Page 49 of Trusting You
14
Locke
The hug.
I’ve had way more than that from women, mostly naked, yet I can’t stop thinking about that brief contact with Carter.
Never mind the feel of her breasts against my chest, her body molding against mine, the thin slip of her dress separating my hands from hitting soft, bare heat. It’s more than the sexual hit of skin on skin, and it’s precisely that reason I’m still high on it.
The fucking hug.
Lily’s quiet on our trip back from the zoo, zoning in and out of sleep as we take the subway and a short stroll home.
When we turn onto my block, I see a figure near my door, leaning with one knee up against the brick while he scrolls through his phone. By the time I’m half a block away, I’m resigned to listening to what Asher has to say.
“What’s up,” I say once we’re near enough.
Asher raises his head and pockets his phone. “I texted but got no reply. Thought I’d wait a while, see if you showed. Hi, sweetie.”
He bends, giving Lily a wave.
“Here I am,” I say while digging for my keys. Finding them, I unlock the door and wrestle the stroller in, figuring Ash will follow.
“Want help?”
“I got it.”
“Why are you pissy?” Asher asks as he shuts the door.
Without asking, he takes the front of Lily’s stroller while I lift the back, and we climb the stairs together.
“I’m not,” I say.
“Bullshit.”
“Whatever you say.” We set Lily’s stroller down at the top, and I go about unstrapping her. Ash eyes the multiple packages framing my doorway, flat rectangles in brown wrapping.
“What are these?”
I look up briefly from Lily. “Uh, stuff for Carter looks like. Paintings.”
“Paintings?”
“Yeah.” I’m holding Lily and unlock my door with my free hand. “She’s a painter. Artist.”
“Uh-huh.”
I set Lily on the floor to crawl around for a bit while I make her a bottle.
“She’s sure bringing a lot of stuff with her,” Ash says, making himself comfortable on my couch.
I assume he’s talking about Carter. I head into the kitchen. “She has this idea where she’ll display some of her work at the coffee shop at the end of the block. She’s made friends there. I figure it could be good exposure for her.”
“While she’s here.”
It isn’t a question. But I’m busy measuring formula and thinking about Carter’s decision to bring in income. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that artist portfolio money would barely float her in NYC with a roommate, never mind with a kid on top of it. But she seems so determined to pull her weight, or at least feel like she’s doing it. I can pretend to accept her cash then sneak it back into her boxes or bag when she’s not looking.
“How is this working out for you, anyway?” Ash asks from the main room.