Hate to Date You (Dating #4) - Monica Murphy Page 0,15
all huge fans of happy hour and the carne asada nachos, so we’re sharing two giant plates and a pitcher of beer. Not our usual drink of choice, but we make an exception for Milligan’s.
And happy hour.
It’s a Monday night and we’re crowded around a small table. Eleanor, Sarah, Kelsey and Amelia—who just broke up with her asshole boyfriend and is in need of extra care this evening—and me. Part of the reason we’re here is for Amelia in the hopes of cheering her up. We think she’s past the weeping stage, thank God. That particular stage feels as if it’s gone on forever.
Candice wasn’t able to make it because she’s probably having too much sex with her sexy, rugged boyfriend who happens to be a tree farmer. It doesn’t sound very exciting, but he works on the land and wears flannel a lot, and I not so secretly find that pretty sexy.
Caroline isn’t here either, and that’s because she took off to London early this morning with Alex for a week. He’s going there for business and she’s accompanying him, and we’re all trying our best not to be jealous about her jet-setting ways. I go nowhere, trapped as I am at Sweet Dreams and without a man to whisk me away to exotic locales.
Though, really, do I need a man to go to exotic locales? Of course not. I look around at my girls and know I could ask any of them if they wanted to take a girls’ trip, something we haven’t done in a couple of years, since we went to Mexico. We should plan a trip. Maybe a weekend celebration somewhere fun to celebrate Caroline’s upcoming nuptials.
With Caroline currently out of the country, this gives me free rein to talk about Carter, though I’ll have to watch my beer intake. I don’t want my tongue to get too loose, where I confess that Carter and I have done the deed.
That…wouldn’t be good.
Right?
“Deets about what?” I ask Eleanor, playing innocent. I know exactly what—more like who—she’s talking about.
“About your new roommate,” Eleanor says, her voice sing-songy, like she’s thrilled by this predicament.
I’m not thrilled. Not at all. I don’t like the fact that Carter is my roommate. We’ve only had one night living together, and I swear I could hear him breathe in the other room. Even though the door was shut—and mine was locked for extra protection—yes, I could hear him breathe. And it drove me crazy, thinking about what he might wear to bed.
Full set of pajamas? Doubtful.
PJ bottoms? Sexy, but probably not.
Good ol’ fashioned underwear? Maybe.
Naked? Ha, in my dreams.
I also couldn’t help but wonder if his hair is all rumply (is that a word?) when he first wakes up, like it was when we spent the night to—
“He’s fine,” I say irritably, which is the most accurate word I can use to describe him. We all know how I feel about his fineness. “I’m hoping he’ll move out soon. Like tomorrow.”
“Why? Is he that bad? I always thought he was kind of cute.” This comes from Amelia, who’s suddenly noticing every single man we come into contact with. The poor woman was so wrapped up in her jerk ex, she noticed nothing else, no one else but him for years.
Look how far that got her. Now she’s drowning her sorrows in half-off beer with her girlfriends on a Monday night.
“He’s okay.” I shrug, hating the lie. He’s not just okay. He’s sexy AF. “I didn’t really see him much yesterday. He spent most of it in his room.” I could hear him moving stuff around and banging on the wall with a hammer he borrowed from me—yes, I was kind enough to let him use it—and then I left around five. Sunday night dinner with the family, you know. That took about three hours I’ll never get back, and by the time I returned home it was almost nine. My bedtime, considering I get up so early for my shift at Sweet Dreams.
He never ventured out of his room when I came home, and I didn’t bother knocking on his door to make sure he’s alive. Though I could feel his vibes as mentioned earlier, so…yeah. The asshole is still alive.
I should stop calling him an asshole in my thoughts. He’s not the enemy. Not really. He’s just a guy who enjoys casual sex and has poor communication skills.