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CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

carter

I walk into my condo with my hands full of way too much food, hoping that my faux girlfriend took me up on my offer to stay, relax, and enjoy herself.

I’ve seen the bathroom at her place. That girl hasn’t been able to relax since she’s lived there.

She’s got a stand-up shower with only a sliver of room for herself.

Since she was staring at that tub like it was made of gold bars, I think Arden needed a spa day.

If she chose to flee, which I’m fully expecting, I’m going to have to eat a hell of a lot of food by myself. I won’t complain. I love to eat. I will miss her company though.

As I was placing the order, I realized that I don’t actually know what her breakfast preferences are.

I don’t know any of her preferences, apart from her drink of choice, that she drinks her coffee with one hundred sugars, and the fact that she can dummy chicken nuggets like it’s an Olympic sport.

She likes sushi too, more than most foods.

Last time, I just ordered a bunch of everything and she politely ate what I bought, so I did it again.

I’m going to take notice of what she likes this time. That way, in the future, I can make sure we’ve always got her favourites on the table.

“Red?” I call, kicking off my shoes.

No answer.

I almost sigh, but quickly note that her shoes are still here. I wander through the condo, checking all the open spaces. It doesn’t look like she’s visited the kitchen or the living room at all. It’s spotless, untouched, and I smell no hint of cinnamon or cherry.

When I finally reach the guest room, I peer inside the cracked-open doorway and my heart does a little swoop in my chest. I’m getting used to that feeling. That’s probably not a good thing.

Arden is curled up in the bed, hair slightly damp, with her hand outstretched over one of Ari’s books. She breathes softly, in and out, fast asleep.

A smile touches my lips.

I debate sitting on the edge of the bed and waking her, or if I should leave her be until she gets up on her own, but I’m scared she has plans for the day beyond breakfast with me. Regretfully, I approach the bed and take a seat next to her feet. I reach over to shake her gently.

She stirs a bit, and then her eyes flutter open. She blinks, eyes snapping to mine, a sleepy smile stretching across her mouth.

“Did I really fall asleep again?”

I can’t stop staring at her. My throat bobs. “Looks like it.”

“Anyone ever told you that your house has extremely comfortable beds?”

I dip my chin, sliding my hand off her body. “You’ve only tested one, Goldilocks.”

The glare she sends me is loaded.

I grin, happy to strike my favourite nerve of hers. “It took forever to pick them out, but Ariana has good taste when she’s spending somebody else’s money.”

Arden breathes a laugh, running a hand over her eyes. She rolls onto her back, a happy little breath slipping through her lips.

“Did you sleep well?” I ask. She nods. “Was the bath nice?”

“Oh god,” she moans, and I hate what that does to my dick. “ Yes. It was heaven. I might need to add a rule to our list. As long as we’re faux-dating, I get to use that bathroom as many times as I want.”

I pat her leg. “No adjustments to the list needed. It’s all yours.”

“Even when Ariana comes to visit?”

I flinch. “She might fight you for it, but sometimes she prefers the last one down the hall, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“What’s so special about that one?” she asks curiously, propping herself up on her elbow.

“Better view,” I shrug. “My sister is weird, Red. She’s actually Goldilocks when she comes here. She flitters around from bed to bed depending on her mood. I can’t pretend to understand what goes on in her warped and twisted mind.”

Arden laughs again, that same laugh that brought me to life that day at Lowesy’s. “I think I’d like her.”

I stare at her for a second. Those are magic, magic words.

“You would,” I tell her with confidence. Because it’s impossible not to. Ari is a headache, but she’s the absolute best headache in the world. “I promised you breakfast. Are you ready to crawl out of bed and rejoin the world?”

Arden sighs, long and tired. “If I must.”

“I’ll meet you down there.”

I’m unpacking the food when she saunters into the kitchen in my T-shirt.

I can’t see anything beyond that, so I assume she’s just in her underwear.

I clear my throat far too quickly, stunned by her lack of clothing, even if it’s just bare legs.

I didn’t give her any bottoms. I didn’t think this part through enough when I told her to stay.

I need to get laid.

She climbs onto one of the chairs at the dining room table, her red hair pulled back messily in a clip. Resting her chin on the heel of her hand, she watches my every move as I open each box.

She sits up straighter. “Waffles? Oh, hell yeah! My favourite.”

I push the box of waffles in front of her and slide her a plate. She’s immediately digging in, and like promised, I notice. Waffles are a hit, but she’s a bacon girl too, and this chick loves potatoes. She doesn’t touch the sausage, and she scrunches her nose up at the scrambled eggs.

Noted, noted, and noted.

I slide the jugs of drinks in front of her so she can have her choice. She freezes, brown eyes locked on them, and then snaps her gaze to mine.

“Is that apple juice and chocolate milk?”

I slowly lower myself into the chair beside her. “Yeah. Why are you looking at me like it’s the blood of your friends and family?”

She drops her utensils and sits back, crossing her arms in front of her. Hell, if I don’t notice that she’s definitely not wearing a bra. I swallow, forcing myself to keep my eyes on her face, but again, it’s been weeks with no sex and I cannot think straight.

