“Are you planning on asking me to move in?” He held it up. “What the hell is in this?”

“Snacks and alcohol, courtesy of Nicole.”

“Well, at least something good came out of her standing you up this time.” He slipped his hand around my waist—sending those familiar, palpable tremors down my spine, as we walked to his car.

We made the short drive to his place without saying much of anything to each other and like always, I adjusted his music from indie rock to soft pop.

I wanted to say something, to laugh and joke about something insignificant, but all I could think about was how badly I wanted to feel his lips on mine again.

“Arizona?” His voice broke me out of my thoughts and I realized he was holding my door open. “Are you going to get out of the car? Why do you always stare into space when the car is parked?”

“Bad habit.” I got out and followed him inside. As we walked down the hallway, we could hear soft moans and groans coming from Josh’s bedroom.

I tried my best to tune them out as Carter led me into his room and shut the door.

“Are you actually going to talk to Nicole about flaking on you this time, or are you just going to let it go like you normally do?” he asked, setting the duffle bag on the floor.

“Honestly? I think I’m just going to stop agreeing to go out with her…She’ll get the point eventually, and maybe then, when she realizes what’s happened, we can talk.”

“Makes sense.” He popped open a drink and handed it to me. “Were you two really planning on watching any of these movies?”

“Why?”

“Because they’re all terrible…” He shuffled through the DVDs. “I know I’m the one who wanted company, but can we bypass the chick-flick thing?”

“In exchange for what?”

“I’ll watch one of your cooking shows in exchange for any of these…When Harry Met Sally? Maid in Manhattan? The Breakfast Club?”

“The Breakfast Club isn’t a chick flick.” I snatched that DVD from him. “I doubt she and I were going to make it through any of these.”

“Good.” He picked up the remote and turned on the TV, flipping it to the cooking channel I was watching before.

The chef had moved on from crème brûlée and was now getting ready to prepare a seven course meal.

Carter handed me the remote and a handful of snacks. “Need anything else?”

“Would you like to take turns painting our nails when the shows goes off?”

“Not at all. Is this a re-run?”

“Maybe. Why?”

“I’m just wondering,” he said, getting in bed behind me. “I wanted to know if I would be able to talk to you during the show.”

“You’re the one who was lonely and needed company. I was just fine.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep.” I turned up the volume. “And even though it is a re-run, and you claim you hate cooking shows, I know deep down you love watching them with me.”

He laughed, but he didn’t say anything else. He pulled me back by my shoulders until I was leaning against his chest.

I swallowed, ignoring the sudden tension between us and kept my eyes glued to the TV.

“Make sure you have the oven preset to 375 degrees. Not 350, not 400. 375…” The chef took out another set of ingredients.

Carter blew a soft breath against my neck and my breathing slowed. I tried to ignore the fact that my heart was now racing, that I could literally feel myself getting wet.

“This is how you want to season the vegetables…” The chef was smiling at the camera, showing off his different brushes, but I wasn’t paying any attention. I couldn’t.

Carter was kissing my neck every few seconds—letting his teeth softly graze my skin, and my body was betraying me by reacting to his every move.

“Could you get us some ice from the kitchen?” I broke away from him once his hands began to massage my shoulders. “And some glasses, please?”

“Sure.” He smiled and stood up, leaving the room.

Shaking my head, I took several deep breaths and tried not to think too much. Then I moved to the other side of the bed, at the end, by his dresser.

Carter returned to the room and looked at me, holding back a laugh as he set the ice on his desk. He filled one of the glasses with juice and walked over, handing it to me.

“Any reason why you moved down here?” he asked.

“The view is better from here. Much better.”

“Do you mind if I join you and see for myself?”

“Yes.” My cheeks were on fire. “Yes, I do mind…You seemed to enjoy the view from where you were on the bed before, so…” I stopped talking once I realized he was ignoring me and moving behind me anyway.

He pulled me against him again and began to run his fingers through my hair.

I tried to zone in on what the chef was saying again, but it was no use. I’d seen this episode hundreds of times, cooked the meal alongside him quite a few times, and I could probably recite his recipe and instructions by memory.

Feeling Carter tug at my hair again, I turned around to face him. “Why aren’t you paying attention to the show?”

“Because I’d rather pay attention to something far more interesting.”

“Something like my hair?” I smiled. “Interested in the type of conditioner I used today?”

A smile formed on his lips and he looked like he was about to say something smart in return, but I beat him to it.

“Are you trying to have sex with me?” I asked.

“By running my fingers through your hair?” He smirked. “If that was the case, I think I would do something far more deliberate than that...”

“Like attempting to kiss me?”

“Attempting?” He leaned forward and pressed his lips against mine. “No. I would just kiss you... ” He didn’t let go of my mouth until I was breathless, and then he pulled me into his lap so I was straddling him.

Without saying another word, he ran his fingers through my hair, kissing my lips again and again.

“Do you…” I paused as he planted a kiss against my forehead. “Do you remember how I said we should forget how that night between us happened?” I asked.

“I have no idea what night you’re talking about.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Is it in reference to when I ‘fucked’ you?” He smiled.

“Yes…” I pushed his shoulder. “Well…”

“Well?”

“Technically, we had sex in the early hours of the morning that day. It wasn’t at night so…We still have the hours of today, which are included in the hours of the weekend, so…I think that we should have sex again but not past today. Because that way…”

“That way, what?” He pulled me close.

“That way we get to use the full weekend of um…sex, to our full advantage…And our friendship won’t get messed up still because I think we can put this behind us when it’s over…What do you say?”

“I didn’t catch anything after you said, I think we should have sex.”