Page 46 of A Bossy Roommate
She blinks, and I can see her swallowing—not ice cream this time. The blush on her cheeks almost matches that cherry. “How very sweet…I mean, that’ll work when your aunt asks…except for the last part there, I don’t think that last one is an appropriate thing for your aunt to know.”
“What do you mean?” I ask her and take a drink of water. “I was referring to your commendable effectiveness and your ‘no matter when or where or what’ performance at work. So, good job.”
“Carter! You were not.” She laughs, and I can’t help but lean back, thoroughly enjoying her amusement.
Am I playing with fire teasing her like this? Yes, I am. Is it a big mistake? Most likely. Do I regret it? At this point, no.
Because sitting across from her in the dim light, having this gorgeous woman looking at me like she is, feels good. Really good.
Despite all my protests, Bradley has one thing right.
I’m only a man. And when there’s a woman like her giving me bedroom eyes, the excuses I’ve told myself start to sound just like that: excuses.
14
EDEN
The bill is paid, and Carter drives us home. It’s nice to see him relax a bit. As the night has gone on, he’s started acting more like the guy in the motel room and less like my boss. When he opens the platinum BMW’s door for me, I tease, “I’m surprised you didn’t call an Uber for me. Aren’t you worried about us being seen together?”
“When we’re going in and out of the office, yes. But it’s a big city. The probability of one of our coworkers being in this exact same restaurant right now is slim to none. I’m notthatparanoid, Eden.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Guess I shouldn’t take you out to dinner anymore then.” He smiles. Actually smiles. I didn’t even think Carter knew how to smile.
And what a smile it is. There are cute wrinkles around his eyes.
The smile makes his face not only so much more handsome but adds an extraordinary charm that makes my heart skip a beat. There’s so much warmth in it. Looking at him I have nodoubt: his smile could illuminate the darkest corners and cast away all the blackness of the world.
“No,” I say quickly. “I’m kidding. Keep taking me out to dinner.” To strike a lighter tone, I add, “You promised to feed me before you married me. I take this promise very, very seriously.”
Guess what? His smile doesn’t only widen, he chuckles—actually chuckles—causing a warm flutter of joy to bubble up inside me.
“Noted, Mrs. Serious,” he rumbles in his deep baritone. “Consider it done.”
The back and forth is light and playful, the complete opposite of most of the conversations we’ve had this week. Also, I make a conscious effort to disregard any implications from him addressing me as “Mrs. Serious” and not “Miss Serious” (as if we’re genuinely married).
Up until now, I had been a little nervous about how this whole fake marriage thing would play out, but after hearing more about the situation from Carter and being given some background on him, I’m confident we can pull it off.
All of thatis far from my mind when we get back to the apartment. I’m delightfully buzzed, and a teensy bit worked up from our flirting earlier. The idea of “no men or sex for six months” had sounded great at the time, especially when I’d found out another one had ditched me (at the motel this time) and was my boss on top of that, but after two glasses of wine and being alone with the same hot—surprisingly charming—man, my resolve has started to slip.
Hattie’s door is closed tighter than a pickle jar. She’s either dodging Carter, or she’s simply in the midst of packing up for her move.
“I have an important question we haven’t talked about yet,” I say, kicking out of my heels the second we walk through the door. I pick them up by the straps, playfully swinging them on my way to the couch.
“What is it?”
“Where did we have our first kiss?”
I flop on the couch, carelessly dropping my shoes to the floor and propping my feet up on the armrest. I sneak a peek inside the box of wedding cupcakes I rescued from the laundry room this morning and gesture to Carter to see if he wants to indulge. There’s just one left. When he shakes his head (of course, Carter never indulges), I close the box again. The generous swirl of vanilla cream frosting with that shiny, shiny strawberry on top is calling my name. I’ll definitely indulge later.
“Our first kiss? Is that relevant?” Carter is aware that we haven’t done any proper kissing yet (hot lip-brush moments do not count), and I feel that my question is legit. “It’s a pretty big step in a relationship. If your aunt asks about it, I’d like to have something to tell her.”
“We aren’t teenagers anymore, Eden. I doubt my aunt is going to ask when we kissed.”
“But what if she does? We should be prepared, just in case. Women never forget their first kiss, and they love to ask about it. Trust me, if she’s as curious as you suggested she is, she will ask.”
Stepping out of his shoes, Carter takes off his jacket and tosses it aside, regarding me curiously. I do my best to not stare at his lips.