I do know that, but it still feels weird. I’ve grown to become an actual part of his life. Or, at least I feel like I have. On certain days, it feels like my corner, the one that is usually only inhabited by Whitney and Autumn, has a third person standing in it. Blond, buzzed hair, sparkly blue eyes, and a smirk that the devil uses to lure women straight to hell.
There are still days when I feel utterly alone. I look back at that corner and it’s dark and empty and full of cobwebs. Sometimes, if I squint hard enough, I can catch the outline of two people. Two girls who I raised and love. But they vacated thatcorner long ago. After they left, I put up the caution tape and the ‘do not enter’ signs and refused to let anybody, sparkling eyes or not, stand in that corner with me.
That’s a darkness that I have to face alone, even if it kills me.
“Want to go and get some dinner?” Carter asks, stretching his arms out behind him. The movement makes his blue T-shirt rise up on his body, exposing the skin above the waistline of his sweats. There’s a soft line of blonde hair there, fair and almost missable, but it makes my throat feel thick nonetheless.
“I’d prefer to hibernate here,” I admit.
He nods, dropping his arm along the back of the couch. “We can do that. What are you feeling tonight?”
I pretend to think about it for a second. “Sushi.”
“Why’d I even ask?”
“It’s better to ask than to assume,” I say, poking him with my foot. He captures it before I can press too hard, and goes back to digging his thumbs into the sole. “You know what they say about assuming.”
“I get called an ass regardless, so I don’t really give a shit what they say,” he grumbles. “Alright. Sushi, it is. Do you want to watch a movie or something?”
I rest into the cushions a bit more, letting out a dreamy sigh at the feeling of his fingers. “Don’t let me take you away from your game. I have a book upstairs calling my name.”
“Bring it down here,” he says, dragging his thumb down the length of my sole. A little sound escapes me then, and Carter stiffens a bit, but his touch doesn’t ease up. “Sit with me.”
“Yeah?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
We eat our sushi together, exchanging what we think will be the best last bite with one another. I judge Carter for hisoption. Hard. He picks a California roll that is nearly falling apart, but his eyes light up when I give him the most beautiful piece of my dragon roll, with the perfect amount of sauce drizzled on top.
He takes it with wonder all over his face, like he is honoured, and it makes me smile so hard that I lean into him for a second longer than I typically would have. When he continues to stare at it, like he’d rather frame it and hang it on the wall than eat it, I slide onto my knees and bring my hand to the back of his neck. I take the piece from his hand, lifting it to his mouth.
Our eyes meet, and I can’t fight my smile. “Open.”
And he does, his eyes never leaving mine.
I place the roll on his tongue, studying his face when he pulls it into his mouth. My hand is still on his neck, our eyes burning into each other, and then he lets out a deep, rough moan of approval. It sends a strange juxtaposition of heat and shivers through my body.
I smile, letting out a breathy laugh, my thumb brushing against the nape of his neck. His hand slides around me, wrapping his fingers around my ankle in a light, lazy touch.
I don’t know why I do it. I shouldn’t. Something about this moment is just so…mundane.
So, with our faces already so close together, I lean down and kiss him. It’s soft and gentle, and a question mark at the end of whatever this arrangement is. Dire situations only, remember? Yet, every situation feels dire lately. Like if I don’t kiss him, I’ll end up gasping for air within seconds.
I pull back just enough, his finger running along my ankle. He opens his heavy lids, blue eyes burning into my face.
“Dire situation,” he grumbles, as if reading my mind. “I was choking.”
“On the perfect last bite?” I ask quietly, and then shrug. “There are worse ways to go.”
He smiles gently, like there are one million other things running through his head right now. With his eyes still melting into mine, his head still tilted back against the couch, he wets his bottom lip with his tongue.
“Come here.”
His hand leaves my ankle. It slides around the back of my head instead, pulling me back down to his mouth. It's another simple kiss. Easy. Patient. There is no rush, just the soft, lazy sweep of our mouths. I could easily slide myself into his lap, press myself against him, and take this a step further. I could make rule number four-point-five a thing.
“Mm,” he mumbles when I pull away. “Alright. I’ve been saved.”
“Yeah?” I whisper, still not moving too far.
