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Yet she’s still hiding it.
“Has living at your sister’s improved?”
At first, Tricia gave her shit for dropping out, which is bullshit. Tricia didn’t go to college. She married her high school sweetheart right out of school and started a family. Her parents approved of that, but they don’t approve of Carolina waitressing and getting her shit together. Her sister hasn’t failed to remind her how much work and money their parents put into Carolina’s education.
“A little,” she replies. “I stay in the loft as much as I can when I’m there. When she makes her surprise visitsfor girl talk, I agree with her, so she’ll go.” She shrugs. “What can I do? I’m not going to be a bitch. She’s giving me free rent, for goodness’ sake, and losing money by not renting it to anyone else. I can handle a little lecturing for that.”
“The offer to move in with me is still open,” I say.
She shakes her head. “Hearing my sister’s lectures is better than being around you and your women.”
“Oh, come on.” I crack a smile. “You act like I’m with a different woman every night. Hell, I spend nearly half of my time hanging out with you and the other working on my fame.”
She laughs when I glance her way and smirk.
“You’re at my apartment more than your own anyway,” I add. “It’d be no different.”
I’ve offered the spare bedroom in my apartment to her several times. I’d love for her to be my roommate, for me to be able to watch over her and hang out with her more.
“On the days we’re not together, you’re with another chick, not working on your fame—unless it’s to be Blue Beech’s biggest man-whore even though you’ve already won the title.” She waggles her finger in my direction. “Don’t forget, I’ve been there on numerous occasions when random chicks show up at your doorstep.”
“I didn’t knownumerousmeant twice,” I correct. “And I made them leave.”
My other nickname for Carolina is the Exaggerator Queen. She always multiplies everything I do by at least five. Two chicks show up, and she’ll say it’s ten. I tell her I’ve had sex with one chick, and she says I’ve had sex with five.
“Are you going home or to my place?” I ask when theWelcome to Blue Beech, Iowasign comes into view.
“Home for now,” she replies. “I might come by later. I need to unpack, do laundry, take a long bath, and get over this stupid hangover.”
I nod and head toward her sister’s house. “Text me in a bit … with a breakup text.”
She sighs. “Not happening, homeboy.”
A playful groan leaves my throat. “At least send your boyfriend a picture of you in the bath.” I slam my mouth shut as soon as I say the words, and I want to slap myself.
Teasing Carolina whenever she said she was taking a bath was one of my favorite pastimes, but now, after the shower incident, bath sexting references are a terrible idea.
Her face pales, confirming she no doubt remembers what happened last night. “Not …” she stutters. “Not happening.”
I force myself to sound as playful as I can. “Kidding, my sweet girlfriend.”
13
Carolina
Hangovers are a bitch.
Turns out, while around distant relatives you don’t like, drinking helps you tolerate them. It also turns out that drinking will convince you that attempting to seduce your best friend in a hotel room is a fantastic idea.
Damn you, alcohol. You’re the best friend who’s also a bad influence.
Good for the mind but bad for the hormones.
Rex was thankfully smart enough not to mention last night. He knows I’d die of embarrassment, and he’d lose his favorite cookie-maker.As much as I’d like to forget last night, I can’t. All I’m doing while taking my bath is asking myself,Why?
Why did I enjoy our boyfriend-girlfriend game so much?
Why, even as awkward as I feel now, wouldn’t I mind if he came barging in here, asking me to share my bath?
