Hate to Date You (Dating #4) - Monica Murphy Page 0,43
respect each other’s boundaries. I’ll give you whatever you want.”
Hmm. Those words sound promising.
“It’ll be our little secret, Stel.”
I contemplate him, taking his offer seriously despite the warning signs flashing in my head. One apology and he thinks I’m that easy? Not quite.
I decide to change the subject.
“My brother demanded you come with me to the family dinner this Sunday.”
His expression turns sheepish. “I know. He talked to me about it too.”
“Why does he want you there? Because of my nonna’s house?” When Carter nods, I continue. “Do you really want to tackle that project?”
He’s quiet for a while, mulling it over. “I do,” he finally says. “I just—I didn’t know where to start, so I sort of gave up on it. The theme of my life lately.”
“If you don’t want to do it—”
He cuts me off. “I want to,” he says, his deep voice firm. “Your grandmother is sweet. And her house has so much potential. I’ve always wanted to flip homes. Buy something, fix it up and resell it for profit.”
“This would be the ideal project then,” I tell him. “Though I’m not sure if my nonna really wants to sell it.”
“She said she wanted a condo by the beach. She wants to live in a retirement community and make new friends.”
“She’s said that for years.” My tone is dismissive. Even I can hear it.
“That’s exactly what your brother said to me. What if she’s telling you all the truth, and that’s what she really wants, but no one is listening? Maybe she actually does want something smaller. Maybe she’s tired of taking care of her yard.”
“She says that too.”
“Right. She said that in front of me when we were still at Sweet Dreams.” He shakes his head. “But I don’t know if I can offer her what she wants.”
“What do you think she wants?”
“Someone who knows what the hell he’s doing.” His rueful smile kind of makes my heart ache. He’s totally putting himself down. Almost feeling sorry for himself.
Why?
“Even if she doesn’t want to sell it, the house definitely needs work,” I say gently. “Maybe she could pay you to help her with that.”
“What, like I’m a contractor? Which I’m not, by the way. I don’t have a contractor’s license.”
“You could be the project manager,” I suggest hopefully.
Wait a minute. How exactly did our conversation switch from hey, let’s be fuck buddies to remodeling my nonna’s house?
Oh right, that’s my fault.
“We’ll see.” The way he says that tells me he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.
Yawning, I cover my mouth with my hand and start making my way toward my bedroom. “I’m tired. Good night, Carter.”
He calls after me, “That’s it? Our conversation is over?”
I glance over my shoulder. “About my nonna? Definitely. You can talk more with her and my father on Sunday.”
He raises a brow. “You’ll let me come to the family Sunday dinner?”
“Sure.” I shrug. “But don’t mention to any of them that we live together.”
“Stella. They’re going to eventually figure it out. And it’s not like we’re doing anything.” He pauses. “Yet.”
“We will most likely never do anything.” I turn so I’m facing him once again. “It’s safer.”
“Safer for you or for me?”
“For both of us. We don’t need to ruin our friendship.”
“I never thought of you as my friend,” he admits, his voice low. “We moved beyond friends pretty quick.”
“Well, we need to shift to friends and stay there. Anything more and we’re just asking for trouble,” I tell him firmly, as if I’m trying to convince him.
As if I’m trying to convince myself.
“I happen to like trouble,” he says with a devilish grin.
“I’m sure you do.” My tone is sarcastic. “Good night.”
Sixteen
The minute my shift is over at Sweet Dreams, I flee the building, run up the stairs and jam the key in the lock, fumbling with it as if I’ve never used a key before. Finally I push open the door, bursting into my apartment to find Carter kicked back on the couch, watching some crazy violent war movie.
And I know it’s crazy violent because right when I glance at the screen, I see a dude get shot right between the eyes, making a weird face before he collapses to the ground.
Gross.
This won’t work with my plans. At all.
I slam the door, startling Carter and he immediately grabs the remote, turning the volume down, his gaze never leaving the screen. “You’re home early.”
“Not really,” I tell him, though he’s actually right. I don’t come home right when I