Page 57 of A Bossy Roommate
It was a horrible mistake that cannot happen again.
When the alarm goes off at half past six, I pop my head up and push my crazy hair out of my face to find that I had fallen asleep facing the end of the bed.
Carter is nowhere in sight. Not in my bed. Not in my room.
Once I get up, I noticed his is empty too.
Though my dream was excruciatingly vivid, it’s hard not to have a sense of déjà vu, but I quell any lingering anxiety. First off, we didn’t have real sex last night. He didn’t even sleep in my bed. Second, it’s his place, so there’s really no sense in running off if he wants to ditch me. And third, I can smell coffee coming from the kitchen.
The fresh coffee brew is like a magnet.
Humming, I follow the alluring smell down the hallway. Carter is shirtless in only a pair of white workout shorts. By the way his hawk glistens, it isn’t hard to tell that he’s just finished his workout. He sits at the kitchen table, sipping black coffee as he studies his phone. There’s a second steaming mug left out for me, next to a plate of food: French toast with bananas and orange juice.
“Morning,” he greets me as soon as I come closer, without looking up. “Made you something quick. You might want to hurry; we have to head out in a few.”
“What time do we leave to pick her up?” I start to shovel the toast into my mouth. “Mmm.Foooyummy!”
“In about forty minutes.” Carter downs the rest of his coffee and gets up. “I’m going to jump in the shower.”
“I should probably do the same. I imagine I look like hell.”
Carter pats my wild hair, a smile dancing on his lips. “You look thoroughlydebauched,” he grumbles, his voice dropping low as he leans down. I thinks he’s going to give me a kiss, but he nips at my throat instead. Not hard but enough to tease a moan out of me before he walks away like nothing happened. It’s cute, and sexy.
I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t an extra pep in my step.
One shower later,in our separate bathrooms, of course (and me singing my all-time favorite, “Empire State of Mind” by Jay-Z and Alicia Keys, followed by “Fly Me to the Moon” by Frank Sinatra), we move my things into his bedroom, say hi to the over-punctual maid, tell her to start with the guest suite first, and head out the door.
“All right, I’m getting a little nervous,” I admit as Carter pulls into traffic.
“Don’t be. She’s very frail right now,” he explains. “It might take her a little while to get around so just be patient.”
“Of course. Did she tell you what she has?”
“No, not specifically. I don’t think it’s one thing, I think it’s a combination. Which is not surprising since she’s sixty-six.”
“Actually, itisa little surprising, isn’t it? Sixty-six isn’t that old.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself.”
“I think it’s very sweet that she wanted to come for a visit,” I say. “The fact that she’s still so active and willing to travel is a good sign. It also shows how much she loves you.”
“She’s my special lady.”
I’ve never heard Carter sound so soft and sincere. It makes my heart melt that this tough-as-nails, no-nonsense man has a soft side for his elderly aunt. I can’t wait to meet her. Between what he’s told me about her and the fact that she’s good friends with Hattie, she has to be an amazing lady.
We pull up outside the airport with a few minutes to spare. “Wait here.” Carter puts the car in park. “I’m going to go in and meet her.”
“Okay. But wouldn’t it be better if I came with you?”
“No, let’s not overwhelm her.”
Just as he steps out of the car, the airport doors open, and a tiny old woman steps out. I instantly know she’s his aunt because she’s the epitome of class and glamour. I’ve never seen someone so glam and eye-catching in my life.
Eleanor Toussaint doesn’t just catch my eye, she catcheseveryone’seye. She wears a tailored pantsuit that’s a deep purple and accented by the elegant fluffy coat with fur draped around her shoulders. Carter had given me a heads up that she might don fur, but he’d quickly assured me that her love for pets was too strong for her to ever give in to wearing the real thing. He’d also enlightened me that she remarried in her late fifties, tying the knot for the second time with a gentleman named Henri Toussaint, a French industrialist, who had left her a substantial fortune. Her body is adorned with various jewels, from rings on almost every finger to a delicate string of pearls around her neck and pearls dangling from each ear. Her long gray hair is slicked up into an elegant twist, and her eyes are covered by big round sunglasses, which she whips off when she sees Carter. She reminds me of an older Audrey Hepburn, capturing that same timeless elegance.
“Cartie!Mon cheri!” she coos under her flawless makeup, not pancaked on but rather lightly used to highlight her facial features. Just enough that I can tell she’s wearing some but not so much that it’s comical—except for the eyelids and eyebrows which are “slightly” overdone. “Come here, Cartie, and give your auntie a big hug!”
Cartie?Oh, my God, I love her already. I dare not look over at him for fear I’ll spoil everything by laughing, but I’d give almost anything to see the expression on his face.