He turns and tilts his head at me. “Yeah?”
“Why have you never pursued Fallon? The two of you …” I shrug. “You two always made sense to me.”
His grin doesn’t fade. “You’ll have to ask her.”
He walks backward a few steps with his hands in his pockets, then turns toward the boardwalk.
“Had fun! Good night.”
“Me too. Night,” I call out.
He rounds the corner, and my eyes go up to the third floor. Carter probably heard the entire conversation.
The heat that was missing all night floods through me so fast that my hand grabs my heart. My skin prickles as the ocean crashes behind me. I take the stairs to the second floor and move into the lobby. It’s dark, except for the soft glow from the lamp in the living room that Gran keeps on at night. I take the stairs to my room. My door is at the end of the hall, where the narrow staircase leads up to his floor.
I reach for the knob, and footsteps come from above. They’re careful, but the stairs give him away. Carter rounds the corner, wearing a gray T-shirt and shorts. His hair is messy, and he looks like he’s been running his hands through it.
We stare at each other across six feet of hallway.
“Hey,” I say. “Scared me.”
“Hey. Sorry about that.”
His eyes slide down my body and come back up. The smell of his cologne overtakes me.
“Need something?” I ask, and my voice comes out steadier than how I feel.
“Nah. Can’t sleep.”
“Try warm milk. Works for Gran.”
His mouth twitches. “I’ll pass.”
“Seems like there’s a huge crowd at Cocktails & Chaos tonight. Might be fun if you’re bored. Anyway, night.” I should go into my room and close the door. I reach forward for the knob. All I need to do is turn it and step inside.
He takes another step down, then one more. Now he’s at the bottom, and the space between us disappears. His blue eyes move to my mouth for a second, and the heat rolls through me so fast that my grip tightens on the doorknob.
Travis touched my hand at dinner, and I felt nothing. Carter glances at my lips from three feet away, and my whole damn body responds.
Neither of us moves.
“Wendy.”
“Don’t.” I shake my head. “We talked about this.”
“I know.”
“So, go upstairs. Read your terrible books.”
He doesn’t react. His hand lifts, and his fingers trace along my jaw. It’s light, barely there. His thumb brushes along my cheekbone, and I lean into his hand instead of stepping back.
“We should stop,” I whisper.
“We should,” he says, and then our lips brush together. “Tell me to.”
“No.” I grab the front of his shirt.
His mouth opens wider, and his hands find my waist. Suddenly, I’m stepping backward until my shoulders rest against my bedroom door. The knob digs into my hip, and I twist it behind me. The door swings open, and we stumble inside.
