Page 18 of Carter

I enter the break room. It’s set up as it always is for staff meetings, but there are a few fewer pizzas than usual. Lines of soda. Junk food. I like that about Carter—he might be a health nut, but he knows when to let loose.

I recognize the pizza boxes—he’s ordered from my favorite place, Michelangelo’s. I read the sticker on the top box. It’s Hawaiian chicken. My all-time favorite. I peek in the box and the sight of the chicken and melty cheese, dotted with barbeque sauce and grilled pineapple has my mouth watering. I haven’t been eating much and suddenly, I’m starving. My stomach growls.

“Hungry?”

I look up at Carter. He fills the doorway. His muscles bulge beneath his tight black shirt. It’s the shirt that makes him look so ridiculously hot, it has all the women giggling and whispering when he wears it to teach class.

His eyes smile softly beneath his disheveled blond hair, giving him an adorable look to compliment his rock-hard body.

My pussy tightens. My heart heaves in my chest.

I can’t believe he’s no longer mine. I feel as if the wind has been knocked from me.

I put the tip of my tongue to the roof of my mouth—a trick I once read in a magazine that helps you stop yourself from crying. I break his gaze, no longer able to stare into those green eyes—it hurts too damn much. Instead, I look around. I clear my throat and ask, “Where’s everyone else?”

He shrugs. “They’re all at a Monster Truck Rally in Poughkeepsie.”

My brows raise. “We weren’t invited?”

He looks at his sneakers. “I think we turned them down too many times. They’ve stopped inviting us to stuff.”

We. Us.

“Right,” I say.

“They forgot to tell me they were going tonight, until after I’d already ordered the pizza. They took most of it with them, but I told them to leave the Hawaiian.”

His gaze rests on mine. He looks about as lost as I feel.

“Well, let’s eat. We’re still staff, and I’m hungry.” I take a paper plate from the table he’s set up and hold it out to him.

A peace offering.

He hesitates. He takes the plate.

We prepare our food in silence. Awkwardly leaning over one another. Would you like a drink? Yes, please. Napkin? Sure.

We sit down at the big round table. It seats eight. We are as far apart from one another as we can get. The room is quiet. Too quiet.

“Hang on. I think I know what we need.” He leaves the room.

While he’s gone, I go to the sound system. I plug in my phone. I put on his favorite station, Techno Mix. Why not? He’s gotten me the pizza.

I feel a little hope well in my heart—maybe we can be friends.

I sit down, waiting for him to return.

He comes back into the room. He’s holding a fifth of rum.

“No way. You had that in the back?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Toby gave it to me when he left last week. A little thank you for being a great boss present.”

I smile and say, “You are a great boss.”

He gives me a look, hesitates, then half smiles and opens the stopper, pouring some into my glass of cola.

I take a sip. It’s sweet and it burns on the way down. It hits my empty stomach and I take another, bigger gulp. A moment later, I feel relaxed, floaty. “Thank you.”