Carter Ortese is Trouble - completed (The Boys #1)

Chapter 15: Carter

I'm sitting on the front stoop entrance long enough that a portly mall cop comes up to me and asks me to move along. "I'm waiting for a date," I say, crossing my ankles and leaning back on the stairs. I'm not leaving, not until Emma gets here.

His narrow set eyes bulge. "Is she hot?" He grabs the tightly cinched belt around his waist and rocks on his heels, as if the answer to this question will be the most interesting thing he's heard all day.

"How old are you?"

A scowl crosses his face, and his lip curls upward. "Does it matter?" He must be in his late twenties, maybe early thirties.

"Yeah, because your age determines how disgusting your question is."

His pale eyebrows lower over his dark eyes, and he grumbles something under his breath. "You loiter much longer, and you'll have to leave," he adds as a last moment power trip over a seventeen year old student.

"Sure thing." I give him a salute, and he calls me a prick and marches up the stairs to do whatever hired mall cops do.

I sigh and run my hands through my hair. Today, I didn't bother messing with it, hoping Emma wouldn't put in as much effort as she had last time. The place I'm taking her is a short walk from this entrance, and I want our date to be as casual as possible. I want Emma to get to know me, the real me.

The plan is to show her a part of my history and see how she reacts. If there's any backlash, well ... I'll deal with it then.

A few more minutes pass, and she comes right on time, stepping up to the curb in front of me at the exact moment my heart skips a beat. Her hair is down around her shoulders, eyes bright, and she looks grateful to see me, genuinely happy.

I don't think anyone has ever looked at me that way.

"Hey," I say.

"Hi." Her voice is shy, as if we're perfect strangers instead of two people who have known each other since they served us cookies in kindergarten.

I stand up and dust off the back of my pants. Emma is wearing a pair dark wash jeans and loose t-shirt. With every tilt of her head, her amber hair catches the sunlight in different ways and casts a red glow. Her makeup is natural, light, and she looks more stunning than she did in the dress. She's entirely her.

"The mall?" she asks, arching an eyebrow and pursing her lips. "Because my friends were so bored by the idea of us coming here together that they didn't even want to hear about it. 'What good is your dating Carter if we can't live vicariously through you?'"

"They want to live vicariously through you?" I lean against the handrail in the stairway and cross my arms, giving her a cool gaze. "As in, your friends want to date me?"

"Everyone wants to date the bad boy, duh." She tucks her hair behind her ears, then drops her arms to her side. As if at a loss for what to do, her fingers find the edge of her black purse and fiddle with one of the worn seams. Her cheeks redden.

"But I'm not a bad boy."

"They don't know that."

"Why do girls want to date bad boys?"

She shrugs. "Because they're hot?"

"I'm hot," I say, taking a step toward her.

Emma blinks, but stands her ground and straightens her back. "Obviously."

"And you asked me on a date before you knew I wasn't a bad boy."

"Maybe I still don't know if you are or not."