Chapter 15 #2
I sit there in silence and really think about things.
Since my teens, I’ve thought that men didn’t really have feelings or a capacity to love.
I didn’t really know what being loved felt like by any boyfriend in high school or my ex-husband.
All of my relationships have been purely sexual.
My dad didn’t love my mom, and though he never hit her, he wasn’t the nicest to her either.
Then, I married my ex, and he turned out to be an abusive sociopath.
But Cal’s been good to Aspen. Ivan’s good to Evie.
The way Carter treats me begins to run through my mind. Could he? Noooooo. That makes no sense.
Holy shit.
My blurry eyes lift to hers.
“I can see the gears turning,” she says, looking at her watch. “I want you to take some time to reflect on what we’ve discussed today. Write it down in your journal and we’ll talk about it. Same time next week?”
“Yes,” I nod, wiping the stray tear off my cheek.
“I think you’re making progress. I’m proud of you,” she says, opening the door.
“Thank you,” I say as I pass her to leave.
I’ve made three people proud, and, most importantly, one of them was me.
After making a few necessary stops along the way, because you know, retail therapy after therapy, I arrive home.
The minute I open the door, blaring music hits me right in the face.
Jesus. How are the cops not already here on a noise complaint?
I can’t even hear myself think. I toss my keys on the entry table, set my shopping bags down, and make my way into the living room, looking for the remote so I can turn the volume down.
Where the hell is it?
I toss a throw pillow back, and as I do, a very off-tune voice belts the lyrics to Aerosmith’s “Crazy”. My head snaps to the kitchen. Carter really leans into it with his eyes closed and head tilted back, while using a spatula as a microphone.
I stand back, watching him, covering my laugh with my hand, and shaking my head. His eyes find mine, and he smiles, belting it out even louder while he dances his way to me. My head tilts back as laughter flies from my mouth.
God. He is crazy.
“W-What are you doing?” I yell out as he approaches me.
One minute my feet are on the floor, and the next they’re linked behind Carter’s waist. As he spins us, I giggle.
It takes me back to the day I moved in. I see what he’s doing.
He’s making sure I’m okay, and if I’m not, this is his way of bringing me back to him.
The spinning stops, and he presses his forehead against mine, swaying us back and forth while singing to me.
We dance around the living room until the song ends, then he carries me into the kitchen and deposits me onto the counter.
Standing between my legs with a goofy grin, he pulls the remote from his pocket.
“Ah, so that’s where it went.” I laugh as he leans around me to turn the next song down until it’s barely audible.
He straightens up and stares into my eyes with his gorgeous blue ones. “Hi, baby. How was your day?”
“It was busy. Thank you for lunch. I wouldn’t have had time to eat at all if it weren’t for you.”
“You’re welcome.” He surrenders a sweet smile that makes my heart skip a beat. Taking a step back, he tosses a cup towel onto his shoulder. “I was about to make dinner.”
I’ve never been good at small talk, but I ask anyway. “Carter?”
“Yeah?” He turns his head to me.
I can do this. I can give this a real try.
“How was your day?”
He smiles at my question, and while he preps our food, he fills me in on how his day went, then goes on to tell me how Luke was riding Sean Mac’s ass during the entire practice.
“The man has always been fair. You know? But you can tell he is not a Mac fan. And Sean tries so hard to please him. He does everything right, but Coach . . .”
“Won’t give him a chance?” I finish for him.
He nods, turning back to the dish and putting it in the oven.
“Is that how you feel?”
The words fly out of my mouth before I can shove them back in.
His brows furrow, and he leans a hip against the counter with his arms crossed. “What do you mean?”
“With me. Is that how you feel with me? That you do everything right and still, I’ve been difficult?”
Carter takes a few steps and stands in front of me running his hands down my thighs.
“You wanna know what I feel with you? Alive. I feel alive when I’m with you.
I understand the reasons behind your apprehension, but maybe you need to understand the reasons behind my pursuit.
There’s no one else like you. No one lights me up the way you do.
No one makes me feel the way you do. I’m a very patient man, Kitten.
You’re already mine, I’m just waiting for you to catch up. ”
I lick my lips, and his eyes flick down to follow the movement. “What if I don’t. Catch up, I mean?”
“Oh, you will. Doesn’t matter when. One day. One week. One year. What matters is that you will.” He winks.
And the cocky little shit is back.
Dinner comes and goes, and as we sit on the couch, winding down and drinking wine, we talk about everything.
His family and mine. How we grew up. What our childhoods and teens were like.
Our conversation flows so naturally. His white button-up dress shirt falls open a little when he shifts, and resting on top of the tattoos on his chest is a thin gold chain.
What is it about men with tattoos and jewelry?
Good grief. He hits me with those dimples, and this time, I know exactly why they call them “the panty droppers”.
“You’re lying.” He laughs.
Taking a sip of my wine, I giggle, shaking my head. “Nope. I swear to you. You can literally drive down the highway, look into your rearview mirror, and see a golf cart or side by side driving behind you.”
“Is that even legal?”
I shrug a shoulder. “Who knows . . . but it’s one of the quirky things I love about Stroud, Oklahoma.”
Carter sets his wine glass down on the coffee table, then leans back with his elbow on the back of the couch; his head resting on his hand.
“I would love to see it.”
I toy with my bottom lip, thinking carefully about what I’m about to do. “Do you golf?”
“Oh, yeah.” He chuckles. “I could tell you some outrageous stories about my time out on the golf course.”
“Now this I have to hear.”
I yawn for the third time. Carter stands and takes the wine glass from my hand and sets it on the coffee table next to his. Then, he pulls me up from the couch.
“I think I’ll save that story for our next date.”
“Is that what this is?” I mock with a cheeky smile.
He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “The definition of a date is the intention of getting to know someone and building a connection with them, yeah?”
“Well, yeah, but . . .”
“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”
“I suppose, but . . .”
He leans in close, grazing his lips across my temple.
“You can call it whatever you want, baby: a date, dinner and a night in with your husband, a conversation with your friend. I don’t care what you call it.
Just know that in my mind, every moment we spend together .
. . is a date with my wife.” He drops a kiss on my forehead.
“You need to sleep. I’ll clean everything up. ”
I don’t ask him the question I wanted to because that window of opportunity has closed in my face, and I’m too chicken shit to ask him now.
But when I’m buried deep under my covers, I do something I haven’t done before.
I pull out my phone and shoot him a text.
Maybe subconsciously, I want him to know he’s still on my mind.
River
Good night, Carter.
A few seconds later, my phone lights up.
Carter
Night, baby.
And when I drift off to sleep, it’s Carter Graham that I dream about.