Hate to Date You (Dating #4) - Monica Murphy Page 0,17
the romantic. She’s completely enthralled with this story, by the way.
“As he moved past her to sit on the other side of the table, he slid his index finger across her bare shoulder, toying with the thin strap of her dress for the briefest second. It happened so fast, I almost believed I didn’t see it.”
I wish she still believed that.
“But then I noticed his shirt was buttoned up wrong, and I know for a fact when he first showed up at the restaurant, that shirt he was wearing was buttoned perfectly so…I put two and two together. And figured Stella and Carter hooked up in the bathroom at Tuscany.” The triumphant look on Sarah’s face while I gape at her shows she is firm in her belief.
All of our friends are losing their shit, demanding to know if it’s true. They’re causing such a ruckus, people at the other tables are looking over at us with concern in their eyes, and I tell my friends to shush it.
“That didn’t happen,” I say once they all go silent.
“Bullshit.” Sarah’s voice is measured. Calm. But her eyes are glittering, like she’s some sort of villain in a movie. “His shirt was buttoned wrong, and he was adorably mussed up. Plus, he touched you in the most intimate way, like he already knew your body and couldn’t wait to touch it again.”
“My heart can hardly take this,” Eleanor says, clutching her hands together in front of her chest like she’s some sort of Disney princess.
“Nothing. Happened.” My voice is just as quiet as Sarah’s, and just as firm. I can’t back down. Not now.
“So you didn’t button Carter’s shirt back up wrong after you mauled his chest?” Sarah asks.
I shake my head. Nope, that was on him, the idiot. I didn’t even notice.
Maybe that makes me an idiot too.
“And he didn’t touch you on the shoulder?”
“Yes? No? I don’t know.” I shrug. “It was nothing. I don’t even remember him doing it.”
That last part is the truth. I don’t remember.
“You didn’t kiss him in the bathroom. Let him slip his hand beneath your dress?” Sarah’s brows are so high they’re practically in her hairline, and it’s the phrase slip his hand beneath your dress that floods me with memories.
Carter picking me up as if I weighed nothing and setting me on the edge of the counter. Me being aroused by his easy strength. His mouth on mine, his searching tongue tangling with mine. His equally searching hands. The way he whispered in my ear that I made him fucking crazy. How I trembled when he said that, because no one had ever said such words to me before. Those long fingers of his sliding beneath my skirt, touching the inside of my thigh, knuckles brushing against the front of my panties—
“Your face looks like it’s on fire,” Kelsey calls out, the brat.
They all start making a bunch of noise again—my friends have become completely obnoxious—and when I fold my arms on top of the table and hide my face with them, they all start losing their minds.
We haven’t even had two pitchers of beer yet, so I don’t know why they’re acting this way.
“Come on, guys, stop yelling. We’re embarrassing her,” Amelia says, and I’m grateful that she’s come to my rescue. They are definitely humiliating me, and I sort of want to die. I definitely don’t want to admit that Carter and I hooked up, but it’s too late.
They caught me.
Once they’ve all settled down and I can show my face among my friends once again without total shame, I decide to tell my own story.
“Fine. We hooked up in the bathroom at Tuscany,” I admit.
They all gape at me, their eyes wide, and I even hear a few gasps. Like they can’t believe I held this in for that long.
“And then when everyone left the restaurant, he followed me back to my place and we…” My voice drifts and I press my lips together. Truth be told, it’s been kind of exciting, having this little secret all to myself for the past year.
But it’s also exciting right now, sharing this huge secret with my friends. Letting them know that yep, I slept with my best friend’s brother and it was the best sex of my life. And now I’m living with my best friend’s brother and I’m still attracted to him, yet I can’t go there. Not again. Once was enough.