Page 20 of Carry On
A quick double beep echoed off the walls, and the headlights of a sports car blinked. I stopped to admire it with its custom blue color, sleek lines, and tinted windows. It was the kind of car that cost a pretty fortune all by itself. It was the kind of car I couldn’t fathom sitting in, let alone owning.
Lincoln paused as he opened the door, turning toward me. Those blue eyes considered me with a stare that made me uncomfortable. I shrugged my shoulder slightly, adjusting the straps of my bag and my guitar to sit better, while I tried to come up with something to say. This was it. This was where our weird little encounter ended. The best thing was to say goodbye and get the hell out of town. It only made sense to put some distance between Lincoln and me before I continued to do stupid shit because of him.
You do the stupid things all on your own,the voice commented.
“Get in the car, Nash,” he ordered. He wanted me to do what?
“I don’t need a fucking ride.” I didn’t need him driving me around. I could take care of myself.
“You do if you’re coming home with me,” Lincoln shot back. “You owe me, so get in the car.”
What exactly did he think I owed him? The whole going home with him to do so didn’t go over well with me.
“I play for money, Linc,” I said, minding my words. “I don’t do other… stuff.”
He recoiled quickly with a look of surprise on his face.
“Jesus fuck, Nash! I’m not asking forthat!” he exclaimed. “You need somewhere to stay that won’t have you calling me again to bail your assout of jail, and I have a guest bedroom. So, you’re coming home with me, eat something, maybe take a shower, and get a good night’s sleep. Let me help you.”
Oh.
“No, I’m good.” I didn’t need his fucking charity or his pity.
Well, you are pitiful,the voice cut in.
“I’m good,” I repeated. “I don’t need your fucking charity.”
“Okay.” He ran his tongue over his lower lip as he considered my words. I naturally tracked the movement, drawn to it like a moth to an open flame. “My initial consultation fee is five hundred dollars, and it’s three-fifty for every hour after that. I’ve been here almost two hours dealing with everything.”
“Three hundred and fifty?” I demanded ludicrously. “That’s what you make an hour?”
There was no way in hell I could afford even a few minutes of his time.
“Yeah.” Lincoln nodded. “So, either you can pay my fee, or you can come home with me for a night and let yourself breathe a little. You pick.”
I frowned, his words touching a nerve. I couldn’t say no. It wasn’t like I could afford to pay him, and he knew that. And why was I fighting him anyway? The man was offering me a bed, a shower, and food. Most people in my position would kill for an opportunity like this.
Yes, but most people deserve to be helped. Not you, the voice stated.
“Fine,” I bit out. But I wasn’t going to like it.
Driving there had been an uncomfortable endeavor. I didn’t know how to exist inside a car as expensive as his. I was dirty head to toe. That was the reality of my life. I worried about what kind of mess I’d make just by sitting there, even after he assured me that it didn’t bother him in the least.
Lincoln’s condo was ten times nicer on the inside than it was on the outside. So much so that I didn’t know where to step when we entered the lobby. The floors were made of marble—the kind you could tell was real and not some fake lookalike shit. Each tile was worth more than my entire life.
While he stepped into the mail room to grab his mail, I waited awkwardly in the lobby. The security guard at the desk watched me like a hawk. Like I’d fuck something up, even without moving.
As I stood there counting the minutes, the front door opened and the park lady walked in. Her expression transitioned to horrified when she saw me. That horror gave quickly to anger as that nose turned up at me.
“I toldyouthat this is a private area of town,” she sniped. This fucking woman. “You don’t belong in here.”
Even she knows where you belong,the voice chimed in.
“I’m sorry, ma’am—”
“He’s with me, Mrs. Moore,” Lincoln announced loudly as he stepped out of the mail room. “He’s my guest.”
The bewildered expression on her face was entertaining.
