“You could always go somewhere else.”
I shake my head. “It costs way too much money without a scholarship. I’d probably have to strip for another year or two to even make a dent in college tuition type of money.”
“You should let me read some of your writing one day.”
“No thanks.”
“No thanks?” He looks offended. “Why not?”
“Because it’s personal.”
“Once you publish it, it won’t be.”
I smile, knowing that he has a point. “I’ll think about it...”
“What time do you have to be at work tomorrow?”
“I’m not going. I’m texting the owner when I wake up. I’m going to put my first sick day to use.”
“Why?”
“I can’t feel my legs right now...Pretty sure it won’t be any better twelve hours from now.”
He laughs. “I need to ask you something.”
“Can I go to sleep right after I answer it?”
“Depends on how well you answer it.” He rubs his hands across my back. “Where was your last date?”
“At the lake with you.”
“That wasn’t a real date, and I meant before me.”
“What makes it a date?” I shrug, suddenly hurt that he doesn’t remember what I told him in the car earlier, that he doesn’t understand that there was no one before him. “The Prince Charming shit where the guy takes me out and acts like he actually likes me over a candlelight dinner? Where he takes me somewhere in public and holds me by his side because he wants everyone to know we’re together? Does it count as a date if we’re always with his friends whenever we go out? Or that the point of us going out in the first place is just to find somewhere to have sex?”
He looks into my eyes and I can tell he regrets asking me this question, but it’s too late to take it back.
“Since that day at the lake with you doesn’t count...” I use all of my strength to roll over, to prevent him from seeing the hurt in my eyes. “I’ve never been good enough for any guy to take me on a real date.”
I feel him pulling me into his arms, him kissing my cheek as he says he didn’t mean to offend me, but I shut my eyes. I just want to go to sleep and dream about all the moments that happened before he asked that question.
––––––––
In the morning, I wake up in bed alone.
I can smell waffles and bacon from the kitchen, so I slowly sit up and stretch my legs—slightly smiling at the fact that they still feel weak.
I head into the bathroom and notice a new pink toothbrush and a note on the vanity:
Emerald,
If you see this and I’m not here, it’s because I left to get something else from the store.
PS—I’ll make last night’s question up to you.
Carter
I’ve honestly forgotten all about that question, especially since we woke up in the middle of the night and had sex again—and again, but I’ll try to remind myself that I need to act offended if he brings it up.
After I brush my teeth, I walk into the kitchen—blushing when his eyes meet mine.
“You’re a serial blusher now?” He smiles and pulls out a chair at the bar for me.
“I wasn’t blushing. The smell of your food is making me nauseous.”
He kisses me on the cheek and hands me a plate of waffles. “I made double just in case you like these better than my lasagna.”
“Have I ever told you how cocky you are?”
“No, but you can tell me that I have every reason to be.” He sits across from me and silently dares me to challenge him.
“I’m shocked you haven’t been fired from your job. You don’t seem to ever go. Are you secretly unemployed? Is that why you’re able to hang around me so often?”
He grins. “No.”
“I don’t date bums.”
“We’re dating now?”
I look down at my plate and stuff a piece of waffle into my mouth. I can’t concentrate when he smiles at me like that and my heart is beginning to race again.
“I want to take you out on a date tonight, Emerald.” He’s suddenly at my side, tilting my chin up. “Say yes.”
“That wasn’t a question.”
“Pretend like it was.”
“Fine.” I cross my arms. “It’s the least you can do after hurting my feelings last night. I guess...”
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” He trails his finger across my lips, clearly not catching my sarcasm. “I’m going to make it up to you.”
I don’t get a chance to tell him that I’m not being serious because he kisses me until I can’t remember a damn thing.