“Is this a joke?”

I reach for the pancakes. “Breakfast beverages? I mean, I don’t think so, but if that’s your brand of humour I can paste googly eyes on them or something. ”

Her eyes pinch. “Seriously?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Apple juice is my favourite,” she says, and I nod because—well, duh. Isn’t it everyone’s? “And I would bathe in chocolate milk if I had the choice.”

I stare at her, unsure why I’m being verbally accosted over liquids. “That might be a bit sticky.”

“Carter,” she says, her tone clipped now. “How did you know that?”

I bite into a piece of bacon, holding her stare. “I didn’t.”

She cocks a brow, not buying what I’m selling.

“My fridge is always stocked with apple juice because it’s my favourite juice. You don’t own the rights to liking apple juice, I’m not sure if you know that.” She rolls her eyes at that one. “And who the fuck doesn’t like chocolate milk?”

She’s still watching me carefully. “So this is purely coincidental?”

I slow my chewing. “Do you think I stalked you and learned all I could about your beverage preferences?”

“Maybe.”

“I assure you, I would be a much better stalker than that if I put my mind to it. I’d know your blood type and your entire family tree by now.”

“Actually,” she says, reaching forward to grab one of the jugs. “Now that I think about it, you scream ‘chocolate milk guy.’ That isn’t so surprising.”

“I feel like that was an insult, but I’m going to take it as a compliment.”

She smiles, filling her cup with chocolate milk.

Her eyes meet mine, something new there, like there’s a different kind of kinship between us that didn’t exist yesterday.

Who knew that apple juice and chocolate milk were what it would take for this girl to finally look at me like we’re in this together ?

“Not an insult.”

I tear into another strip of bacon and shove the bottle of syrup across the table toward her.

I watch her flood her waffles with syrup and lather ketchup on her hashbrowns.

She eats methodically, gauging which bite to take next before doing it, saving most of her waffles for the end.

We eat in silence, which would normally drive me crazy, but I find her process entertaining enough that it keeps my head busy.

She groans at some point, leaning back and rubbing her hand over her belly. “Crap.”

“Hmm?”

“I saved the best bite for last, but now I’m too full.”

“Is that what you were doing?” I ask, bringing my chocolate milk to my lips.

She glances up at me. “What?”

“You were dissecting your breakfast with so much brain power, I thought you were going to perform surgery on it at some point.”

“You don’t save the best bits of your food until the end?”

I stare at her, unsure if she’s fucking with me.

“What if your last bite sucks?” she asks, studying my face carefully.

“It’s food. It’s good. I generally just inhale it and call it a day.”

She blinks, like the idea of that is horrifying. “That’s so sad.”

“I assure you, it’s very normal,” I tell her, shoving my last bite of bacon into my mouth. I gesture to my face as I chew. “See? Not losing any sleep over whether that was the best bite or not.”

She shakes her head, returning to the last few bites of her waffle. “How terribly sad.”

“You’re nuts.”

“You're depressing,” she says with a long sigh. She stabs her fork into a piece of waffle and rubs it in the syrup. She holds it up then, ensuring that I’m watching as the sauce sinks into the dough and drips onto her plate.

“See? How good of a bite is this? There is no way I can end my meal on a bad note if this is the last bite.”

I stare at her, shaking my head. “It doesn’t matter. The food as a whole overrides that last bite.”

“No,” she says sternly, refusing to accept that. With a shake of her head, she leans forward, using her free hand to wave me over. “Come here.”

My brow furrows, but I lean toward her because I tend to do whatever this girl asks me to. She pushes herself up in her chair a bit, hand sliding to my chin.

“Open.”

“What?”

“I’m giving you my last bite, Carter. Open.”

My gaze is locked on her, but I don’t open my mouth. “But it’s your last bite.”

“Yes,” she says with a nod. “I’m determined for you to understand how groundbreaking this is. Open.”

I open my mouth, and a little smile pulls on her lips. She gently places the fork in my mouth and I wrap my lips around it, letting that last piece of waffle smack my taste buds as our eyes burn into each other.

She stays there, close. Studying my reaction as I chew, fork hovering in front of my face.

It takes everything in me not to reach forward, slide my hands against the back of her thighs and pull her close to me.

Kiss those pink, freckled lips I fucking spend way too much time thinking about.

She’s half naked. Those legs are bare, desperate for me to sink my fingers into the soft skin of them. And damn. Damn.

I’m going to fucking die soon.

She squeezes my chin a bit harder to get me to focus. “So?”

I swallow, clearing my throat.

What was the question, again?

“Game changing,” I say quietly, nodding in her grip. My thoughts are no longer my thoughts, they’re entirely consumed by her.

A satisfied smile takes over her whole face, and unfortunately, she drops her hands from my body. “I told you.”

And even though that bite was nothing special.

Even though it would make no difference to me if that was my first bite of my meal or the last, I know with utter certainty that I’m going to spend the rest of my time with her, every single fucking meal spent near her, acting like the last bite is the most critical part of my day.

Because it makes her smile like that.