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

Avoiding her gaze, Carter trailed his finger slowly along the strands of her chestnut-red hair lying on the grass. “We’d play by the pond before we would start on the statue.” He gestured with a tip of his head in the direction of the bronze structure covered in small children. He kept his eyes on his finger. “And my mom would …” He exhaled. “My mom would come and take me. It was a passing-off point. Neutral ground for them.”

 

After an age of silence, he heard her sigh. “Maybe we saw each other. It’s a small world, after all.” She looked straight at him. “Sometimes I feel like we’ve known each other longer than we have. Weird, right?”

 

He sat up again quickly, pulling out a cigarette. “Yeah,” he managed. “Really weird.”

 

Peaches followed his position and pulled the bag and her knees closer. “So, I have a question for you,” she said, rummaging in her bag.

 

Carter blew out his smoke, staring despondently at the ground between his bent knees.

 

“Which one do you want?”

 

He frowned when he saw her holding two books in each hand. He coughed a laugh. “I don’t have a fucking clue. Why?”

 

Peaches gave him a pointed look. “We have to study a text, and I wanted your input. Choose one.”

 

“I haven’t read any of them,” he confessed. “I know the basics of this one, but other than that I’m at a loss.”

 

“Well, I love this story,” she said, pointing to the book to Carter’s right, the one that he knew the basics of. “I haven’t read it for a very long time, but it always stayed with me.”

 

He picked it up and read the blurb, his cigarette dangling from his lips. “A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway.”

 

“It’s a really wonderful story,” Peaches added. “But I have to warn you, apart from the descriptions of war, it’s essentially a tragic love story.”

 

Carter flicked through the pages. “Yeah, I know that,” he grumbled. “I’m sure I’ll live.”

 

She pulled out a pad and pen and made some notes. “Do you want to take it home and read it? I can assign you maybe two chapters that we’ll discuss next session?” She huffed. “What’s that face for? We have to do this, Carter. I’m not asking you because I’m being a bitch.”

 

“I know that.” He tapped the book against his knee. “I just thought I was past being given homework.”

 

She smiled. “We’ll talk about the chapters next session and then we’ll read some more together.”

 

“Fine,” he muttered with a wave of his hand. “Whatever.”

 

“You say that a lot,” she retorted with a smirk. “Maybe we need to work on your vocabulary as well.”

 

Carter stared. “Are you fucking around with me?” he asked, narrowing his eyes playfully.

 

She giggled and he poked a finger into her ribs. She squeaked loudly, surprising them both.

 

“Peaches,” Carter whispered devilishly. “Are you ticklish?” He glanced down her body, silently calculating how many places he could touch to make her squeak some more.

 

She adjusted her top, flustered, and picked up her resources to put back into her bag. “Not at all.”

 

“Oh,” he retorted dryly. “Well, that’s good, because I would hate to do this”—he poked her again, causing her to shriek—“and make you squeal like a girl.”

 

“I am a girl,” she snapped, pushing her stuff into her bag.

 

Carter laughed and handed her the remaining papers. “You know what I mean.” He poked again.

 

“Quit it!” Peaches said in a high-pitched voice, slapping his hand away. “You’re so childish!”

 

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Carter replied. He stood up and brushed off the grass attached to his ass.

 

With his helmet in his hand and his jacket over his arm, Carter set off at a slow walk along the edge of the boating pond. It was late afternoon and the park was a bustle of people, running, walking, and playing. Peaches caught Carter looking down at her. She blushed and smiled. He pushed his hand into his pocket as the urge to do something shook his body once more. He thought back to the conversation he’d had with Jack and cursed himself. He was a damned fool if he thought he was going to be able to maintain the friendly, flirty relationship he’d built up with her.

 

He’d thought about kissing her, and now he wanted to … what? Hold her? Yeah, he wanted to hold her, and, fuck, he didn’t hold women. That was too intimate, but dammit if she wouldn’t fit perfectly under his arm.

 

“So,” he croaked. “This wasn’t so bad, right?”

 

“No,” she replied. “It was very pleasant, Mr. Carter. You continue to amaze me with your literary intellect.”

 

He glanced away. “It helps having a great teacher, you know.”

 

“Th-thank you,” she stammered. “But if you’re trying to butter me up to get more Oreos, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

 

*

 

Kat laughed uneasily, brushing off his praise by speeding up her steps. His hand gripping the crook of her elbow stopped her. She glanced up in question when he pulled his shades from his face. When she saw his eyes, she stopped breathing altogether. His eyes were the brightest blue she’d ever seen and they seemed to look deep into her, caressing the parts of her that were aching.

 

“Carter?” she whispered when he took a step toward her. Standing so close to him, Kat felt very small.

 

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