Hate to Date You (Dating #4) - Monica Murphy Page 0,81

I ask, my tone completely normal.

“I just wanted to thank you. Whatever you said to him worked, and I’m so glad he seems like his normal self again,” Caroline says.

She wants to thank me? What in the world is she talking about? “What exactly do you mean?”

“Well, he got a job at that agency just up the street, and he’s thrown himself completely into it. Says he’s already got a couple of deals, not that I’m surprised.” Caroline is a proud and supportive sister, I’ll give her that. “I’m sure he told you, but he also found somewhere to live, a cute condo in Marina that he bought for a steal.”

Oh my God, he probably bought the condo he showed to my nonna!

“It’s as if he’s returned to his old self again. Mr. Workaholic who doesn’t have time for anyone unless he’s making a deal. When I asked him what snapped him out of his funk, he said you showed him the light.” Caroline smiles, appearing perfectly content.

That is the absolute worst thing I’ve ever heard. I broke his heart and somehow showed him the light? I convinced him to throw himself back into his work and become a heartless bastard, yet that’s a good thing?

“Is he happy?” I ask. I want her to say no. I want her to tell me he’s miserable, just like I am.

Caroline shrugs. “He seems to be. He mentioned he sold a condo to your grandmother.”

“Yeah, he did,” I say absently, staring off into space. I don’t like this. Hearing that he’s throwing himself back into his work. He could give himself a heart attack if he keeps up that pace. Or become incredibly lonely.

Possibly both.

“Oh my God, I can’t take this anymore,” Eleanor suddenly says, so loudly people at the tables nearby turn to look at us. “Tell her the truth, Caroline.”

Wait, what?

Caroline sends Eleanor a look that says shut the hell up but otherwise remains mum.

“Tell me what’s going on,” I say quietly, propping my elbows on the table so I can rub at my temples. I have a pounding headache that has lingered since Tuesday.

Pretty sure it’s a Carter hangover.

“She recently found out about your one-night stand with Carter,” Eleanor says, covering her mouth the second the words leave her.

I turn to glare at my sweet, well-meaning friend. “What are you talking about?”

“Stop faking, Stella. I know,” Caroline says.

“Did you tell her?” I ask Eleanor, still barely able to look in my best friend’s direction.

Eleanor drops her hand into her lap, slowly shaking her head. “She found out through the grapevine.”

“The grapevine?”

“I overheard a bit of conversation a few weeks ago and put two and two together.” I finally turn to look at Caroline just as her smile falls and she shakes her head. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. I’m your best friend. We tell each other everything.”

I rest my hands over my face, my mind spinning. “That’s exactly why I couldn’t tell you. You’re my best friend, and I didn’t think you’d want to know I’m having sex with your brother.”

“Ugh, when you put it that way.” I drop my hands to see Caroline making a disgusted face, and my gut twists. “So gross.”

I stare at her, and she stares at me back before she starts giggling. “I’m joking, Stella. I kind of like the idea of you and Carter together. Though I’m guessing you guys never really reconnected when he lived with you.”

Wait a minute. Caroline approves of Carter and me being together?

“You really don’t mind the idea of us being a couple?” I ask, my voice soft.

“Why would I? You’re like the sister I never had. And he’s my brother. I love the both of you so much. If you two were actually together? That sounds perfect.” Caroline smiles, reaching out and settling her hand over mine. “I hate that you thought you had to keep it a secret from me—I’d never judge you. Now, if you broke my brother’s heart, then I might be a little mad at you.”

Those words break me. I burst into tears. And then proceed to take the next fifteen minutes and fill Eleanor and Caroline in on the details—no graphic sexual ones, thank you very much—of what happened between Carter and me over the couple of months that we lived together.

“And now it’s over?” Eleanor asks once I’m done. “He moved out and you two aren’t talking?”

I shrug. “He’s still mad at me. Not that I can blame him. I