by M. E. Carter
“Don’t worry,” Tabitha says as she tries to pull Rian’s seat belt out. Somehow, she’s gotten both their arms tangled up in it. “I’ll close out your tab for you.”
“Oh, shit! I forgot about that!” Narrowing my eyes, I watch as she finally gets the belt untangled. “You’re going to run it up first, aren’t you?”
The seat belt clicks. “Consider it my payment for my stellar matchmaking skills.”
“This isn’t matchmaking, Tabitha. This is making sure she gets home safely.”
Huffing with exertion, she stands up and grabs the car door. “Same thing. Don’t screw this up. Let her sleep it off and talk to her, Carlos. This may be the only shot you get.”
With those parting words, she slams the door and heads back into Luma with my limitless black Amex.
I’m so screwed.
Chapter Twenty-Three
RIAN
My head is pounding. That’s the first thought that crosses my mind, and even that is too many words to concentrate on at once. What was I thinking going out last night and drinking so heavily?
It wasn’t even the number of drinks. It was how fast I had them, and on an empty stomach at that. Plus, I’d just finished my workout, so my metabolism was faster than normal.
Or it could just be that I have a low tolerance level and am a cheap date, but that doesn’t sound nearly as bad ass as “my metabolism was fast”, so I’m sticking with that explanation.
I was so pissed off, though, and just wanted to have some fun to get my mind off my hurt. Maybe meet some people. Make some friends. Have a good time. Instead, I babbled to Tabitha about how shitty my life is and how much my boss is a dick.
Oh, shit! I hope I didn’t tell her Carlos is my boss! I’m humiliated enough as it is…
Snuggling back into the pillow, I try to calm my mind, relaxing my body as I enjoy my bed. Obviously, there’s one benefit to drinking heavily—I don’t remember my old mattress being this comfortable. It must be because my body hurts so bad.
Come to think of it, my pillows aren’t normally this comfortable either. And they don’t normally smell like a certain man’s very sexy cologne.
Oh, shit. Why do my pillows smell like sexy cologne?
Wracking my brain, I try to put the very foggy memories of last night together.
Met Tabitha at the bar.
Drank three strawberry margaritas in succession.
Yelled at Carlos.
Drank another—
Wait.
Carlos.
CARLOS!
Sitting straight up in the bed, my eyes pop open. Despite the room spinning, I’m coherent enough to know a few things: This isn’t my bed. This isn’t my room. This isn’t my apartment.
I look down. This isn’t even my shirt!
Oh, nonononononononono.
Praying to the god of exercise or bad decisions or whoever will listen, I look around more. This is clearly Carlos’s room. The bed is made with gray sheets that have a higher thread count than anything I own. A darker gray down comforter covers the lower half of my body. There is minimal furniture in here. Just the bed, a long black dresser, and a nightstand with a picture of Carlos and a beautiful older blonde woman. I would wonder who the Barbie was if it weren’t for the fact that they look so much alike, there is no denying it’s his mother. His skin and hair may be darker, but the blue eyes are the same. She’s a knockout. No wonder he only goes for blonde pretty girls.
Focus, Rian! There are bigger issues at hand here. Like whether or not I came onto my boss.
Oh, please don’t say I came onto Carlos. Please don’t say I went home with him and slept with my boss. I don’t want to do the walk of shame today. Or any day, but today in particular because today is right now, and I’m not emotionally prepared for this.
Breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, I’m suddenly glad for my short-lived stint in yoga. At least the lone class I took taught me how to slow my breathing down, so I don’t hyperventilate. The last thing I need is to pass out and bang my head on his nightstand. My luck, I’d end up with a black eye I’d have to explain away for weeks. Been there. Done that. No one believes you when you say, “No, I don’t have a boyfriend. I really am that clumsy.”
Just as I breathe in, the door opens and the man of the hour walks in. Suddenly, I forget how to exhale, as I watch him, trying to gauge his expression. He doesn’t look like a man who got laid last night.
