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But he’s right. Carter Morgan III is the most posh name I’ve ever heard. And totally unfit for him. I wonder if he did that on purpose—modeled his aesthetic around what people expect him not to be.
He looks over at me and I grin, mouthing lovely looking boy at him. His wide-eyed look turns to one of squinty-eyed annoyance. Something clicks into place between us; I think I’m going to enjoy living with Carter Morgan III.
I feel strangely pleased by this, like he’s just bestowed a grand compliment on me. Congratulations, Carter, you are good at math and never realized it. It’s ridiculous.
But I’m not hitting on him, so I do none of those things. I show him how to hold the club and back up, trying not to notice the way his hair catches on his eyelashes when he blinks, or how he smells like rain.
I don’t want to argue about money. I want to keep enjoying the day and not have him worry about how he’s going to afford it. I want to be invited to more days like this, and if I have to buy that privilege, so be it.
Yet here we are, almost three full weeks into living together, and it’s been fine. Good, in fact. He’s already become more than a roommate—he’s my friend.
I don’t really want to meet his friend and pretend to be nice. I want to eat, shower, and listen to Zeke talk about nerdy shit—preferably in that order. “Yeah, I guess I can.”
No offense to hockey or anything, but my interest in the sport starts and ends with you.”
He’s weird, and nerdy; I really wish I didn’t find it as adorable as I did. He’s my roommate and roommates are off-limits.
Stepping closer, he smiles the barest hint of a smile. It’s little more than a faint indentation of his cheeks at the corner of his mouth, but it does more to brighten the room than the lamp.
“I think I might love you,” he says, and I give a bark of startled laughter. Whacking him on the leg with the spatula, I shake my head. “Go eat and get dressed. I want to see some tree frogs today.”
I love that they’re basically dating but they don’t even know it hehehe
For some reason my own heart is racing, like his nerves are a tangible thing that he’s infected me with.
“It’s fine. I mean, I can’t complain, obviously. We have a lot of money—I’ve never gone without anything in my life.” Except, apparently, love and attention.
he glances at me and smiles an eighth of a smile. I feel like a fucking hero, earning that smile.
When he starts reading, I close my eyes and let myself enjoy it. It’s the only thing from the evening that doesn’t hurt.
“I don’t know, I just…he felt right, is all.” I blush as I say this, the tips of my ears burning. There’s no better way to explain it, though. Carter was inevitable.
What I’m trying to say is that I can count on one hand the number of people who have come to a game with the express purpose of watching me play. I’m trying to tell him that I thought about him the entire game, and felt like a better player because of it.
It’s the same smile I saw in the picture he showed me with Anthony Lawson, but the first time I’ve seen it in real life. It makes me want to wrap my arms around him and squeeze.
I can’t help but smile, my insides practically glowing with the praise. I’m not someone who needs attention or approval from the masses, but it certainly feels good to get it from Zeke.
“I wouldn’t mind if you were bad at kissing,” he muses, not letting go of my hand. “That just means we get to practice more.”
“I really like you, Carter Morgan. I like you more than I’ve ever liked anybody before.”
He’s wearing my old SCU hockey hoodie that I gave him a few months ago, which sends my stomach pole-vaulting into my chest.
When he sees me, he smiles. It’s my smile. I’ve never once seen him gift one to anyone else.
Reaching out, I place my palm on his chest. His worry feels like a third person in the room.
He laughs, like I knew he would. He’s like my own personal ray of sunshine.
The smile that graces his face when he steps back into the hallway and sees me waiting nearly sends me into cardiac arrest. My Carter, my smile. Mine, mine, mine. I smile back and step forward to hug him again.
I look over at Carter, who’d probably be less surprised if she pulled a gun from her purse and shot him.
Hahaha
He’s big and warm, solid and mine.
There is a very short list of Carter smiles, and this one is my favorite. This one is private, only for us; soft and cozy like sleep-warmed bedsheets and early morning light through the window.
“Love you,” I whisper, and am treated to another Carter smile. This one is the dizzying relief of falling in a dream, only to wake up and find yourself safe on solid ground. This is the smile that’s half joy and half surprise at his own good fortune.
I’ll ask him to marry me one day, to save him the anxiety of doing it himself.
Crying
