my head: You in danger, girl.
I’ve always liked using that GIF on social media.
“Okay,” I finally say as I start toward the couch again, a little slower this time. Feeling cautious. “Thank you for sharing. Though I don’t need it right now.”
“Sure,” he says with a nod, plopping his large, muscular body on the other end of the couch. “We can share it later.”
“Later,” I agree.
“After we eat the greasy pizza with extra cheese we’re going to order,” he adds, shooting me a sly smile.
“If you order a standard pepperoni pizza with mushrooms and olives, no extra anything, I’m down,” I admit, because guys, pizza is my weakness and I try my best to avoid it at all times. It’s so delicious.
And so bad for me.
“Oh, I was going to try the barbecue chicken pizza they’ve got on the menu,” he says, his expression hopeful.
Ugh. So disgusting. “Chicken and barbecue sauce do not belong anywhere close to a pizza,” I practically spit out. “To even suggest it is offensive.”
He laughs, a devilish gleam in his beautiful eyes and I realize quick he said that just to get me. “Chill out, Ricci. I would never dare suggest you actually eat a barbecue chicken pizza.”
“Good.” I collapse on the couch on the opposite end of where he’s sitting and lean over, cracking open the can of White Claw. I think I’m going to need it to get through tonight. “Because I never will.”
“Want to bet on that?” He raises a brow.
“Definitely. How much?”
“Fifty bucks I can get you to eat a barbecue chicken pizza and actually like it,” he says, his voice full of challenge.
“Deal.” I reach out my hand and he grabs it, engulfing it completely. Tingles shoot down my arm, and I both never want him to let me go and also I never want to touch him again.
It sucks, being a sexual unicorn who’s attracted to my gorgeous roommate.
Letting go of his hand, I avert my gaze and grab the remote, hitting the button so the TV screen pops on. I’m surprised to see the bloody war movie is gone and in its place is the home screen for the very movie I want to watch.
Aw, he’s so thoughtful.
Slowly I shake my head, shaking those dangerous thoughts right out of it. I can’t get all caught up like that. He’s not thoughtful. He’s just—a nice roommate. A friend. A sexy friend. A sexy friend who I’ve had sex with.
My one-track mind really needs to get over itself.
By the time the first movie is finished, we’ve grazed through most of the snacks, and we’re both two alcoholic beverages in. Normally I don’t sit around and watch movies at home while drinking hard seltzer or whatever alcohol I might have on hand, but it’s fun watching this teen drama-romance with Carter. I think what’s making it even more enjoyable is that we’re saying the dumbest things to the TV screen, yelling at the characters in the movie, and I know it’s all thanks to the alcohol.
“That was pretty good, Stel,” Carter says once the movie’s over and he hits pause on the remote, then stands. “Even though I’m not a believer in fake relationships.”
I frown as I watch him gather up the empty chip bag—I ate more Doritos than Carter, so what?—and the empty plates where the snacks once were. “What do you mean, you don’t believe in fake relationships?”
“As in, they can never turn into something real. That’s a bunch of bullshit,” he says with such utter confidence, I almost say something about the start of his sister’s and Alex’s relationship.
But I keep my mouth shut. He doesn’t need to know that Alex and Caroline pretended to be together before they were actually in a relationship. In fact, Sarah and Jared did the same thing, which is so weird, right? Like, how common can that be?
Not very common at all, yet I have two friends who’ve had it happen.
Life is weird.
“I totally disagree. They have the possibility to turn into something real,” I tell him as I grab the empty beer bottles and cans, then take them to the recycle bin I keep in the kitchen. “When you spend that much time with someone, pretending to be something you’re not, you can start to have feelings for each other, don’t you think?”
“I guess. But how can a relationship work when it’s built on a lie?” Carter dumps the trash and then goes to the sink, where he washes his hands. “That is one thing I try my best to never do.”
“What’s that?”
He shuts off the water and grabs a towel before he turns to face me. “Lie.”
That’s an excellent quality to have. I’ve met plenty of men who’ve lied to me, the jerks. “So if I ask you right now why you bailed on me the day after our—moment together, you’ll tell me the truth?”
Carter virtually squirms under my scrutiny, and I can’t help but find it amusing. “I already told you why I left.”
“Remind me again? I seem to have forgot.”
He tosses the towel in the dish drain. “I was scared, okay? Scared of the fact that I boned my sister’s best friend yet I’m still connected to her.”
How lovely, his use of the term boned. “So you couldn’t get away from me because I’m friends with your sister? Is that what scared you?”
“I knew I’d have to face you eventually. And I figured once that happened, maybe you’d turn my sister against me, if I’m being honest.” He sighs, resting his hands on his hips. He does that a lot, and it’s a good look for him. Even clad in a T-shirt and sweats, he exudes confidence, and I can’t help but find it sexy. “Caroline and I are closer now, but we haven’t always been. I know you’re her best friend, and I was afraid if you told her everything, she’d take your side and not mine.”
“She’s your sister. It’s not like she’d completely cut you off because we had sex. I’m an adult. You’re an adult. She might not like it, but she wouldn’t stop talking to you.” Caroline loves her brother, and even when they weren’t close, she wished they were.
“When you said you’re not good at the relationship thing, I could relate. I’m terrible at it. We’re like kindred spirits. Women just always have these—expectations. Expectations I can’t live up to.”
“And what are those expectations?”
“They want me to get serious and settle down. Some have even talked about marriage or babies, and this is when we’ve been together for only a month. Or less than that.” He shakes his head. “Every woman I’ve been with over the years, I couldn’t imagine settling down with. Most of them were nice. I’m sure they would’ve been great girlfriends, but it was me who had the problem. Not them.” His lips thin and he glances down at the floor. I wonder if he’s contemplating all the many women he’s been with over the years.
I wonder what his number is.
No, I take it back. I don’t want to know his number. I don’t want him knowing my number either. I’m not a ho, but I’ve been with more men than average, when I compare it to my girlfriends and their sexual partners.