Page 98 of Carry On
“Can I help at all?” It was a stupid question. I had no idea how I could help him with his job.
“Oh, you’re good,” Lincoln told me. “I just need to get out of here. If you need anything, I’ll have both my personal and work phones on. Just text me, call me, send a fucking pigeon, whatever.”
“Ah, the pigeons.” I chuckled.
“All you have to do is monologue, and they’ll listen,” he retorted, making me laugh harder. “It’s good to hear you laugh.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“It’s not a big deal,” he replied.
“You didn’t have to go that far just to help me, Linc.”
“I know.” He smiled, easy and genuine. Fuck, I liked his smile—a lot. “But I wanted to.”
Did he?the voice countered.
I shoved it down as much as I could, trying to push away the worry that he didn’t mean what he said. Lincoln was a man of words. When he spoke, he meant them. I just had to keep remembering that.
“Don’t hesitate to call if you need me,” he reiterated as he walked in my direction. Hand on my forearm, he leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. The gesture of affection was quick and natural, but it made my brain glitch because this wasn’t us. At least, it wasn’t supposed to be. From the look on his face, he had the same thought.
“Did you just—”
“Nope!” Lincoln answered curtly. He turned fast and strode straight to the front door. “Have a good day, Nash.”
He was out of the condo before I could reply. That still didn’t stop the small smile that damn kiss left me with.
CHAPTER 66
LINCOLN
NASH: What do you want for dinner?
I’ll figure it out later.
NASH: I’m here, doing fucking nothing again. The least I can do is make food for you.
It’s fine. I’ll probably have Chinese food delivered when I get home.
I’m going to be late.
NASH: How late?
I don’t know.
Afterthebiggestfumbleof my fucking life—yes, the onewhere I kissed Nash goodbye—I did everything I could to be home late. I wasn’t sure I could face him. It took everything I had not to book a hotel and avoid going home for the next week.
Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell was wrong with me?
A goodbye kiss? That was domestic relationship shit. That wasn’t a fucking-around-while-committing-insurance-fraud activity.
I had to get my shit together. I had to remind myself that this wasn’t permanent. This wasn’t a relationship. This was a business transaction of sorts. Ultimately, putting a few boundaries up would help. That, or using work as an excuse not to go home.
It was almost nine-thirty when I quietly let myself into my condo. The smell of food stopped me in the doorway. Nash stood in the kitchen, drifting between the counters and what looked like a wok. I frowned. I didn’t own a wok. He paused long enough to smile at me, and I felt the gesture down to my very core. So much for boundaries.
“That smells good,” I commented as I slid out of my dress shoes and joined him in the kitchen.
“I’d hope so,” Nash said. He grabbed a spoon off the counter and scooped out a small amount from the wok. Holding it out to me, he ordered, “Open.”