And it hits me. Of course, he doesn’t look sated. Why would he have sex with me? He’s got women like Rebecca knocking down his door. Beautiful women who look beautiful on the arm of a beautiful man. I’m just—me.
Taking a deep breath now that my diaphragm is finally cooperating again, I decide to confront the situation head on. Might as well get it over with.
“How did I get here?” The sound of my own voice makes my head pound. Grabbing my forehead, I squeeze my eyes tightly.
“You got too drunk to make it home on your own,” he answers quietly. I have a strong appreciation for his consideration of my headache, but I’m still confused.
“Why didn’t you take me to my place?”
“You passed out before you could give us your address.”
“Oh.” I think back on last night and don’t remember anything beyond him handing me another drink. I’m not sure that’s the important part in this situation, though. The fact that I’m in his shirt with no bra on is a much more pressing issue. Licking my lips, I ask the question that is giving me the most anxiety. “Did you undress me?”
“I did.”
Pulling the sheet tighter around me, I can’t help the overwhelming sense of embarrassment.
“I, um...” I clear my throat when it tightens. “I don’t look like the women you usually undress.”
“No, you don’t.”
Shame floods my body. All I want is for him to leave the room so I can get dressed and flee the scene.
“You’re beautiful.”
I blink.
And blink.
And blink again.
Of all the words I ever expected to come out of Carlos’s mouth, those two were well below options like “the Avengers are real” and “I’ve decided to become a monk”. There is always a possibility I’m hallucinating. Tequila does some weird things to my brain sometimes. But I think I heard him right and damn, if it doesn’t make me feel good.
Pushing off the wall, he sits down next to me, staring at the curtains that are blocking out the sunlight, seemingly lost in his own head. “You aren’t my normal type.”
And now the good feels I had are gone, the shame filling me again.
“You’re smart and funny and quick-witted.”
Nothing I haven’t heard before. They’re nice words and all, but nothing deflates an ego like hearing that you at least have a good personality.
“I haven’t wanted to be near someone so much since… I don’t even know when the last time was.” Looking over at me, he has a glazed look on his face. I’ve never seen this look on him before. Maybe he’s the one who drank too much Jose Cuervo? I can’t decipher it. “Why, Rian? What is it about you that makes me want to be a different person? To throw caution to the wind, even though I know it’s a bad idea. Even though I know you deserve better than a schmuck like me?”
Wait. I’m confused now.
My heart rate speeds up. Am I hearing him correctly? Is he saying he likes me? Not just as a person or co-worker or friend, but as a love interest?
I blink a few more times, giving myself a few seconds to build up my courage before whispering, “But you left me to go get coffee with Rebecca.”
“I did.”
“Why are you saying all these things if you did that?”
“Because I never should’ve left. I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I don’t want the shallow surface-level relationship with you. I want you to know me. And I want to know you. And I don’t know what to do with those feelings.”
My
heart swells. I’ve never met anyone like Carlos before. He’s egotistical, arrogant, and says some of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard. But he’s kind and smart and struggles with his own issues like everyone else. And he’s grown on me over the last few weeks, and not like a fungus. It’s to the point where I look forward to seeing him every day. I just thought it was a one-sided crush, and even that might be a stretch, which is why I never put too much thought into it until now.
Blinking away more nerves, I finally whisper, “Then why don’t you just get to know me?”
“Do you want that?”
I stop to think about it, really think about it. Do I want to get to know Carlos better, or am I just intrigued because someone like him could like someone like me?
It’s a hard question to answer, but the longer I ponder it, the more I know a very pressing truth—if I don’t get to know him, how will I be able to decide if I like him? I owe that to myself. To find out if this could be something great before settling on the idea that I don’t deserve a man as physically beautiful as Carlos.
“I think…” I lick my dry lips, ignoring the cotton feel of my tongue. I really hope my post-binge drinking morning breath isn’t as horrid as I suspect. “I think yes.”
