Dating You / Hating You
Page 14

“Bill and Ted’s!” he sings.
“That’s what everyone says,” I tell him, laughing. “And yes. It’s a pretty small town. I was such a nerd in high school.”
He gives a skeptical snort.
“Honestly,” I assure him, “I was.”
“You couldn’t have been as nerdy as I was: the founder of my school’s Magic: The Gathering club.”
Nodding, I tell him, “I was president and sole member of the anime club at my school before anyone else liked it.”
“Anime is cool.”
“It wasn’t then, trust me.”
Carter leans in, clearly ready to bring out his big guns. “I didn’t get a date in high school until senior year because I liked show tunes and the girls assumed I was gay. No guys asked me out, either, because they assumed I was stuck-up, not straight.”
“My first concert was Hanson.” I pause, watching him. “My worst fear is someone posting a video of me in isolation rocking my face off the entire time.”
“Are you trying to scare me away?” He pulls out his phone and spends about thirty seconds scrolling until he turns it for me to see. “Look at this mess.”
Carter is probably fourteen in the picture. His nose is too big for his face. His hair looks like it was cut by a distracted parent. He’s laughing, and his mouth seems completely filled with metal.
“I can top that.” I pull out my phone and open it to my mother’s Facebook page, easily finding her Throwback Thursday post to my tenth-grade school picture. This was before my Lasik, so I have glasses thicker than an ashtray and am wearing a tie because I was trying to pull off some ill-advised skater chic.
Carter’s eyes narrow and he leans in to look closer. “What are you talking about, Evie? You’re pretty here.”
Wow. He is blind. “Carter.”
“What?”
He looks up and something—no, everything—in me melts. When he blinks, the soft expression doesn’t dissolve; it stays there, stronger now as he lets his gaze move across my face and to my mouth.
“What?” he says again, smiling now. “You know I’m hoping to kiss you later, no matter how many dorky pictures you show me.”
My heart takes off, a beating drum in the wild jungle beneath my ribs. “I’m older than you,” I blurt.
He just shrugs, like this was a completely normal thing to say. “So?”
“We’re in the same business.”
I watch him process this for a breath, and he chews on his lip before saying, “Maybe it’s not ideal, but it’s not worth staying away from you because of it.”
My heart seems intent on climbing up into my throat. “I’m notoriously married to my job.”
“That’s super convenient because so am I. It’ll be like we’re cheating on our jobs with each other.” He says this as if he’s just discovered some brilliant loophole.
I’m aware of how I’m perched on my chair, and of the woman at the table next to us watching us without any subtlety. I’m aware of the car alarm going off somewhere down the street and the waiter clearing plates at the table behind me. I have the sense that Carter can see me reacting to all of these things but isn’t fazed by it in the slightest.
“I’m pretty bad at this,” I admit. “But I have a great romance backup plan that includes a pack of small animals in sweaters, with me as their leader.”
His smile is warm and slow, and when it reaches his eyes, something inside my chest turns over in defeat. “That could be cool, too.”
In the silence that follows, it seems like an enormous hole opens up in front of me and I decide to jump straight in. “Do you want to come back to my place after this?”
This surprises him, and his eyes widen slightly behind his glasses. “Yes.”
• • •
Because it’s Southern California and everyone drives everywhere—alone in their own car—Carter follows me back to my place. My building is in Beverly Grove, just southeast of Santa Monica Boulevard; the area has sprawling houses and wide lawns interspersed with larger remodeled art deco apartment buildings. LA is like that: suburb and city all swirled together.
I meet him at the front entrance and try to smile like this is no big deal, but it’s an enormous deal. The last guy I had at my place was my dad. Before that, it was Mike when he came for dinner with Steph. Before that, I can hardly remember. Probably the cable guy.
I can tell we’re both unsure what to say, and the energy between us buzzes. He has this sexual charisma that I’m not convinced I can handle. I can’t stop replaying our hug at the front of the restaurant and how he felt against me, all long bones and firm muscle.
I’m sort of relieved that Carter isn’t one for small talk in situations like this. Are we going to have sex? I feel like sex is imminent but would rather shove a hot poker in my ear than trust my instincts on this right now.
He could ask me about the weather, or about traffic, or earthquake statistics, or any number of the obvious California topics, but he just follows me into my place and pauses in the living room, looking around.
It’s a nice place, and I’m proud of it, even though I’m hardly ever home for more than sleeping. The building is modern, and my apartment is an open floor plan that includes a large main room with living room, kitchen, and small nook by the window, where I have a table. There’s a vase of flowers on top, and everything smells subtly of the peppermint candle near the stove. I can even see Carter’s eyes widen at the enormous flat-screen I inherited from my dad when he upgraded to the obscene flat-screen.
“The guy across the alley is a juggler,” I say, motioning to the window. “Apparently it’s a clothing-optional hobby. I’m not going to lie: it’s pretty great.”
“I was already going to say this place was cool, but that might earn an upgrade to amazing,” he says. “I can promise you that none of the apartments I looked at came with a naked juggler.”
“It’s usually in the morning . . .” The implication of my words—sleepover!—lingers between us as he steps closer, clearly moving past the Exploring Evie’s Apartment phase of the evening and into just Exploring Evie.
Carter is only a step away from me and his hand comes out, curling around my hip. A few beats of silence pass.
“Are you thirsty?” I ask, jittery.
Traffic on the street blares past, and a dog barks obnoxiously in the building next door.
Carter shakes his head. “No, I’m okay.”
“Okay.” I chew my lip. “Hungry? Or need to use the restroom?”
He laughs. “No.”
My hand is shaking when I take his and lead him down the hall.
“Evie?” He hooks his thumb back over his shoulder. “We can stay out here . . .”
I shake my head, and he follows me wordlessly down the hall into my bedroom.
He pulls up short just inside the door. “It’s just that . . . I don’t think we should . . .” He glances to the bed and then back to me. “Yet.”
“That’s okay,” I agree in a nervous whisper. “I just want to be in here. My parents gave me all the furniture in the living room, and I don’t want to be thinking about this the next time they’re over here sitting on their old couch.”
His eyes crinkle behind his glasses when he smiles at this. “You’re a trip.”