Page 33 of Carter

“Make the pain go away?”

His lips parted as he stared hard at me. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, that smile fading. Without answering, he brought my hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Come on,” he said, forcing me to my feet. “I’ve got to be a soulful musician, and you’re the hottest waitress I’ve ever seen. Let’s blow everyone away.”

I laughed as he tugged me out of the stall.

*

The weeks that followed consisted of me training for a job with some seriously long hours, watching Carter form a band while clashing with Rome, and catching up on a lot of homework from school after I’d returned from the break with nothing to show for it. After what Carter said, I never allowed myself to think of Russell and Cheryl. I’d grown happier every day I moved on from that life, but I knew I wasn’t as far away from them as I’d like to have been.

Carter and I slept on the mattresses on the floor until we could afford a bed. Nobody knew that he usually slipped into mine every night. Nighttime was usually my favourite time of the day; that was when Carter made out with me right before we fell asleep. It sort of became routine, being in each other’s arms, kissing until our lips had grown tired and our pulses had slowed down from some seriously intense make out sessions.

Carter did things to me that made my eyes roll to the back of my head, using that tongue in ways that were downright wicked. Still, he didn’t have sex with me, and I was left frustrated most nights with a new ache between my legs that needed to be filled,literally.

There was no way I could wait any longer.

And right when I began to fall asleep, Carter would give me a goodnight kiss and slip out of bed and into his own room. I never got used to it. In fact, I hated it more than anything. This was him drawing the line. Telling me that although there was “more” between us, we weren’t in a relationship.

Friends.

We were just friends, as usual.

Twelve

“Iwent to the clothing store today.”

Carter was seated on my bedroom floor with his back against the wall. His legs were spread out, his head bowed down at the notebook he was scribbling into. At the moment, though, he was deliberating, most likely lyrics to a song he was already forming in his head, dangling an HB pencil sideways in his mouth.

His hair had fallen over most of his forehead, curling a little at the ends. He was shirtless, wearing only flannel pants. I stared at him for a while, taking in his sharp jaw and beautifully set cheekbones that were filled with stubble.

“Carter,” I pressed, seated on the mattress, still on the floor, with my homework in my lap.

“Hmm?” he muttered, barely paying attention.

“I went to the clothing store today.”

“Cool.”

I frowned. This was the headache that came with living with a musician. He wasn’t always around mentally, which resulted in this: him ignoring me but pretending to pay attention at the same time.

“I have hairy armpits,” I proceeded to say, tilting my head as I studied him.

He grunted again, having not paid one ounce of attention to me.

“I want to tattoo my face.”

Nothing.

“I’m wearing a thong.”

This time, his head shot up, and he stared at me with wide blue eyes. “Are you really?”

I couldn’t resist laughing. “Oh, so you heardthat?”

“I heard everything you said,” he replied, spitting out his pencil and tossing aside his notebook.

“Oh, yeah? Well then what else did I say, wise guy?”

He moved forward and slowly crawled to me. Shirtless, did I mention that? He was so fucking hot, I nearly combusted on the spot. He gave me his usual smouldering look that told me what mood he was in, and with his lips pulled up in a smirk, I knew exactly what was on his mind.

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