Carson relaxed once more, tightening his hold, hugging Slade from behind.He liked this.The familiarity.He’d missed this since their breakup.It was rare for Carson to become familiar with anyone because his relationships were generally short-term and at arm’s length.For a reason.When he tried to get serious, things never worked out.
He’d been slightly disappointed when Atticus had taken everything off the menu except for sex.He understood it, even agreed with it.But he’d been hoping for more.Hoping he couldwantmore.Sex was the easy part.Too easy, sometimes.Carson had thought there might be a future for him and Atticus, him and Slade.After his last conversation with Atticus, the illusion was fading, which was probably why he was there, in Slade’s bed.Attempting to see if there was anything left to salvage.
Slade’s hand covered his, their fingers linking before Slade pressed Carson’s palm to his chest.
“Why’re you here, Carson?”
So he does know who’s in his bed.
“Because I miss you,” he admitted.
“You mean you’re horny?”
Leave it to Slade not to believe him.
Carson attempted to pull his hand back, but Slade tightened his grip.Asshole.That had been his plan all along.Not to show affection or intimacy by holding his hand, but to keep him from pulling away when he shot one of his all-too-familiar barbs.
Two could play that game.
“I said it right the first time,” Carson whispered, pressing his lips to Slade’s shoulder.He bit back the other words that threatened to spill—more explanations, more apologies—because Slade wouldn’t hear them, no matter how loud he was or how many times he repeated himself.Slade was far too determined to cling to the past, to continue punishing Carson for all his misdeeds.
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch,” he said, feeling relief when Slade’s grip loosened, but he continued to hold his hand.“I wanted to see you, so here I am.”
“At five o’clock in the morning.”
Technically, it was almost 4:30 a.m., but Carson didn’t correct him.Instead, he said, “I wanted to see you before you went to work.”
“See me?Or were you hopin’ to find Atticus in my bed?”
Carson heard the doubt in Slade’s tone, but that didn’t explain why Slade was still holding his hand, keeping him close.Every now and then, his thumb would brush over his, gently, reverently.
“Will you just give me this, please?”Carson pleaded, not wanting to fight with him.
“Let me guess, you thought Atticus was in here, and you needed to know for sure?Or better yet, you already fucked Atticus, and he told you to give me sloppy seconds.”
“Goddammit, Slade.”Carson jerked away, flopping onto his back.“Why the fuck can’t you just let the past go?”
“Why can’t you just be honest with me?”Slade retorted.“We both know who you really want and that you’re willin’ to take the consolation prize—me—when he’s not available.”
Carson sighed.He didn’t bother telling him that Atticus was likely asleep in his bedroom, and he could’ve gone there instead.It wouldn’t matter what he said or did.It wasn’t like Slade would believe him.
He was starting to think the man would never be capable of forgiving him.
Atticus rolled over to look at theclock.
His alarm was set for six because he needed to run an errand before he went to HQ, and now that he had a case to work, his priorities took precedence over sleep.
4:37 a.m.
What the fuck?
Frowning, he rolled back over, intending to utilize the time he still had.He barely got the blanket pulled up when he heard a gruff shout from the other room.It was followed by a slamming door.
Throwing the blanket off, he got to his feet.He considered grabbing his gun but opted to leave it.One day, that would be a bad idea, but he recognized the voice, so he knew that all-too-familiar tantrum wasn’t coming from a stranger in the house.
Atticus opened his bedroom door and stepped out into the hallway, nearly colliding with a very pissed-off Slade.
