Carson tugged the shoes from his feet, then peeled off his socks. Edwin had nice toes. It was a little weird to think so, because most people would never characterize toes as nice, but in Edwin’s case, it was true. They weren’t hairy or knobby. The nails were neatly trimmed. Carson couldn’t be sure, but it looked like Edwin indulged in the occasional pedicure. He moved from Edwin’s feet to his belt, unhooking the buckle. He moved slowly, though he doubted he would disturb Edwin at all.
It almost seemed like he had been drugged.
The thought brought Carson up short, a chill rolling down his spine. He didn’t have a problem with the fact that Edwin had once been an addict. Especially since Edwin had insisted he was living completely clean. But the thought of Edwin—straitlaced, clean-cut, conscientious, funny Edwin—fucked up on drugs made Carson more than a little sick. It didn’t seem right. It seemed like a weakness that Edwin couldn’t—shouldn’t—have.