A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(63)

Fucking family? What the hell did Austin know about being family?

The Fords were all the same. All they cared about was getting their hands on his money and having more power. And as much as Carter despised every cent that entered his Swiss bank account every month, he wasn’t about to slink off like some black sheep just because the Fords wanted him to.

Suddenly he bolted upright, wide-eyed and frantic. “Shit!” He patted his chest and jeans pockets as though searching for something. “What time is it?”

“It’s three forty-five, man, why? Where’s the fire?”

“Fuck!” Carter cried, running full speed back into the shop to grab his bag and keys. “I’m f*cking late! I’m late!”

He pulled on his leather jacket and shades, and ran back out of the shop toward Kala. “My session!” he called back to Max, then pulled on his helmet and threw his leg over the bike. “I’m late and I said I wouldn’t be! I told her I wouldn’t be!”

“Oh, the tutor,” Max replied as Carter steered the rumbling bike onto the road with his feet. “Hey, if you’re not interested, tell her I’ll show her a damned good time! I always had a thing for redheads.”

He laughed when Carter flicked him the finger before revving the Harley and speeding off like a bat out of hell.

*

Kat drummed her nails on the library table in annoyance, wondering why the hell she’d thought Carter had meant it when he’d said that he would be on time.

Oh yes—because she was stupid.

She was stupid for thinking he’d be on time. She was stupid for looking forward to their time together and resenting him for cutting it short. And she was really stupid for having taken time to reapply a little lip gloss before she reached the library.

She pulled the copy of Walter the Lazy Mouse he’d given her out of her bag and reread the note he’d written. “No matter what the obstacles …”

Well, she thought dryly, the biggest obstacle right now was the fact that the guy would be late to his own funeral. She closed the book and glanced at the clock once again. Four ten. She’d waited thirty minutes the last session. She’d wait twenty this time. She picked up her phone, checking for any messages or missed calls from him. Nothing. The only text she had was from Austin, telling her to have a good day and asking if she had plans on Saturday.

She heaved a sigh, avoiding looking across at the shelves of books where Carter’s large, strong, muscular arm had grabbed her and held her so deliciously—

“Dammit!” She dropped her forehead on the table. “It’s just a stupid crush. Get a grip. Just because he’s pretty doesn’t mean you—”

“Who’s pretty?”

Oh. Holy. Shit.

[page]Kat sat up very, very slowly.

“My … shoes,” she answered, extending her foot so Carter could see the gunmetal-gray Gucci pump. “Aren’t they pretty?” She kept her eyes on her shoes, trying to calm her racing heart.

Carter cocked puzzled eyebrows above eyes that raked over the foot, ankle, and leg she was showing him. “Um, they’re not really my style, but, yeah, great.” He pulled off his jacket and flung it over the back of his seat, grimacing. “So, I know I’m late. And I know I said I wouldn’t be.”

“Yes,” she answered sharply, eager for the change in topic. “Again. I know you have stuff you need to do, but so do I. And your being constantly late just isn’t going to work. We’ve already lost fifteen minutes.”

“Give me a break here, Peaches. It’s only our second session. I’m still trying to find my groove and shit with everything. It won’t be like this forever … I’m trying, okay?”