“Thanks.”
Carson’s gaze flipped to the house and then back. “So you and Slade…?”
Atticus looked back as though that would make more sense when he said, “No. I’m just stayin’ here.” He turned to Carson. “For now. In his guest room. I mean … we’re … kinda … I don’t know.”
There was a flash of something familiar in Carson’s eyes, but Atticus couldn’t quite place it.
“How’re you doin’?” Atticus nodded his chin toward Carson’s house. “You seein’ anyone?”
Way to play it cool.
A very sexy smirk formed on the corner of Carson’s very sexy mouth. “No. I’ve been waitin’ for you to come back.”
Atticus frowned. “Really?”
He expected Carson to laugh and play it off, but his expression remained serious. “Yes.”
Well. Atticus wasn’t sure what to do with that. Sure, there was a rush of endorphins flooding his system, and he might feel as though he could walk on air by the admission, but was he supposed to believe that? Had Carson really spent the past month waiting for him?
Deciding not to broach that subject just yet, he asked, “And Slade?”
The glimmer in Carson’s eyes faded somewhat. “I tried.” He looked down at his work boots. “He wouldn’t give me a chance to explain.”
Atticus could tell it bothered Carson that Slade had pushed him away. Because he had feelings for Slade? Or because he felt guilty for how he’d treated him in the past? Atticus had pondered those very questions for the past month, wondering if his fantasy of being with both of them could even come to fruition. There was just too much friction between Carson and Slade. Yeah, it might translate to one night of intensely hot hate sex, but it would end there, and though four weeks of abstinence had given Atticus a renewed sense of erotic motivation, he wasn’t looking for a one-night roll. Not with them. There was too much potential for fallout, considering he worked with Slade and lived in the same small town as Carson.
“Hey, do you wanna grab some breakfast?” Atticus asked because he’d vowed he would no longer take a backseat in his own life. He didn’t want to wait around for things to happentohim. He wanted to be the one whomadethem happen. For the past month, he’d channeled Brantley and Reese, attempting to emulate their take-charge attitude. He figured with time, it would set.
The glitter in Carson’s blue-gray eyes returned. “I would.”
“The diner work for you?”
Carson nodded.
“I’ll meet you there?”
Another nod.
Atticus turned toward his truck, but he was stopped when Carson put his hand on his wrist, tugging gently. He turned back to find Carson had moved much closer.
“I need to know what this is,” Carson said softly.
He zeroed in on Carson’s sexy mouth, although he tried not to. “For right now”—he met Carson’s eyes—“it’s breakfast.”
“And after? Is this gonna be another reason for Slade to hate me?”
“Do you care?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He faced Carson more fully. “But Slade knows whatIwant, so it’ll be up to you to prove to him whatyouwant.”
It took a moment, but Atticus saw the moment Carson realized what he was telling him. This thing … between the three of them … it didn’t make sense on so many levels, but Atticus couldn’t help but wonder that, deep down, those levels didn’t matter. Deep down, itfeltright, and for him, that was all that mattered.
Carson leaned in. “I missed you, Atticus.”
Atticus stepped forward, pressing his lips to Carson’s because, again, he wasn’t going to wait around for things to happen. “I expect you to prove just how much in the very near future.”
Carson’s soft gasp was muted when Atticus kissed him. He didn’t expect Carson to kiss him back, so his knees nearly buckled when Carson’s big hand curled behind his head as he took control, his tongue interrupting the gentle mating of lips. Atticus didn’t hold back either; he gave himself over to the heat that had been building and let it consume him for that too-brief moment.
