Page 46 of Shots on Net

A startled laugh slips out and I smile at him. My stomach, which had been clenched in a knot during that entire exchange is now clenched for a different reason. It’s been less than a week since we’ve seen each other, but it feels like much longer. It feels like I need to touch him to make sure he’s real.

“Hi. I missed you,” I tell him, because I’ve never been able to control the words that come out of my mouth. We’d spoken on the phone during the holidays, but the version of Carter who was with his family wasn’t the one I’ve grown used to. He inhales at these words, long and deep.

“Do you want to go home?”

Closing my books, I slide them into my bag. Standing, I go to sling it over my shoulder but Carter stops me, pulling the strap from my grip and placing it over his own arm. He holds a hand out to me and I immediately slide my fingers through his. Outside, it’s not yet dusk and the air has a definite bite to it. Carter’s not wearing a coat, and his shirt looks thin enough to be no help whatsoever.

“Aren’t you cold?” I ask. I’m wearing a base layer and a sweater, and I’m still cold.

“Nah. Feels good.” He runs his thumb gently over the back of mine, which gives me heart palpitations. “Was that guy bothering you? Before I got there?”

I glance over at him. He’s looking straight ahead, and the half of his mouth I can see is turned down in a frown. “Justin? No. Well, yeah, a little bit. But I know him from when I used to tutor him. He’s…he’s alright, but not someone I’d choose to spend time with, you know?”

The frown deepens, and Carter’s hand tightens on mine. “I don’t like him,” he declares.

“Do you know him?” I ask, amused.

“Well enough not to like him,” he says, haughtily, making me laugh. “Seriously though, was he giving you a hard time?”

“No.” I squeeze his hand back before letting go of him to climb into the car. I think if I answered yes to that question, he’d turn back around to find Justin and beat the shit out of him.

“Good. Because otherwise I’d have to find him and break his jaw. Defend your honor,” he says, stoutly. I crack up laughing and he shoots me a tiny smile. There is something ridiculously funny about Carter telling jokes with no inflection or facial expression. I’ll never get tired of it.

“I feel like you might have already done that. I can’t believe you told him to fuck off. In the library.”

Carter snorts, shaking his head. “What do you want to do? Grab something to bring home or go out somewhere to eat?”

“Whatever you want,” I shrug, and turn slightly in my seat, so I can keep him in view. I feel strange, being this close to him after not seeing him for a week; my skin tingles with the desire to touch him. He glances over at me.

“Let’s bring something home. That way it can just be the two of us.” He clears his throat, flexing his fingers around the steering wheel. Saying sweet things always makes him uncomfortable. I smile wider.

“Sounds perfect to me. How do you feel about pizza?”

When we get home, we set up in the living room. Carter puts the pizza box on the coffee table and doesn’t bother grabbing plates; I grab the paper towel roll and fill two glasses of water. When I get back to the living room, he’s sitting on the floor with his back to the couch. I join him, sitting close enough that I can feel the warmth of his leg through our clothing. It makes me feel shaky with possibility.

“So,” I say, reaching for a slice of pizza, “how was Christmas?”

“Fine,” he grunts. I lean my shoulder against him.

“That’s what you said when we talked on the phone. But how was it really?”

Carter sighs around a mouthful of pizza, shrugging. “My mom throws a party every year on Christmas Eve. They always invite the investors and board members and shit, from my dad’s company. Everyone is all dressed up, and the food is catered and usually pretty amazing.”

“Oh,” I say, mouth twisting as I chew and think about this. My grandma and I usually play board games on Christmas Eve. We spend the entire evening in pajamas, drinking hot chocolate, and eating homemade food. By comparison, Carter’s Christmas sounds kind of awful, but I don’t want to say so and risk hurting his feelings. “Do you like having a party?”

“Fuck no,” he says, with feeling. “I have to wear a tuxedo. And the food is bomb but it’s, like, finger food, so you have to eat a shit ton to feel full. It’s rich people food.”

“Huh. Do you guys do gifts on Christmas?”

“Yeah, they gave me a card with a check inside. The usual.” He shrugs as he says this, as if this isn’t heartbreaking. “What about you?”

“Uhm, yeah, my grandma gave me a couple books and a hat she knitted. I told her we were dating and she felt bad for not making you something. So, don’t be surprised if that’s in your future.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” he mumbles, around a mouthful of pizza. Dusting his fingers off over the box, he climbs to his feet. “Be right back.”

Nonplussed, I watch as he jogs back to the garage and disappears back inside. He’s back a few moments later, carrying something wrapped in a plastic bag and smirking. My stomach falls.

“Hey, that better not be what I think it is,” I warn him, pointing at the bag. I’d convinced him not to do presents for Christmas, since we’ve only been dating a couple of months. It was like trying to convince the sun not to shine.

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