Avery: Night, Carter.
I’m guessing it wasn’t the original message she typed out, but I log it as a W tonight.
15
AVERY
Fortunately, today’s lesson doesn’t require much teaching and instead relies heavily on quiet work because I’m exhausted both mentally and physically. Even after going home last night, it took me forever to fall asleep because my mind was racing from the latest development with Carter Barlowe and the circus he calls a life.
Dad has already sent some excited morning texts outlining specific instructions for his plans around the store this evening and Thursday morning. This is a make-or-break moment for Carter, because if he is messing with my parents’ livelihood in the name of capturing my attention, it will tell me more about him than anything else ever will. But deep down, I don’t believe he would do that. Besides, he’s gotten my full attention at this point. But I can’t quite let my guard down just yet. When my phone vibrates, I wonder if he knew I was thinking of him.
Carter: Good morning, beautiful.
How the heck do I respond to that? I’d hate to admit （to myself as much as him） that it makes me happy to hear from him—just like the good night message had last night. So, I decide snark is my best defense.
Me: Is that what you tell yourself in the mirror?
I bite back a smile, imagining him checking himself out in the mirror.
Carter: Only when I need an extra boost to get through the day after I’m turned down by a gorgeous woman.
Me: I’m sure you’ll recover soon enough.
Carter: Doubt it.
I don’t respond, but Carter doesn’t waste any time sending another message.
Carter: E.J. says you look extra tired today.
Looking up, I find E.J. focusing on his assignment before he looks to me. A half-smile breaks across his face, and I somehow know he’s aware that he’s been caught crossing enemy lines. Little traitor.
Me: Yeah. Someone decided to spring a big event on my family at the last minute.
Carter: Lyle said everything was under control, but the crew will be there today to help out. I’ll be there all day Thursday to make sure the whole shebang goes smoothly. Start to finish.
Lyle? He’s on first name basis with my dad. Fantastic. This is going to be more disastrous than I first thought.
Me: I’ll be there too.
I make a note to put in for a personal day on Thursday. It’s last minute, but I haven’t taken many this year, none this semester, in fact, but the thought of Carter running around with my parents all day has me more on edge than missing a day of work.
Carter: It’s a date.
Me: No. It’s not.
Carter: Third date to be exact.
Me: Not a date, and definitely not a third one.
Carter: Coffee was first date.
Me: No, it wasn’t, but that still doesn’t make it the third date.
Carter: Two coffee dates does, though. Three creams and two sugars. Any pastries, croissants, donuts? Fruit? You didn’t eat anything last time, so I don’t know what you like.
I’d like a reality check. How, how, how does Carter paying enough attention to know how I take my coffee make me giddy?
Me: Never agreed to a first or second coffee date.
Carter: It’s the least I can do since E.J. said you look like you could really use some coffee today, and it’s kinda my fault with the signing and everything.
Me: Yeah. It is your fault. No “kinda” about it.
Carter: See you second period.
I’m in trouble. Messaging him had been a rash decision last night because I’d been waiting outside the stadium for a good half hour. After watching several players and staff leave, it was easy to be pissed even more at him, so I sent him the text as a means to make myself feel better. I wanted to see him in person, tell him not to mess with my parents to his absurdly handsome face, and then I’d stupidly admitted he’s screwing with my feelings.
It may very well have been dumb to say it aloud, but I’m aware he clearly is because I keep glancing at the door until the second period bell rings. And then he appears right on time, two coffees in hand along with a paper sack. And as much as I need the coffee, I’m excited to see the person holding the beverages.
He passes me one of the paper cups, leaning over as he says, “E.J. was wrong. You look extra gorgeous today.” Stepping back, he pulls up a chair, casually taking a seat as he sips from his matching cup.
I take it back.
I’m not in trouble.
I’m wholly, completely, utterly screwed.
16
CARTER
She fumbles around with some notebooks on her desk before finally relaxing and enjoying her coffee. But she’s still avoiding looking my way. But she’s not telling me to leave. After her reaction last night to the signing news, I really thought I’d messed it all up. But maybe things can work out after all. Brooks will be happy to hear it.