Page 76 of The Gaybor War

A quiet pause is followed by a bombshell question.

"Why doesn’t Carter ever come to these things?" Kiki asks.

I scoff. Isn’t it self-explanatory? "Carter Reed doesn’t day-drink. He’s probably ironing his underwear or starching his sheets."

They exchange looks. I take a sip of my drink, which now tastes like anticipation.

By the time I get home, the champagne buzz has softened into something warm and dangerous. Confidence with poor impulse control.

I kick off my shoes, toss my keys, and do a slow circuit of the living room, pretending I’m not waiting for something to happen. I’m not spiraling. I’m biding my time. There’s a difference.

I change shirts, immediately change back, then I light a candle I don’t need and absolutely did not light for anyone else. I’m rinsing my glass when there’s a knock at the door.

Not a polite knock. Not a neighborly tap. A firm, decisive knock that sounds Carter-coded.

I freeze. No. Absolutely not. I just joked about this. It’s as if the honey jasmine candle summoned him!

Another knock. I pull in a fortifying breath and open the door.

Carter stands there, hands in his pockets, posture tight as though he’s holding himself together with office-grade self-control. He looks… wrecked. Hair slightly out of place. Jaw tense. Eyes too sharp.

"Well," I say lightly. "If this is about the dog-breeding scandal, I’ve already moved on."

He exhales, looking a bit confused. "Can I come in?"

Before I step aside, I wave to the nosy neighbors I know, for certain, are watching—i.e., Candace, Malia, Shania, and Kiki. Busted.

He doesn’t look at me right away when he enters. His gaze flicks around the room instead, grounding himself. As if he needs walls and furniture and reality before he can speak.

"I know we're not making a spectacle."

"We're definitely failing at that."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

His jaw flexes. "What happens now?"

I stare, dumbfounded. "You came over here to ask what happens after the kissing?"

"Yes."

"Carter, are you trying to schedule romance?"

He drags a hand through his hair and sputters. Actually sputters! "I want to take you somewhere."

My eyebrows shoot up. "You?"

"Don't make that face."

"It's my surprised face."

"You have twelve surprised faces."

"And every single one is beautiful."

His eyes narrow. "You're impossible." Carter executes a full 360-degree turn and drags in a deep breath. "Were you flirting with the UPS driver?"