Stacking the Deck (A Betting on Romance Novel Book 2)(58)

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, I’m leaving. No one needs to beat me over the head to take a hint.” She stood and shuffled around Carter. “Better get those flowers in some water, you two, before they wilt.”

Liz nodded. “Yes. Of course. Right away. Thanks for coming.”

No sooner had the door closed behind her relatives than Carter stepped closer, his fingers still holding hers. “I’m really sorry.”

“For ditching me or the drug bust?”

He winced as she regained her senses and yanked her fingers away. She starting opening cupboards in search of a vase.

“I suppose you have a right to be miffed,” he said.

“I’m not miffed, I’m mortified! They have a picture of my bra on the front page of the paper!”

“That’s actually partly your fault. I would have been happy to keep it in my pocket.”

She stared, bug-eyed, at him for a moment then shook her head at the absurdity of it all. “Touché.”

“Come on. You have to admit. It is kind of funny.”

“You’re not the one with your underwear on the front page.”

“Would it make you feel better if I were?”

Liz found a vase and began to fill it with water. Her lips twitched. “Maybe.”

“Think of it as the education you never got in school.”

“I think I’ve done just fine without knowing what it feels like to be almost arrested.”

He stepped closer. “Who cares if people saw your underwear? You were complaining last night that everyone still thinks of you as Brainy Beacon. This is your chance to redefine yourself. You don’t always want to be on the outside of life looking in, do you?”

She frowned, stuffing the flowers into the vase. “Who says I’m on the outside of life?”

“Come on. You’ve never been almost arrested. You’ve never ridden a motorcycle. Never gone without a bra in public. How many other things are on the Liz Beacon ‘never’ list?”

“Are you saying I’m boring?”

“No, but why do you shy away from... living? Even when you were a teenager, you played it straight and narrow. I never saw you cruising around town, drinking at the quarry or skinny dipping at Miller Brook. How come?”

“Maybe I saw what unhappiness saying ‘yes’ to those kinds of things could bring to a person—a family—and I didn’t want any part of it. You’re right. I never did do drugs or drink or any of that other stuff most teenagers do. I went to college. I made something of myself. I wasn’t about to be some loser who—”

“Is that what you think I am?” His words cut through her rant, and suddenly she realized how she’d sounded.

“No. Of course not. I was only saying—”

“Don’t bother. I think I know what you were saying.” Liz’s chest grew tight with regret as his playful expression faded. He stepped away as if to leave.

“Carter, wait!” Liz threw her back against the kitchen door, blocking his chest with her palms. “I wasn’t talking about you, I was talking about other people… people like my brother.”

His eyes pierced hers, dark, haunted. Hurt. “And how am I different than him? You know my past isn’t squeaky clean. I never finished college, Liz. Never ‘made something of myself.’ I think you’ve made it perfectly clear what you think of me.”

“I don’t think you have any idea at all.”

“Name one thing that differentiates me from someone like your brother,” he demanded.

She stared at his mouth, at the firm, set line as serious and defiant as his senior picture. “For one thing, I never wanted to kiss him.”

Her eyes flew up as she uttered the words, as the shock of her own frankness drew an answering look of surprise—and awareness—on Carter’s face.

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, the air trapped in her lungs, her mind a riot of thoughts, feelings. But then she realized she felt more than the urge to kiss him. How could she tell him she’d always admired his dogged optimism and carefree attitude—despite his tragic childhood? He’d lost his parents at a young age, gone into business with his uncle when college hadn’t been the right fit. He was self-assured, sexy and unrepentantly stubborn—everything Liz had always wished she were and wasn’t. Plus, she’d had a killer crush on him since before she had braces.

“I should hope not,” he finally said.

“I’ve never thought of you as a loser,” she whispered.

His mouth tilted at one corner. “I’ve never thought of you as boring.”

Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips as the air sparked between him. “Thanks for the flowers.”

“You’re welcome.”

She stared at his mouth. It was softening now, the corners lightly curving. “I imagine you have to get to work,” she said to his lips.

“It’s Saturday. It’s raining. I don’t have to be anywhere.”

She nodded, afraid to look him in the eye. Afraid of what she might see there. If he didn’t kiss her, if he walked away, she’d know he didn’t return her interest. That was fine. She could live with that. She had thus far, hadn’t she?

But what if he did kiss her? What would she do? Would he stop at one kiss? Should she stop him? Did she want to? Would he sweep her away? She didn’t need romance, per se, she—