Hate to Date You (Dating #4) - Monica Murphy Page 0,19

between us. Remember what I told you? That he left in the morning and I never heard from him again until recently?” I take a swig of my water, and it’s so deliciously cold and tastes so good, I drain half my glass in a couple of swallows. “I was kind of pissed. I still sort of am. Plus, the whole sex thing gets in the way.”

“If you weren’t interested in each other, then that sex thing wouldn’t be between you,” Sarah points out logically.

“I don’t agree with you.” When they remain quiet, I further explain myself. “It’s the fact that we’ve done it before that puts it between us. It’s awkward. We’re awkward around each other. Also don’t forget the jerk ghosted me.”

Eleanor shakes her head. “I hate that part. Has he apologized?”

“No.” Of course he hasn’t. That whole, let’s forget it ever happened suggestion didn’t help matters either.

“Do you think he wants more?” Sarah asks.

“No.” I don’t know. He’s a little flirty, but hasn’t he always been flirty? I can’t remember.

“Do you want more?” Eleanor asks hopefully.

“No.” My answer is quick. Too quick?

Maybe.

Thankfully, they ignore my too quick response, and that’s probably because they don’t believe me, but whatever. I’m not about to bring it up again.

“It’s almost eleven,” Sarah says, checking her Apple Watch. Her boyfriend Jared gave it to her for her birthday, and she loves it. Almost as much as she loves Jared. “Shouldn’t you be in bed by now?”

“Oh God, yes.” I groan and shake my head, but that hurts, so I stop. “I don’t want to go home.”

I don’t want to face Carter. Though he’s probably locked up in his room, afraid to see me like some sort of coward.

Or maybe he hates me and wants nothing to do with me. He’s only taking his sister’s old room because it’s convenient.

Ah, the doubt is going to kill me, I swear.

“We can walk you there!” Eleanor’s entire face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Make sure you get inside safely.”

“You don’t care about her safety, you want to see if Carter’s awake and how they interact with each other,” Sarah points out.

Eleanor’s face falls a little. “Fine, you caught me.”

“You can walk me there,” I tell them both, hiccupping once. Then again. “But you’re not coming inside.”

“Maybe Carter will.” When Eleanor and I stare at Sarah blankly, she rolls her eyes. “Be coming inside. You.”

You wish.

No, I tell the voice. I really don’t.

Eleanor makes a face. “So crude.”

“You love it.” Sarah takes a delicate sip of her water, and then grabs her purse and stands. “Let’s go, cowgirls.”

Cowgirls? I don’t bother questioning her. As I mentioned earlier, she’s buzzed. We’re all buzzed, and we sort of stumble out of Milligan’s, waving goodbye to the bartender who we all know and love. His name is Cory and he’s the son of the owner, and he’s around our age. He’s got red hair and a thick, red beard and big, beefy arms. Eleanor confessed a while ago that she had a minor crush on him, though she got over it quick when she saw Cory kiss his equally beefy and bearded boyfriend one night at another bar we were all at.

“All the good ones are taken or gay,” she lamented that evening, and we consoled her as best we could.

Poor Eleanor.

And poor me, because sharing an apartment with the man you had amazing sex with is something straight out of a movie. Or a reality TV show. Maybe I’m being tricked? Or worse, are we actually being filmed? Instead of 90 Day Fiancé, maybe we’re in the new show, 120 Day Roommate You Had Sex With, and they’ll bait us every single day, seeing how long it takes until we fall into bed again.

I guess it doesn’t have to be a bed. It could be the couch. Or the loveseat. Or the kitchen counter, the shower, against the wall in the hallway...

We leave the bar, the three of us walking with linked arms, me in the middle as we head to my place. It’s breezy outside, the wind carrying a salty hint of ocean since it’s so close by, and I breathe deep, telling myself Carter will be in his room when I get home and I won’t have to see him.

Another day avoided. Only approximately three months and twenty-nine days to go.

We make idle chitchat, though I remain fairly quiet. We round the corner of Sweet Dreams and are in the narrow alley between the