Each date sucks.
The problem with granting an exception for someone of Boston’s caliber, is that the rest of the male population now looks grayer, murkier, and uglier. They make me feel nothing, not even a twinge of interest, and I find myself comparing everything they do to what Boston would or wouldn’t do.
Thomas didn’t pull my chair out for me, because he’s a loser, but Boston would have.
Shane stared at my boobs the whole time we ate dinner, because he’s a loser, but Boston wouldn’t have.
Vince had nice lips, which doesn’t mean he is or isn’t a loser, but I found myself focusing on them and realizing that Boston’s are nicer.
The list goes on and on.
Boston doesn’t text me. I don’t text him. We agreed. We got the edge off and now we have to mosey along as if it never happened, even if I think about him every time my hand is between my legs and perk up at the mention of him in my brother’s conversations.
He is a good man, and he is a good lookingman, butthatisn’t my type, and commitment isn’t his.
I’m snuggling on the couch with Wanton when my brother walks in. He shoots me a look, like my four-legged buddy is notsupposed to be up on the furniture, but Arden’s word is final and she lets him lounge wherever he wants to.
We’re both tucked under a blanket with only our heads poking out. Our eyes snap open and dart to Carter at the same time.
He slows, staring at us. “That’s fucking creepy.”
“Leave us alone.”
A smile tugs at his lips. “It’s the one brown eye, one blue eye thing, it’s weird. You? You’re just ugly.”
I scoff, ripping my hand from under the cover to flip him off.
He chuckles, tossing his water bottle into the air as he sits on the edge of the couch. “Any word on the job hunt?”
“We sent about five off today,” I say, yawning. I scratch Wanton’s short fur and he lets out a thankful grumble. “There’s one I really want. I went to their website and all their biggest players are women. I think it would be a good fit.”
He rests his elbows on his knees. “Arden mentioned that you were thinking about starting something on your own.”
“That’s a pipe dream,” I say.
He cocks a brow. “Why?”
“I would need to start a business, find a property, hire a staff,” I explain, watching him nod as he tosses that bottle up and down. “I’d need to learn more about owning and operating a company to even think about that, so I’d have to go back to school.”
“What’s more important, being hands-on or going back to school?”
I shrug. “Both, but I have a lot of hands-on experience already. Getting some education in the business area is probably more critical for that dream.”
He finally halts the water bottle olympics. His eyes meet mine, and I can physically see the way he’s trying to choose his words carefully. “If you could pick right now, at this verymoment, if you’d rather find a job here or go back to school and work toward that pipe dream, which would you choose?”
Wanton stretches out, so I give him a little smooch on the head.
“I mean, the pipe dream is the pipe dream for a reason.”
“Great.” He nods again, rising to his feet. He goes to chuck the water bottle at me, but then freezes, realizing there’s a retired reactive dog in my arms and he probably shouldn’t hit anyone with anything. He points it at me instead. “Stop searching for jobs and start applying for schools.”
“What?” I ask, brow furrowing.
He turns, like he’s leaving this conversation on that note. “Get into a business program.”
“Carter!” I say, unwilling to separate myself from the cuddle bug in my arms.
He waltzes back in from the kitchen, shooting me a look at screams ‘what do you want?’ as if he didn’t just tell me to do the most financially irresponsible thing on the planet.
