“You okay over there, Peaches?”

Carter’s voice pulled her back to the park. She looked up to see the top of his nose over his shades bunched into a concerned frown.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she answered. “The spot’s just over there.”

She made her way over to the grass and pressed a hand down to check its dampness.

“Here,” Carter muttered as he laid his jacket down. “You can sit on that.”

“The grass is dry,” Kat insisted.

He shrugged. “Just sit on the damn thing. It won’t kill ya.”

Kat dropped her stuff on the ground. “Thank you.”

Carter dropped down onto the grass, his arm grazing hers. He lit a cigarette leaning back on his elbows, blowing the smoke down his nose. Kat watched him furtively as he looked out across the water, glancing at the children climbing all over the Alice in Wonderland statue situated to their right. He looked devastatingly beautiful.

“I, um … I brought you something.” She reached into her bag.

He raised his eyebrows in expectation. She pulled out her hand to reveal a large pack of Oreos. He grinned and she threw them onto his lap.

“You shouldn’t have.” He chuckled.

She waved him off. “They’re more for me,” she muttered, seeing a questioning expression cross his face. “I know what a grumpy ass you can be without your Oreos, and I don’t need your attitude.” She smiled before delving back into her bag. “And no. I didn’t bring milk.”

Carter sat up, ripping the pack open. “I love these things.”

“I noticed.”

“You want?” he asked, holding the pack out to her while his tongue began doing indecent things to the white cream in the center of a cookie.

She watched, entranced. “Um, no, I’m good.”

Was it even possible to be jealous of a cookie?

She turned from him, grabbing the session resources. She handed Carter his copy, and asked him to refresh her on what they learned about the sexually deviant Donne poem. He didn’t disappoint. It seemed that her gift of calorific cookie beauty had unleashed his garrulous side. She loved listening to him. Hearing his voice, even when he cursed, was like wrapping up in velvet. Much like its owner, it was filled with contradictions. It was soft but firm, loud but quiet, commanding and submissive.

Behind her shades, she closed her eyes and listened. It was a lullaby, easing some place hidden inside of her.

“You like this poem,” she stated when he became quiet.

Carter appeared indifferent. He lay back on the grass, next to where Kat was sitting cross-legged. “I like the metaphors he uses, even if I don’t agree with them.”

Kat waited for him to explain. He breathed deeply, which made his T-shirt rise from the waistband of his jeans, showing a black strip of underwear and a white slice of stomach. She tried not to notice. Really. She did.

“I just don’t buy the whole Sex is like heaven and I’m surrounded by cherubs while I’m getting off thing,” he said finally.

Kat shifted on the denim jacket at his words. She had to keep reminding herself that Carter spoke freely when it came to sex.

Carter propped himself up on his forearm. “Sex is just sex. It’s two people wanting the same thing and doing what needs to be done,” he muttered with a shrug. “It’s raw, hard, and, I don’t know, I mean, for me”—he pointed to himself—“When I’m in bed with a woman …”

His words came to a grinding halt. He looked away.

“Carter?”

“What?” he murmured, playing with the grass he was sitting on.

“You were saying?” Kat encouraged with a dip of her head, trying to catch his eye.

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t get it, so whatever.” He pulled the grass out with his fist.

* * *

Carter couldn’t believe his mouth had run away with him like that. Speaking to his Peaches about his being with other women was just … weird. He didn’t feel embarrassed or ashamed but more uncomfortable with her knowing. Which, considering his reputation, was fucking absurd. She was bound to assume his sexual record was about as clean as his criminal one, yet he still couldn’t find the words to talk to her about his past sexual exploits.

Regardless of whether she wanted to know or not, he wasn’t about to tell her, just as he was sure as shit not going to ask her about the guys she’d been with. His fists tightened at the mere thought.

“You know,” she said, pulling her hair off her shoulders and pushing it up into a messy bun, “I could kill for a popsicle.”

Carter, who’d been watching her play with her hair, nodded. Talking about sex was doing nothing for his attempts at being a gentleman. His gaze meandered across her body. The curve of her neck as it met her shoulders just ached for his mouth along it. He had no doubt in his mind she would be delicious.

“What can I get you?” She pushed her shades up into her hair.

“I’ll have a popsicle, too.” He reached into his back pocket. “Here.” He pulled out a ten-dollar bill. “Let me get it.”

She looked at the money and raised an eyebrow. “Why do you have to pay?”

Carter smiled. “Because I want to. Now get off your feminist high horse and take the fucking money. I owe you for the Oreos anyway.”

With a small smile, Peaches took the bill. “Fine. What flavor do you want?”

Carter reached for his shades and pulled them down his nose, leaning toward her. He stared right at her and whispered, “Peach.”

Once purchased, and with her own raspberry ice, she sank back onto the grass next to Carter, who was lounging on his back. They were silent as they enjoyed the blue sky, the warm breeze, and the cold flavored ice.

“This is nice,” she murmured after a moment.

Carter didn’t reply but licked the remaining juice off the wooden stick in his hand.

She sighed. “I used to come and sit here with my mom and dad when we stayed in New York. We’d play hide and seek and he would always pretend he couldn’t find me, even when I knew he could see me.” Peaches closed her eyes. “He liked sitting here,” she continued. “He liked it in the fall. The leaves would surround us and we’d just sit here.”

“My dad and I would play here, too,” he offered. Her eyes snapped open, clearly surprised at his divulging personal information.

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.”