Untouchable (Untouchables, 1)

“Good morning,” I murmur, tucking a chunk of hair behind my ear and looking down a tad awkwardly.

Indicating the coffee pot, he says, “I made coffee, if you want some.”

“I’m okay, thank you.” I pause, then glance toward the bathroom. “I’m just gonna…” I point in that direction.

“Oh, sure, don’t mind me,” he says, going back to fixing his coffee.

What an odd thing to be so comfortable with strangers in your house.

Even though it’s hopeless, I do my best in the bathroom to make myself look presentable. My long blonde hair is a tangled mess, so I finger comb it, but it doesn’t look much better than when I began. There’s a tube of toothpaste on the edge of the sink. Since I don’t have a toothbrush but I also don’t want to greet Carter with morning breath, I squeeze some out onto my fingertip and rub it around my teeth and tongue. I run some water into a plastic-coated paper cup to rinse, then hold my hand up to my mouth, trying to test my own breath. Not as thorough a job as I would like, but depending on what time it is, hopefully I’ll have time to shower and brush my teeth the right way before school.

That reminds me that I have no idea what time it is and school could start anytime, so I hustle back to the kitchen to look for my purse. I find it, but after rummaging through it, my phone is nowhere to be found.

The clock on the stove says I have a little over an hour before I need to be on my way to school, so I slide my purse strap onto my shoulder and head back to the basement.

I must have woken Carter on my way up, because when I come back down, he’s dressed and sitting on the sectional with Brianna and Cartwright. This morning they look nothing like a couple again, just two friends, if that.

Carter looks up at me when I come into view. His dark hair is mussed and he looks a little sleepy. Tenderness rushes over me before I can remember my hesitance to entirely accept what happened as real. I guess I’ll find out today. Until then, what’s the harm in hoping it is?

Even if it is real, it’s incredibly temporary. We have a few months together, then he’ll go off to New York, and I’ll struggle to pay tuition, even though it’s 10% the cost of his—which he will undoubtedly never have to pay for, anyway.

Gonna try really hard not to be jealous about that, but probably going to be unsuccessful in that endeavor.

As I come closer, Carter stands up. “I should probably get you home so you can get dressed,” he tells me.

“Probably,” I agree. Since it wasn’t in my purse, I ask, “Have you by chance seen my phone?”

Carter reaches into his own pocket and walks over to hand it to me.

I cock a questioning eyebrow.

Shrugging his shoulders, he says, “You left it out on the counter last night. I grabbed it before we came down.”

“Funny, I could swear I had it in my purse,” I tell him.

“And I could swear you were white girl wasted, so you probably shouldn’t trust your own account of events.”

I shake my head at him. “You didn’t seem to think I was too white girl wasted for rational thought last night, as I recall.”

Carter loops and arm around my waist and pulls me in, gazing down at me rather fondly, given the topic of discussion. “You know who I am, princess. You knew what you signed up for.”

I can’t exactly argue that in this case, so I don’t try to. I glance past him at his friends and offer loudly enough for everyone to hear, “I’m ready when you guys are.”

We all head upstairs. Carter bullshits with Cartwright’s dad for a few minutes and listens to his advice about tonight’s game with a polite nod. Cartwright is less polite since it’s his own father, rolling his eyes and telling him they know how to play the damn game.

Brianna nods at me and places a guiding hand on my back, so I follow her to the refrigerator where she opens it and grabs a bottle of water.

“You okay?” she asks quietly.

I nod my head, my gaze darting to hers. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just seemed really drunk last night. I tried to keep you away from Carter, but obviously it didn’t hold.”

Cracking a smile, I tell her, “I appreciate the attempt.”

She grabs my hand and inspects my bare nails. “We never did paint your nails. I’ll do it in the car on the way back to your house if you trust me to paint you in a moving vehicle while slightly hungover.”

“I do like to live dangerously,” I tell her.