Hate to Date You (Dating #4) - Monica Murphy Page 0,20

two buildings, and I stare up at the giant staircase that leads to the door of my apartment.

“Can you make it up the stairs or do you need me to walk you up there?” Eleanor asks innocently.

“Stop trying to get inside her apartment,” Sarah scolds, and that makes me laugh.

“She’s just trying to be helpful,” I say.

“Well, yes. And I’m also trying to get into your apartment,” Eleanor admits. Liquor is a truth serum for her, which is pretty amusing.

“I’ll be fine.” I unhook my arms from theirs and walk up a couple of steps, then turn to see they’re standing in the same spot I left them. “You can go now.”

“We’ll wait until you get inside,” Eleanor says. “For—safety reasons.”

“Yes. Safety,” Sarah says with a nod.

I give them the finger because they’re waiting for nosy reasons, not safety, and I run up the stairs, making a lot of noise as a sort of warning to Carter that I’m home. I can tell the lamp is on in the living room, and there’s a light on in his bedroom too. Is he one of those people who never turns off a light? My stingy father would give him a lecture if he is.

I pull my housekey out of my tiny purse and insert it in the deadbolt, unlocking it before I crack open the door. “Leave,” I yell down at my friends.

It’s their turn to give me the finger and then they run off, both giggling like little girls.

Rolling my eyes, I push open the door farther and peek inside to find the TV is on, the sound turned down to a low murmur, and Carter is stretched out on my couch.

Fast asleep.

Slowly I shut the door and lock it, trying to be quiet. But it’s hard when your steps are wobbly and your vision is slightly impaired by alcohol. I go to the side table between the couch and loveseat and switch off the lamp. Big mistake, considering I turn and stub my toe on the nearest couch leg. The pain is so excruciating, I cry out, slapping my hand over my mouth, but it’s no use.

Carter jolts awake, sitting straight up. His bedroom door is open and the light is on, plus the light from the TV, so I can still see him. He glances around in adorable confusion, blinking everything into focus, and when he spots me standing there, mentally cursing through my pain as my toe throbs, his eyes go wide as if he’s shocked to see me. “Stella.”

I hate how he says my name and my entire body comes awake. It’s his sleep-roughened voice, I think, and how it caresses every single letter.

Okay. Clearly I’m drunk and I’ve lost my mind.

“Sorry I woke you up.” I shift my weight off the foot with the throbbing toe, wincing. “I stubbed my toe.”

He frowns. Runs a hand through his dark brown hair, messing it up further. He’s wearing a white T-shirt and light-gray sweats, and he’s very rumpled. It’s a good look for him. “Are you okay?” he asks.

I nod. Press my lips together. God, my toe hurts. “I’m fine.”

“I must’ve fallen asleep. On your couch.” He leans over and grabs the remote from where it rests on the coffee table and turns the TV off, shrouding us in semi-darkness. “Whoops. Sorry. Hope you don’t stub your toe again.”

I limp to the hallway and flick on the light switch that illuminates it. “I’ll be fine. Good night, Carter.”

Not bothering to look back or waiting for his response, I hobble-run into my bedroom and shut the door, leaning against it with my eyes closed. That interaction went…well. As best as it could, I suppose. Yes, I was awkward. Yes, he fell asleep and looked cute when I woke him up. Yes, I shouldn’t think about him being cute, but my defenses are down so I have an excuse.

Alcohol is the devil.

I change out of my clothes and into my favorite pajamas—red fleece pants printed with little black cats and a matching white T-shirt with a giant black cat face in the center—and use a makeup wipe to clean my face. I need to brush my teeth. And pee. Which means I have to go back out there.

It’s been a few minutes, right? I check my phone and see that yes, it’s been approximately six minutes since I locked myself away in my room like a child. He should be in his own room by now. Probably already sleeping.