Page 41 of Carry On (Love Doesn’t Cure All #4)

NASH

Right… okay…” Lincoln muttered under his breath and paced right back the other direction. I watched as he disappeared into his room, talking to himself. The man was losing his mind a little.

I, on the other hand, had been ready for hours and was just sitting on the couch, trying to find something to do. I had no desire to participate in his brand of chaos.

It’d taken us two weeks to get to this point. For two weeks, we worked in tandem to put his plan into action. Well, Lincoln did most of the work. I was directed to work on my food tolerance, sleep schedule, and all that bullshit.

We also spent two weeks in dick lockdown.

I wasn’t a fan of that part of the plan, but Lincoln was insistent that we had other things we needed to focus on.

I would’ve rather focused on sex and forgotten everything else.

The man was a drug, one I didn’t know I needed.

It was so easy to lose myself in him and let the world fade away.

You can’t forget what you are, the voice commented.

Always fucking eager to tear me down.

Being with Lincoln like that was easy. That was mind-numbing.

Letting him consume me made it easy to forget the nightmares and pain—just for a moment anyway.

I craved that. Desperately and a little pathetically.

His taking that away had me wound up tighter than a coil, but watching him spiral as he tried to grapple with control for the day was the push I needed to get me out of my head.

“The wedding photographer will meet us at the courthouse,” Lincoln began once more when he rejoined me.

“Why the fuck do we need a wedding photographer?” I demanded.

His plan was full of weird shit. There were things that I didn’t understand why we needed to have or do.

Things like my suit, a wedding photographer, and dinner.

Why did we need a fancy dinner after? At least I was promised scotch as a reward for the bullshit I was putting up with.

“Because if I were getting married for real, I’d have a photographer,” he said. “People use wedding photographers. It’s a thing.”

“A stupid thing,” I muttered.

“Some people like pictures.”

“It’s stupid to pay people that much money for pictures.” But whatever. If you had the money, throwing it away on a single moment like this probably made sense. I could think of better ways to spend it. “But okay, love bug. If that’s what you want.”

“No,” Lincoln snapped damn near immediately, but his mouth twitched at the corner as he held back a smile.

Mood: lightened.

Mission accomplished.

I’d spent the last week throwing ridiculous names at him randomly just to see what he’d say.

He had yet to agree to anything I threw out, but I couldn’t blame him.

I wasn’t exactly trying to be serious with my choices.

More than anything, I was doing them for the smiles I usually got from him as a result.

I’d become a little obsessed with that brilliant smile of his.

I tried not to think about what that whole mess meant.

He stopped pacing to stare at me—really stare at me.

I couldn’t blame him for the look on his face either.

I was in a suit. A nice black suit with the jacket, tie, and everything.

I looked like a goddamn tool. Flannel wasn’t allowed at this wedding, apparently, no matter how hard I tried to argue for it.

It’s because you know that no matter how much you look the part, you’ll never fit in his world, the voice reminded me.

Like I needed it. I was all too aware of how little I fit into Lincoln’s world.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Ready to sign my well-being away to you in a contract of societal expectations?” I replied, arching a brow.

The look he leveled on me was none too impressed as I got to my feet.

“Sure. Why the fuck not? I’m in a suit, my hair is combed, and I’m painfully sober.

Why not add getting married to the mix?”

“Jesus fuck,” he grumbled. “Your enthusiasm for our fake marriage is so encouraging.”

“Better?” I demanded, plastering on a fake smile. I could be charming when I wanted to be. The loud, genuine laugh he let out was worth it.

“We have a problem,” Lincoln hissed as he hurried toward me. I stood, just leaning against a wall in the courthouse, and waited for him to tell me what to do. I didn’t give a fuck how it got done as long as I got to leave eventually.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I know the judge.”

“What?”

“I know the judge who’s performing the weddings today.”

“Oh.” I nodded slowly as I tried to figure out what the problem was with that. Clearly, I was missing something from the stressed-out look on his face. “Okay, so what do we do?”

Maybe I was a little broken because I wasn’t seeing the problem with the judge thing. Then again, I didn’t understand most of Lincoln’s plan. I had stopped listening to him the moment we started going through it a second time. And a third time. And more. I just wasn’t that kind of guy.

The kind that pays attention? the voice retorted.

I pushed down on the thought, needing a reprieve. I couldn’t handle those thoughts and this wedding at the same time—not on top of the building ache in the back of my skull.

“I don’t…this is bad, right?”

“This is what we had all those conversations for,” I pointed out. Why was he spiraling? Was he regretting his decision to do this? Quietly, I said, “You don’t have to do this, Linc.”

“What?” He frowned deeply. “No. No, we’re doing this. I just…”

I watched as he tried to articulate what he wanted to say. The anxiety on his handsome face killed me. That was my fault. This whole damn thing was my fault. He was putting himself through this for me.

Doing the only thing I knew how, I grabbed him by the fancy tie and pulled him closer until his body was flush with mine.

The little way he sucked in a quick breath wasn’t lost on me.

I liked it. And I enjoyed the way he felt like this, the warmth of his body pressed up against mine.

Maybe it was sordid, all things considered, but still.

Unable to help myself, I brushed my lips against his cheek.

“Thank you,” I said, keeping my voice quiet. “I never said thank you for what you’re doing. I know it’s a lot. It’s more than anyone has ever done for me, so thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Lincoln whispered.

“No, I do,” I insisted. “I can’t say it in front of the judge—we’d probably get in trouble. I think there’s a rule against pissing off the person marrying you and all that.”

“Probably.”

“What I’m trying to say is that I promise I won’t let this arrangement ruin you. I won’t risk everything you’ve built for yourself. If I’m too much of a burden, tell me to walk away, Lincoln.”

“That won’t happen, Lucky,” he said.

But he’ll think it, the voice chimed in. Every single day.

“I know.” I knew he meant that. Lincoln was too good a guy to do something like that. If it was all too much—if I suspected I was too much of a burden on him—I’d have to pull the plug. He’d never tell me.

Tempting everything, I kissed him, reveling in the immediate way he melted into it. I kept it brief and simple—once, twice, three times—before I pulled back slightly.

“Practice,” I murmured against his lips.

“Have to make it look good for the judge,” he agreed and closed the distance once more, kissing me lightly.

“Good Lord, you two are so cute!” The exclamation had us both turning to where Jackie—or maybe it was Stacy—was taking pictures of us.

“I forgot she was there,” I said under my breath.

“Me too,” Lincoln replied. “Is that bad? I hired her.”

“No, but it’s fucking funny,” I retorted, making him chuckle. “Let’s go get married, stud muffin.”

“No.”

“No to getting married?”

“No to stud muffin.”

“Okay, buttercup.”