The Carter Project ✓

two

0 2

✱

HE CLOSED HIS door.

          It made perfect sense, considering the fact that leaving his door opened was a one-way ticket to a noise complaint, but I still felt a bit let down.

          In a moment of pure desperation and resulting idiocy, I decided that Carter was right, that I did need a beer after the events that had transpired earlier. I didn't want to face the rest of this night sober and there was wine in the fridge, but my mother would rather I get drunk at some trashy, underage party than cut into her private supply of Rosé.

          So here I was, in front of Carter's door without a clue what to do. Of course, I could open the door myself or be polite and knock so someone else could open it for me and formally invite me in. I just wished it had been propped open so I could slip in completely unnoticed. I didn't want to stay for long or talk to anyone I knew from school, because that would be just awful. Carter definitely heard my whole dilemma, or at least, he definitely heard me sobbing next door which meant his other guests sure did as well.

          I lifted my hand to the doorknob and grabbed it, ready to twist it only for it twist the other away and make twist my hand along with it. "Dammit," I cursed as the door opened and none other than Carter Abrams had stepped out.

          So I had definitely said that for more than one reason.

          Carter Abrams was looking like a hot mess tonight. With extra emphasis on the mess part in particular. His light brown hair was messy, almost as if he just woke up before he started throwing his party, or just finished doing something I wasn't sure I wanted to know the details of. He was wearing a white, button-down shirt with none of the buttons done, both sides of the shirt freely hanging off his frame while said frame was exposed beneath it. Rock hard abs set against his olive-toned skin, he was almost deadly to look at. His jeans were black and ripped, so he must've been playing a show with his band somewhere, sporting the usual attire I've seen pictures of him in.

          "You came?"

          Those were the first words that spilled from out of his mouth as he looked me up and down. And before I could respond to him, the next words were "what the hell are you wearing?"

          "Make a girl feel pretty much," I nagged, rolling my eyes at him. I was upset that he didn't make it a minute without insulting me, but then took a look past him and I realized he had all the reason to. The girls I could see inside were wearing dresses or skinny jeans and crop tops with sneakers. I, on the other hand, looked like I had just rolled out of bed in my baggy shirt and gym shorts with a pair of house slippers on my feet. Of course, I had just rolled out of bed and I lived right next door to him, it just hadn't crossed my mind to get dressed up to go over if I was only going to walk the length of the hallway between us.

          He sighed before brushing past me and walking the short walk to my door which I had closed behind me. Carter gripped the handle, shaking it roughly before realizing I had locked it too. "I hate locked doors," he mumbled under his breath.

          What an oddly specific thing to hate, but I didn't put up a fuss, he seemed frustrated enough.

          "I can open that for you, I have my—" I started, reaching into the pocket of my shorts for my house keys, when he withdrew an object from his own: a Bobby pin. He had to be kidding me. I've only seen those work in movies and any time I would try to use them in real life ended up with me sitting on the floor in defeat for an hour before walking to the next closest house besides Carter's and waiting for my parents to get home. There was no way he was going to pick my lock that easily.