“Do what you want with my sheets, I’m heading to the shower,” I grumble before I take off to the master bathroom to hide my erection. Although, it’s a little too late for that since she’s already seen it.
Lucy
Nash Kincaid’s body is fine as hell. He’s tall and sinewy, so it looks like each of his muscles have been carved from stone, and there are tons of them, from the rounded shoulders and biceps to the eight pack of abs that end just before the hip indentions pointing the way to what’s below the waistband of his boxer briefs. And whoa, buddy, is he very endowed in the area that was bulging!
But best of all is his handsome face that’s long and lean, covered in thick, dark brown scruff along his sculpted jaw models would kill for and eyes the color of warm, golden honey. Before today, I hadn’t gotten a good look at him up close since moving in or on the roof the other night when it was dark. It is a crying shame that he would even consider harming a single hair on his perfect body.
Just goes to show you how love can make you stupid. It doesn’t take a detective to figure out that the divorce papers scattered across the dining table and dated two weeks ago probably have something to do with his dark thoughts. I know from experience how much it hurts when the person you love doesn’t love you back. Only a dumb bitch would give up a man like Nash, who is not only gorgeous but incredibly loyal according to his friend, Malcolm.
While Nash takes a shower, one more item to check off my list of requirements from his friend, I throw his sheets in the washing machine in the hall closet with a boatload of bleach and then gather up all the dirty clothes in the bedroom for the next load, noticing several cardboard boxes of girly things on one side of the closet – candles, lingerie, hair care products and lotions that must be the remnants of the woman who broke his heart. I close the closet door, feeling like I’ve invaded his privacy.
Not that I haven’t been doing that for hours now thanks to Malcolm’s requirements.
Cleaning the apartment took less time than I expected. When I first walked in and saw the damage, I was certain it would take weeks to find the floor and furniture again, but I was thankfully wrong. The place just needed to be picked up and dusted to look like new again.
Now, if I can get some food in Nash and make sure he’s in a good mental state, then my job today will be done. Which actually makes me worry, after some reflection. What excuse will I have to see him tomorrow?
Ah, well, I’ll figure out something.
For now, I load up two plates with breakfast fixings and then take them to the table, placing one on either side of the now neatly stacked divorce papers with forks and napkins since I have questions for Nash about that topic.
By the time I pour us both a glass of the orange juice I bought this morning with the other groceries before coming over, Nash is back. His dark hair is damp and slicked back, and sadly he’s put on clothes – a black, faded Metallica t-shirt and worn blue jeans with no shoes or socks on his bare feet. It doesn’t look like he touched his beard, which makes him maintain the grumpy bear image.
“Have a seat and let’s dig in!” I suggest.
“Are you always like this?” he mutters while pulling out his chair as I take mine across the table.
“Like what?”
“Happy and loud?”
“Most of the time,” I agree since there’s no point wasting time sulking.
Nash picks up his fork and then freezes before digging in, his gaze fixed on the paperwork underneath the plate. Since now is as good a time as any to bring it up, I say, “So you’re recently divorced, huh?”
“Yeah,” he agrees with his jaw ticking before attacking his eggs, shoveling in a forkful.
“Do you miss her?”
Apparently, this question catches him off guard, because he chokes on his eggs. Tossing his fork down on the plate, he grabs his juice and chugs it.
I quietly nibble on my toast while I wait for his response.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I say quietly to myself as I chew that information over.
“You can take it any way you want because it’s none of your fucking business!” he exclaims.
“So, you still love her too. Interesting,” I remark before I take a sip of my juice.
“Why would I still love someone I haven’t seen or heard from in three goddamn years until I got served with divorce papers from her attorney out of the blue?” Nash snaps at me before he finally starts eating.
“No clue. That’s a really shitty thing to do.”
“Fuck yes, it is!” he agrees before picking up his toast and taking an angry chomp out of it. “I should’ve known it would never work. She grew up rich, and I didn’t have shit back then.”
“Did she know that before she married you?”
“Hell yes,” he answers.
“So why would she up and marry you if money was so important to her?”
“I thought it was because she loved me. Guess I was wrong,” he says. “I don’t miss her,” Nash adds, even though we both know he’s full of shit. “I just think I deserved a reason, some closure after waiting so long, you know?”
“Yeah, that’s not much to ask. And you haven’t been with anyone since her?” I ask to see what he says, since Malcolm doesn’t think he has.
“The thought didn’t even cross my mind,” he admits, which is both incredibly sweet and sad.
“You think it’s too late to try and reconcile?”
“The divorce is finalized. We’re done.”
“Yeah, on paper the marriage is
