Max put one in his mouth and hummed in pleasure. He offered the bag to Carter, who took two for himself.

“So, what else is up?” Carter asked after a moment of Oreo-appreciative silence. Max averted his eyes from Carter, who dropped to the floor next to him. “Since when do we keep secrets, Max?”

“I don’t have any secrets,” Max answered with a shake of his head. He looked so weary. “You know all there is to know.”

“Oh, really?” Carter countered. “So, if I know everything, when exactly were you going to tell me that you’re doin’ blow on the regular again?”

Max kept his eyes on the floor between his feet. “It’s just recreational, man.”

“I thought you were going to cut that shit out,” Carter said in exasperation.

“I know. I tried; you know I did. But it takes the edge off.” He rubbed his face with a somnolent hand. “I’m not … I’m not sleeping great. Truthfully, I haven’t slept great since … since she … Look, it gives me a boost.”

Carter’s stomach clenched for his friend and his inability to speak about the woman who’d broken his heart. He looked so lost. He nudged Max’s shoulder with his own. “I’m here if you wanna talk about Liz—”

Max’s head snapped up, his eyes burning. “Don’t.”

Carter sighed. “Okay. But you need to be honest with me.” Carter gave Max a pointed stare, which Max accepted with a slow nod.

Honesty had always been so important to the friendship they’d built over the years: honesty and trust.

“Dude, you look like shit. Your temper’s raw. You’re handling an expensive habit. Paul told me the books for the shop aren’t good. If you kick this shit, you know I can help you with the money side of—”

Max shook his head. “No, Carter. I don’t want your money. I’ve told you before.”

“It’s not my money,” Carter bit back. “It’s Ford money.”

“Whatever,” Max continued. “I’m not taking it. After you went to Kill for me and Liz …” He trailed off, the name clogging his throat with emotion. Then he coughed a bitter, cold laugh. “What a waste of fucking time that was.”

“Have you heard from her?” Carter hedged softly. Max rarely spoke of the woman who, by walking out on him and disappearing without even a “fuck you,” had shattered his heart six months after Carter was sent to Kill.

Max shook his head before he dropped it back against the wall. “Nothing. Not even a fucking text. Nothing since the day she left.”

Carter placed a hand on Max’s shoulder and squeezed, hating what Lizzie Jordan had done to his best friend. Because of her, the son of a bitch was brokenhearted and nursing a coke habit that was liable to land him in prison, or worse.

“The offer’s there, okay?” Carter said softly. “I’ve got your back, man, you know that, but I’m on parole. I gotta watch my back, too.”

His parole wasn’t the only reason to keep his nose clean, though. Contrary to popular belief, he’d pulled away from all the drug shit a year before he was sent to Kill.

“It’s all good,” Max said, his mask of indifference sliding over the pain. “It’s under control, I promise. Hey, I’m meeting a couple of guys next week for a sweet deal that’ll clear everything. You want in?”

Carter’s infuriated eye roll made Max laugh. “Asshole. Yeah, let me just call my parole officer and ask if that’s okay.” He thumped Max’s arm. “You be fucking careful, you hear me?”

Carter’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Standing and moving away from Max, he pulled it from his overalls and smiled.

Peaches.

Try not to be late again.

“That your tutor?” Max asked with a knowing smile. “Shit, son, when you gonna hit that?”

“Shut up,” Carter grumbled.

Max laughed again, his game face back on. “What’s with you and her, huh? Is it that way?”

Carter cleared his throat. “No,” he breathed. “It’s not that way.” He licked his lips and looked at his best friend.

“Sure,” Max teased. “If you haven’t boned already you’re desperate to, man. It’s written all over you. Not that I blame you. Damn.”

Carter held back the growl of possessiveness that threatened to creep up his throat. “It’s complicated.” He paused. “She’s … she’s Peaches.”

Max’s eyes popped wide. “Peaches? The girl in the Bronx, with the dad who— No shit?”

Carter raised his eyebrows. “Shit.”

The night Carter had saved her, he’d told Max everything. It was only then, with his friend at his side, adrenaline still coursing through his veins and the sound of gunfire still resonating around his head, that he’d openly wept from the fear.

Max scrambled from his place on the floor. “Does she know? I mean, have you said anything to her?”

Carter clutched the bridge of his nose. “No. I haven’t. I wouldn’t even know where the fuck to start.”

Max crossed his arms over his chest. “I hear ya.” A small smile tugged at the edges of his mouth. “Damn, brother, after all these years. You found her.”

Carter smiled small and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

Max smacked a playful hand to Carter’s biceps. “Get on that. Girl done grown up good.”

Carter snorted. No shit. Though Max’s suggestion that he hit it and quit it would ordinarily have his panty-dissolving smolder firmly in place, with his Peaches it seemed too … crass. She deserved more than that.

He glanced at the clock. It was three fifteen. Less than one hour until he saw her. He texted back.

I wouldn’t dare.

And he was only half kidding. He’d been more than a little surprised at her reaction to his tardiness at their first session. She’d looked ready to rip his head off, and he could see where she was coming from, but, damn, girl had a temper. Not that he was one to talk. But after the whole stern-talking-to, falling-off-ladder debacle, the session had gone pretty well.

It was strange how time passed so fast when he was with Peaches. It seemed so easy to be with her. He liked her sass and enthusiasm. It made him remember his own love of the written word, and he liked talking to her about the writer’s word choices and the intricacies of it all.

In fact, he liked talking to her, period. Talking to her—and now touching her. He couldn’t help but think about how soft her hair was when he’d pushed it behind her ear, or the silkiness of her skin at the back of her knee. Would her skin be that soft all over?

He cleared his throat and shook his head of the image of her wrapped around him as he pounded into her among the bookshelves.

Christ.

He wanted more. And not just in the let-me-see-what-you-look-like-naked sense.

What would it be like just to have an everyday conversation with her? The day she’d spoken about her father and the book he read to her was one of the best days he’d had inside Kill. He’d gotten a glimpse of the Kat Lane who existed outside of the prison walls, and now that he, too, was outside, he wanted very much to see more.

What might her reaction be if he asked her some more personal questions? Only questions about her likes and dislikes, not like her bra size or anything—though he’d wondered about that shit, too. They looked like they would fit in his hands perfectly. His body immediately reacted to that particular thought, which was more than a little embarrassing when he was surrounded by a bunch of guys.

His body still seemed to find it impossible to settle down when he was around her or when he thought about her. Regardless, as much as he would have loved to suggest they just get fucking down to it, he knew she wasn’t that type of girl. He was fairly certain that if he ever heard of any man treating her that way, he would have no problem with fucking. Their. Shit. Up.

His possessiveness could be a problem.

“Carter?”

He came from his thoughts and looked at Cam, who was motioning toward the entrance of the body shop.

“There’s a guy here to see you, man.”

“Who?” Carter asked, putting his coffee down.