Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 58988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
I glance up and know what he’s seeing. One room. One Mr. Lumpy. One narrow bed that doesn’t look like it could fit two people, let alone five like his. And before it was kicked over and destroyed, one giant ass flat screen. Because priorities.
“Home sweet shoebox? I’ve been here ever since I moved to town two years ago. I didn’t need much space and the price was right. It helped me pay off my student loans a few months back, so now I’m rolling in…well, I don’t like to brag. Let’s just say I could buy a new television today if I wanted to. With enough change left over to do my laundry.”
Yeah, I’m still a broke-ish twenty-something and college was expensive. There were scholarships, but in order to survive with a full course load so far from the family fridge, I’d needed help. By the time I graduated I had enough debt to choke a miniaturized pony and two degrees that at first glance didn’t translate into high paying jobs.
I think I managed okay.
“You’ve already paid off your loans? I thought you were still in school.” Carter lifted the shattered screen back to its stand so he wouldn’t step on it. “Fiona mentioned something about a class you took together last semester.”
I go to open the cabinet under my kitchen sink, the one where cleaning supplies are usually stored, and I’m grateful to see all my old textbooks still present and accounted for. I wait until he’s looking my way and show off my collection.
No, I don’t have bookshelves. Did you miss the part where I live in a shoebox?
“We’re perennial study buddies,” I answer. “Technically I graduated a few years ago, but I can’t seem to give it up. It’s my one true vice. Other than Netflix. It could be worse, right? Some people are addicted to porn.”
I notice his eye twitch. “Is that face you’re making because I’m a nerd, or are you one of the people addicted to porn? It’s okay to tell me. I’m a professional. I get paid not to judge.”
“Neither,” he says severely. “Yes, to be honest, hoarding that many textbooks under your sink could qualify as nerd territory. And I have watched more than my share of porn because there’s not much else to do for entertainment on the base. But that’s not what I was thinking about.”
Can I ask what kind of porn?
No. No you can’t.
“But you were thinking about…?” I press instead.
“I’ve considered going back to college once or twice myself. Not for a degree or anything, but because I wanted to learn something new. I was thinking that’s something we have in common.”
This intrigues me more than I can properly express. “Name something you’d want to study if you could.”
“Art history, maybe?”
“Really?” That was the last thing I was expecting him to say. How can the man keep getting sexier? It’s got to be a statistical improbability.
Carter nods slowly, gauging my reaction. “I’ve seen some beautiful things in this world. Carvings in the middle of the desert. Cave paintings and museums that are older than our Constitution. I always wanted to know more about them.”
I find myself wishing I’d traveled more and seen some of those beautiful things with him. I want to sit him down and make him describe every one in detail. I want to rewind the moment and record that wistful quality in his voice when he tells me about his secret love of art again.
The more I learn about him the more he confounds me. Every time I think I have him pegged, he throws me for a loop. A manly, heroic, art-loving, Kung Fu-quoting, neat-freak, barbecue-infused loop. “I’d take that class with you.”
“Yeah?” His grin is contagious.
“Absolutely. It so happens I hoard textbooks and always have an opening in my schedule for a new class.”
“Nerd.”
We’re smiling at each other, but after a second or two I need to look away or I’ll start begging for a hug. Or a backrub that could lead to dry humping. Some sort of physical contact with this man who pushes buttons in me I didn’t even know existed.
I shouldn’t go there. I’m having a hard enough time as it is—pun intended—trying to hide my reaction to him. The one that won’t go away, no matter how bruised I am or how ransacked my apartment is.
I really need some alone time with my hand to sort out my feelings.
“Damn it.” Thinking of masturbation reminds me I’ll have to throw my sex toys away. Whether they were touched or not, I’ll never be able to use them again without wondering. Thinking about that helps to turn down the volume of my sex drive.
Carter comes over to grip both my shoulders, offering me a supportive squeeze. “They’re going to find them, Green. Bet on it.”