“Yes, you’d like to get to know me?”
One side of my mouth quirks up in a half-smile as I nod. Just once. Wouldn’t want him to think I’m desperate or anything. But the strangest thing happens in reaction to my response.
Carlos smiles. A real, non-smarmy, full wattage, happy-go-lucky smile. Occasionally, I get to see a genuine response from him. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it makes my heart stutter. Like I’m getting a peek under the mask he likes to wear for everyone else. It feels both thrilling and a bit on the intimate side.
And it makes me know I’ve made the right decision.
“Wanna go to a wedding with me?” I blurt out and immediately throw my hand over my mouth. I can’t believe I just did that.
He smiles. “Who’s getting married?”
“My sister. Next week. She’s a bit of a bridezilla, and it might be a good idea to have someone there who is on my side.”
“Someone who knows how to take care of you if you take the edge off with too much tequila?” he jokes, that megawatt smile still gracing his pretty face.
I crinkle my nose. “I hate to say that’s why you would be there, but in all honesty, the bride does seem determined to drive me to drink.”
He lets out a hearty laugh. I like this side of him already. The carefree, happy, relaxed man in sweats is a much better version than the suave, reserved man who keeps himself perfectly coifed. Even the fact that his hair is hanging in disheveled waves is endearing. “Well, then, yes. I think I would love to go to a wedding with you.”
I bite back a smile and look down at my fingers fidgeting with the sheet. I’m not sure how to feel now. Of all the things I expected when I woke up in a strange bed a little bit ago, securing a date for my sister’s wedding, in my boss that I don’t even like half the time, was not even close to the top of that list. But it feels pretty damn nice, even if I don’t trust where it will lead. I suppose I’ll find out relatively quickly and enjoy it in the meantime.
“Come on,” Carlos says, pushing up off the bed. “I made us breakfast.”
“Oh, um, that’s okay. I’m kind of on a diet.” Crinkling my nose, I squeeze my eyes shut. I shouldn’t have admitted that. Now he’s going to think I’m a stereotype—the heavy girl on a diet. I bet he thinks I drink Diet Coke with my dozen tacos, too.
But instead of saying anything, he laughs. I’m not sure how a large woman subsisting on low-calorie, low-carb, high-protein food is funny, but he seems to think it’s hilarious.
“I know we haven’t really started getting to know each other quite yet.” He ignores the glare I am unsuccessfully shooting his direction. “But I thought you’d know my eating habits by now.”
Now I’m very confused. “Why would I know your eating habits?”
“Because you made fun of me at the restaurant the night we ate with Tabitha, remember?”
“Oooooooh.” I do remember. I remember the naked chicken, bland vegetables, and basically colorless food. It wasn’t appetizing at all. I also remember the amazing enchiladas I ate. Dammit. Now I do want those tacos. But with a full-calorie drink. See? No stereotypes here!
“I only eat clean, even when the woman next to me is moaning over her enchiladas,” he tacks on as an apparent afterthought. “So, I made us vegetable omelets.”
Now that I can do. I shift on the bed, waiting for him to leave so I can throw some clothes on, but he just stands there, looking confused again.
“Um… what are you doing?”
He blinks and snaps out of his thoughts. “What?”
“I know you said you want us to get to know each other, but I don’t think we’re comfortable with being barely clothed in front of each other quite yet.” I gesture down to my body, reminding him that I am still pantless, thanks to him.
He just looks at me, like he’s considering something. The longer he stares, the more my emotions get all tangled up. Is he regretting what he said already? Is he remembering someone else from his past in his bed? Is he wishing the egg omelets were actually enchiladas like I am? There are so many possibilities.
Taking two slow steps toward me, he ends up standing in front of me. My heart beats just a little bit harder as I look up at him, wondering what he’s thinking. We stay like this for longer than should feel comfortable, but since I don’t know what’s going on, I don’t mind. Something about this moment feels monumental.
