Page 16 of No Strings Attached

“I’m starving,” Morgan said, and a second later, Sam’s stomach growled. “How about I make us a late lunch?”

“In your house?” Sam didn’t want to be out in public. Not when he knew Daryl was actively looking for him. When the guy finally caught up to him, he’d finished what he’d started.

“Right in my kitchen.” Morgan opened the driver’s door.

“But I thought you had to go back to work,” Sam said.

“My boss knows I’m helping you. He’ll cut me some slack.”

Sam got out and followed Morgan inside, hoping the guy was telling the truth because he didn’t want the deputy to get into trouble because of him.

Nice people were rare, and as wary as Sam was, something deep inside of him told him that Morgan really was a standup guy and that maybe this offer was genuine. Only time would tell.

Chapter Six

As much as he wanted to rest, Sam eased out of the softest bed imaginable the following morning. He wasn’t going to lie around until he healed. Sam was going to make sure he did his job so Morgan wouldn’t expect another form of payment.

Not that he thought Morgan was anything like Daryl, but it hadn’t been a full seven days since his attack, and the fear of Morgan saying he wanted Sam to fuck his friends had him heading for the stairs to see what needed to be done.

He gripped the railing tightly, taking one step at a time, stopping once or twice when his back pitched a fit. Wincing, Sam finally made it to the first floor and blew out a few breaths.

Yesterday evening, Morgan had gone to the pharmacy to fill Sam’s prescriptions. Before bed, Sam had taken two pain pills, only because Morgan had insisted.

Sam had always been afraid of anything stronger than an aspirin. His father had hurt himself on the job and had become addicted to pain medication. Whenever he ran out, Fred Mercer turned into a tyrant.

That was a fate Sam didn’t want. He could do this. It was just mind over matter.

Sam shuffled around the first floor, finally finding the laundry room. Bending hurt like a son of a bitch, so it took him over ten minutes to transfer the small amount of clothes from the basket to the washing machine.

Once the load was started, Sam moved as quickly as he could to a chair in the kitchen. He wanted to lower himself slowly, but his back was hurting so badly that he dropped instead.

“Fuck!” He gritted his teeth and fisted his hands, praying the pain subsided soon.

“What in the hell are you doing?”

Sam couldn’t even turn at the voice behind him. “Practicing for the yelling competition I signed up for.”

Morgan moved around the chair then stared down at him. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“You give me a guest bedroom and I do the housekeeping.” Sam reminded him of their deal.

“After you heal,” Morgan said. “I’m taking you back upstairs.”

Sam shoved Morgan’s hand away when the guy reached for him. “I feel isolated up there.” It wasn’t a lie.

“Fine, then you can rest on the couch.” Morgan scooped Sam into his arms like he weighed nothing and then carried him to the living room. When he lay Sam down, Morgan grabbed the remote by the television.

If Sam could have gotten up, he would have, but he couldn’t even push himself into a sitting position. His back was throbbing so badly that he wanted to cry. “You’re not paying me to lie on my ass all day,” he argued.

Morgan squatted in front of the couch. “Our deal takes effect after your back is healed, Sam.”

“Then what?” Sam gritted out, partly because of the pain and partly because he was so angry. “If I’m not working, I’ll owe you. Sorry, but I’m not going to have you wanting another form of payment.”

Something passed behind Morgan’s brown eyes. “Is that what you think? That I’ll want sex to make up for the days you’re recovering?”

Sam looked away. “No one does anything for free.”

“Goddamn it, Sam.” Morgan stood and ran a hand over his head as he walked a few steps away. “I’m not the dirtbags you’ve dealt with. I don’t expect you to spread your legs because you’re lying on my couch and not doing any housework.”

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