Page 21 of Carry On
“And do you pick up men who sleep in the park often?” she demanded. “I caught him brushing his teeth across the street the other day! Just staring up at the building.”
“He’s a friend from back home.” He plastered a well-practiced smile on his lips. “You do know what friends are, don’t you, Mrs. Moore?”
I couldn’t tell if he was being genuine or sarcastic, but my money was on the latter. He didn’t wait for her to answer. Instead, he tipped his head toward the elevator, and I trailed after him.
Jesus fuck, even the elevator was top-notch. Everything was digital and fancy. The damn thing even greeted us as the doors closed.
“You could’ve come upstairs, you know,” he commented as the elevator started up toward the third floor. “You didn’t have to stare through the windows.”
“Woman doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” I grumped. “Fucking senile.”
“She’s forty-two.”
“Young and fucking senile,” I corrected. Lincoln chuckled, a smooth sound I felt in my core. I glanced at him briefly to catch the smile he wore. Fuck, I liked that smile. I shouldn’t, but I did.
CHAPTER 16
NASH
EverythingaboutLincoln’shomewas damn near out of this world. Clean, rich, and comfortable. From the big kitchen to the wide open living room, from the bedrooms to the bathroom. I couldn’t imagine living in something like this every day. He was oblivious to how uncomfortable I was while he gave me a quick tour of everything.
It just reaffirmed how wildly different our lives were. This was his everyday—his baseline of living—and I struggled to even walk in his space. I didn’t belong here.
You don’t belong anywhere,the voice said.
I shoved it down. Or at least, I tried. I didn’t need to deal with it and everything else right now.
The sheets alone in the guest bedroom probably cost more than everything I owned combined. I wouldn’t sleep in them. Couldn’t sleep in them. The floor was fine. He did give me spare clothes for the night and gave me use of the washing machine. That’d come in handy if I could bring myself to use it. I hated the idea of his bills being higher just because I was here.
The only thing I readily used was the shower. I was in desperate need of one, and it just sounded nice.
I stood under the scalding water, head bowed, as I let the water run over me. Fuck, it felt so goddam good. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken a real shower. Months. Literal months. Most of the time, water wipes had to do or a quick rub down with sink water in a public bathroom. There wasn’t much I could do about the buildup in my hair, but it worked for everything else.
This was heaven.
The world melted away, and the heat and comfort seeped into my skin. Layers of dirt and grime rushed down the drain in a dark river as I scrubbed my skin until it was damn near pink. The raw sensation was welcome if it meant feeling honestly clean.
Knots and oil build-up in my hair added a whole new level of difficulty. One rinse wasn’t enough. Neither was two. Every time, more crap came loose. I lost hair down the drain as I worked my fingers through my long strands, but it was worth it. I couldn’t remember the last time my hair looked or felt dirt-free.
And when everything was said and done, I started all over again because I didn’t have a fucking clue when I’d be afforded the luxury of a shower again. Not one with real soap and filtered water. Not one where I could take my time to truly wash myself. And certainly not one where I didn’t have to worry about unwanted guests or someone stealing my shit.
I also had no desire to get out, so I didn’t.
CHAPTER 17
LINCOLN
TheuncomfortableexpressiononNash’s face plagued me. It was obvious that he didn’t like being here. Hell, the car ride over had been awkward, as if he didn’t know how to sit in a car. The socio-economic differences were a glaring red flag between us. I wanted him to feel safe here, to breathe a little easier.
But if anything, I had a feeling he was more wound up than before.
Maybe the forty-minute shower would help. Well, forty-five and counting. At least something in my home had been inviting enough for him to use. I couldn’t imagine that the options to get clean while unhoused were plenty.
How did he take care of his basic needs?
A multitude of scenarios ran through my head as I made a late-night snack—or attempted to because all my usual go-tos didn’t sound appealing. I had an island full of random ingredients and no clue as to what I wanted to make. Somehow, I settled on dipping coconut strips in melted chocolate with the promise I’d work it off later.
“What the hell are you making?” Nash’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts, and I turned. Yeah, I shouldn’t have done that. He stood in my living room wearing nothing but a towel wrapped low around his hips. The lack of clothing showed off his lean body. Somehow, despite hissituation, he managed to maintain lightly toned muscles from head to toe. Both arms were covered in full sleeves made of mountains, forest scenes, and more. A compass tattoo on the left side of his chest faded perfectly into the design, while a large raven filled his right side. His long hair was damp and hung around his shoulders, sending droplets of water over his chest and abs—ones I wanted to lick up.