Finally, slowly, he moves. His hands make their way to my cheeks and he tilts my head up. I feel my breath hitch at his touch and the feel of his rough, warm hands. Keeping my eyes trained on his, I watch as he leans down to me, closer, closer… until his firm lips press mine.
Carlos is kissing me.
Carlos is kissing me!
CARLOS IS KISSING ME!
It’s unexpected and gentle and perfect. His lips are soft and warm, and he doesn’t push for more than just a long, lingering press of his lips on mine. My stomach flutters and when he breathes in, I’m forced to hold myself back from grabbing him and tackling him on the bed.
Eventually, he pulls back, but not away. I hold my breath as he stares into my eyes, not wanting this moment to end, but also not wanting to blow my morning-after tequila breath all over him.
“What?” he asks, eyes searching mine.
I quickly put my hand over my mouth. “Morning breath.”
That giant grin is back, along with my thundering heart. “Yep.”
Covering my hands with my face, I groan in embarrassment.
“I am just kidding, Rian. You’re too easy sometimes,” he says with a chuckle. “Take your time. I’m going to finish up breakfast.” As he turns away, he grabs a pair of his sweatpants and gently places them on the bed. “Here. You’ll be more comfortable in these.”
I grab my chest, trying hard not to hyperventilate or squeal with joy when he walks out the door. Both possibilities are very close to the surface, so I try to stick with regular swooning.
Carlos likes me. Likes me, likes me. And he left me his sweatpants, so I’ll be comfortable.
I stand corrected. Maybe the walk of shame will be worth it.
Chapter Twenty-Four
CARLOS
“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but that quinoa was pretty damn amazing.” Rian shakes her head like she’s truly stunned that seeds can be both healthy and full of flavor. “The last time I had it,” she grimaces, “let’s just say it didn’t taste like that at all.”
I smile and try my best not to just stare at her as we chat. She’s been here since last night and she could stay for days without me trying to get rid of her. There’s no clinginess about her. No expectations of forever. She’s content to introduce me to the joys of reality TV while I introduce her to the joys of clean eating
. It’s easy and relaxing.
If this is what relationships are like, maybe I have been missing out. Although, I suspect it has less to do with the relationship part and more to do with Rian. She’s not the first woman to spend the night with me, but she’s the first who doesn’t seem desperate to stay. She’s just here because we’re having a good time.
“I don’t know why people hate quinoa so much,” I remark as I sit down next to her on my couch and stretch my legs out, propping my feet up on the coffee table. “It’s really good if you know how to cook it.”
“Key phrase: know how to cook it. My food buddy, Francesca, tried it for the first time and made me her recipe guinea pig.” She makes a gagging sound, complete with her tongue sticking out. “I still can’t look at donuts the same.”
“Sounds like she didn’t do it right. Not sure what donuts have to do with anything, though.”
“And you don’t want to know. Trust me.” She freezes, eyes glued to the competition show on the screen. And suddenly, she’s yelling. “What?! How do you not know the capital of Idaho is Boise? Even I know that, and I haven’t taken World Geography in twenty years!”
I continue to stare at her as she waves her hands around in indignation until she finally looks over at me. “What? You can’t win on these competition shows if you don’t know basic trivia. I don’t even know how these people get on these shows.”
“You have very strong opinions about this.” And I’m highly amused witnessing it.
“I have strong opinions about a lot of things. Usually they aren’t worth expressing though.”
“That is the biggest lie I’ve ever heard you tell.”
Turning to me, she gapes. “What are you talking about? I’m terribly mild-mannered and complacent.”
I shake my head slowly. “Opinions stated with a thick coating of sarcasm are still opinions.”
She turns back to the TV and shifts to settle in more. “I think you have me mistaken for someone else."
"Really.” Shifting myself to face her more, I begin ticking off examples on my fingers. “Let’s see, quinoa is almost always horrible…”
