A Pound of Flesh (A Pound of Flesh #1)(85)

Paul sighed. “Yeah. Tried to act as if he wasn’t dying on the inside after losing his woman so soon after losing the baby. Pretended he was all right while he shoved that shit up his nose.” Paul sipped from his beer. “I’m just waiting for something to happen, for shit to hit the fan and—”

“I won’t let anything happen,” Carter snapped.

Paul smiled knowingly. “I know, man.” He clapped Carter’s shoulder. “I know. But you and I can’t always be there for him. He’s a grown man and a law unto himself. I worry.”

Carter knew what Paul meant. Despite their friendship of nearly twenty years, Max would do what he wanted, no matter the consequences. His stubbornness was what the two men argued about most. His best friend was broken, that shit was clear as day, but Carter had no idea how to fix him, or even if he could.

Carter and Paul stood watching the dance floor writhe and bounce. “Sidebar: it’s about time we found you a woman, Carter.” Paul nodded toward a group of women grinding and dipping to the beat.

“Come on, man.” Carter sighed. “I don’t need a woman.”

“Why?”

“Because women are hard work and f*cking trouble. I have enough of that with Max.”

Besides, he didn’t want just any woman. He wanted one very specific woman.

Laughing in agreement, Paul set down another two drinks on the bar. Carter grabbed eagerly at the Jack and Coke and took half of that shit down in one. Yep. That was what he needed. He needed to stop thinking about his Peaches and nut up. He needed to stop obsessing, worrying, fantasizing—

Carter paused with the glass at his lips and blinked twice. Jesus. Was he hallucinating now? He almost broke his neck trying to see—over and around the writhing rhythmic bodies—the auburn-haired woman dancing about thirty feet away from him.

Holy. Mother. Of. God.

It was Peaches.

And f*ck him running if she wasn’t wearing the sexiest dress he’d ever seen. It was black and silk and dipped so low at the back he could almost see the dimples above her ass. Shit. And a bare back meant only one thing.

No bra.

His cock, immediately hard, started biting through the buttons on his fly to get at her, while his heart thumped like a damn hammer. Her body moved like water: graceful and flowing effortlessly. Her hair was up in a twist that was sexy and elegant and the heels she wore would have looked amazing … on Carter’s shoulders.

He swallowed and smiled as she dipped and mimed the words to the song. Her hands moved against her hips, causing jealousy to burst through Carter’s body. It should have been his hands, his fingers gripping her tightly. He managed to drag his eyes from her to see she was ostensibly dancing with a small blonde girl who was wrapped around some dude with a mohawk. She was cute, but Peaches was sex. No, scratch that. More like hot, raw, up-against-the-wall f*cking, and Carter immediately wanted all over that shit.

And apparently so did the guy standing five feet to Peaches’ left.

A growl built somewhere deep and dark within Carter’s chest and his hands balled into fists when the asswipe walked toward her, fiddling with his hair as he did.

Before he could consider his actions, Carter was pushing away from the bar, leaving Paul shouting at his back. He shoved his way through the crowd toward Peaches and the prick who clearly didn’t like his head on his goddamn shoulders. Carter had never been so protective about anything in his life, and the adrenaline that coursed through him was a thing of beauty.

Just as the jerkoff reached out for Peaches’ waist, Carter grabbed his arm and twisted it. Hard. Prick stumbled as Carter pushed him backward. Carter leaned in closely to his ear to make sure he heard every word.