A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(53)

Once she was through the door and out of sight, he blew out an uncomfortable breath. “Fuck.”

Peaches was normally so in control. He relied on her discipline to keep him calm. Their sessions would sure as shit not work if they continued to behave this way with each other. Maybe the whole tutoring thing was going to be an utter bust. He put his shades back on and headed back to the car.

Max was chuckling. “Something you wanna share?” He waggled his eyebrows.

“No,” Carter snapped back at the double entendre. Realizing how protective he sounded, he laughed, attempting to hide his annoyance. “She’s just a lit tutor, that’s all.”

“Tutor, huh?” Max asked, glancing back at the door she’d disappeared through. “Well, f*ck, she could tutor me anytime with that ass. That’s some hot junk in the trunk.”

Carter held his tongue and smiled tightly while keeping his eyes on the handle of the car door. “Really, I hadn’t noticed.”

Max snorted and pulled his car keys from his pocket. “That settles it, brother. We need to get your ass laid.”

This, Carter had to laugh at and agree with wholeheartedly. He needed to relax and clear his mind of all this bullshit. He was a free man and he was ready to enjoy every minute of it.

*

Carter had never been a homebody.

From the age of nine he’d been shifted from one wretched place to another. If it wasn’t from one boarding school to another equally pretentious one, he would, usually after coming to blows with his father, crash on friends’ sofas or floors. He always got itchy feet from staying in one place for too long.

That’s just the way his life was: unsettled.

So he was surprised when he was hit with an overwhelming sense of relief as he pushed the key into the lock of his loft apartment on the corner of Greenwich and Jay in the TriBeCa neighborhood of Manhattan. He pushed the door open and took a moment to allow the smells of the place to wash over him.

Max nudged his back. “You planning on going in there?”

“Yeah.” Carter took a step into the apartment and closed the door behind Max, who had his box.

Carter threw his keys onto a small table and surveyed his home. High ceilings, wooden floors, and cream and brown furniture. His vintage guitar collection remained on the walls along with the black-and-white photographs from a local artist he’d collected over the years. Ornamental Harley and Triumph parts scattered the apartment, shining in the sun that swept in through the ten-foot-tall windows.

Max had arranged a cleaner to visit once a week while Carter was in prison, to make sure everything was just so.

“The place looks good, right?” Max asked.

Carter smiled. “Yeah, it does. Thanks.”

“Hey, no problem.” He moved around to the large double stainless steel fridge and opened it to display a large stock of alcohol. “Surprise,” he said with a laugh. “Just for you, my friend.” He opened two bottles of beer and handed one to an amused Carter.

“To your freedom,” Max said solemnly as they clinked their bottlenecks and then took a gulp. Carter had never been happier that alcohol wasn’t prohibited as part of his parole conditions, even at ten in the morning.

He belched loudly in appreciation and grinned. “I needed that.”

Max handed him another. “So, Carter, free man extraordinaire, what’s the plan for the rest of the day?”

Carter sipped his beer thoughtfully. “Well, I need a goddamn shower. And a haircut and a good sleep in my own bed.”

Max rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Carter, is that the best you can come up with?”