Hate to Date You (Dating #4) - Monica Murphy Page 0,13

actual growl escapes her and she stalks into my new bedroom, stopping directly in front of me. Having her this close, I can smell her shampoo. Light and floral. I remember this scent from before.

The night we spent together.

I need to stop thinking about that night. Put it firmly in the past like I suggested we could do a few nights ago.

I’m an idiot.

“Stop trying to turn this into something it’s not. We can’t flirt with each other, Carter.” She pokes her finger into the center of my chest a couple of times and I step away with a muttered ow. That finger should be a weapon. “You know, I’ve been thinking about what you said the last time we were together and how you were right. We do have to forget what happened between us.”

I frown, rubbing my chest. There is too much skin on display for me to concentrate. “What happened between us?”

Again, she throws her arms up in the air, looking like a frustrated Italian mother. I bet she got that move from her actual Italian mother, so it makes sense. “Did you already forget your own advice? God, you’re so frustrating. Don’t act like you can’t remember.”

“Remember what?” I want to hear her say it. I didn’t realize how much fun it is, poking the bear that is Stella Ricci.

My new roommate.

The sexiest woman I’ve ever had the opportunity to have sex with.

Damn, I wouldn’t mind a re—

“Don’t make me say it.”

I grin. “Say what?”

Another growl, this one louder. “You’re infuriating.”

And with that, she stalks out of my room.

Like a man under a trance, I follow after her, down the tiny hallway, past the bathroom we’re going to share—that’ll be interesting—and the closed door of her bedroom. Until we’re both in the kitchen and she’s opening the refrigerator, pulling out one of those protein snack packs full of cheese, nuts and dried cranberries. She tears it open and starts shoving nuts and cheese into her mouth, those full lips moving, her jaw working as she stares at me while she chews.

“We need to establish rules,” she says once she’s swallowed.

My gaze drifts down her body, drinking in all the exposed skin. Yet again. She’s smooth everywhere, and she has definite curves. She’s no stick-thin woman with fake blonde hair and face filler like the women I’m used to dating in L.A.

Robyn, my most recent ex, is gorgeous. Constant yet natural-looking spray tan, long legs, breast implants and a shaved chin—as in she had plastic surgery a couple years ago and they shaved the bone of her chin so it isn’t so pointy. She truly is beautiful, yet also horribly insecure thanks to every other woman in the Southern California region who looks just like her. “There’s always someone prettier and younger than you,” Robyn complained to me more than once.

That shit is exhausting.

Stella is all natural. Full breasts, full hips. Narrow waist, nice legs. Pretty face, dark brown hair, brown eyes full of anger, making me think she might want to murder me in my sleep. Which is risky considering I live with her now.

Hopefully I can lock my new bedroom door.

“What sort of rules do you want to establish?” I ask her.

She finishes off the protein pack in an impressive amount of time, then grabs the pale blue Hydro Flask sitting on the counter and flips the top up to suck water out of the straw. “We definitely need boundaries, for one thing.”

“What sort of boundaries are we talking about?”

“Well, the refrigerator is a good place to start.” She opens the fridge once again and waves a hand at the contents within. “See all this? It’s mine. You can’t eat it or drink it.”

I nod once. “Noted.”

She slams the refrigerator door and then opens the cabinet doors to the left of the fridge, revealing a fairly meager stockpile of food within. “You can’t eat this stuff either.”

“You’re pretty stingy,” I point out, which earns me a dirty look once she closes the cabinet doors.

“I’m saying that you should buy your own food and I’ll buy my own food. We don’t need to share,” she explains slowly, like she’s talking to an imbecile.

“Sounds good.” I’m not trying to make this difficult, yet it feels like everything that comes out of my mouth annoys the shit out of her.

Huh. Maybe this means I annoy the shit out of her.

With an irritated sigh she marches out of the kitchen and I follow after her, nearly bumping into her