Page 21 of Carry On (Love Doesn’t Cure All #4)

LINCOLN

Work dragged on. Court went fine, the office things I needed to do were simple, but I didn’t want to be there. I wanted to go home, where Nash was. To what? I wasn’t really sure. I knew the two of us needed to have a conversation about last night.

I didn’t have a clue what any of it meant.

The twenty-twenty hindsight had me confused.

Caving to Nash’s influence had been as easy as breathing.

He’d riled me up with his brash approach, but I’d given in with little resistance.

Granted, I wasn’t sure I could call anything I’d done as resisting him.

And fuck, it felt so goddamn good. It scratched an itch I didn’t know I had.

It hit hard on my need to use sex to feel good.

I didn’t want that to be the only time. Going to bed without him had tested my restraint.

A cold shower had kept me in check. If I’d let my dick do all the talking, I would’ve ridden that man into oblivion over and over, all night long.

But Nash wasn’t without complications. Beyond the socio-economic differences, we didn’t know each other. It was obvious he didn’t want my help. My strong-arming him into coming home with me had a limit, one I didn’t want to push again.

“I’m home,” I called out when I finally let myself into my home some time after eight. It was significantly later than I wanted, but I was used to working late.

I was met with absence. There was no response, there was no light on, and it was obvious Nash wasn’t there. He was gone—a fact that shouldn’t have surprised me.

Walking into the middle of my condo, I surveyed everything. Not a single item was out of place. It was as if he’d never been there to begin with.

The only change was the small note left on the island. The same island I’d probably never look at again without thinking of him. A fold of cash sat with the note. I nudged it aside to read the scrawled print.

I frowned and thumbed through the cash. Seven dollars. He’d left me seven dollars for a loaf of bread that wouldn’t even dent my bank account.

Somehow, that pissed me off. Had I made him believe that he owed me in some way? As if my help was conditional? I sighed, knowing full well I’d spend the rest of the night stewing on it with no way of getting the answers I wanted.