Target on Our Backs Page 4

  "Yeah, right," I say, reaching over and snatching her book from her. She protests and tries to snatch it back, standing up like she's about to pounce and attack me over the damn thing, but I push her off as I look at it. Functionalism. I read the definition at the top of the chapter twice, but it's nothing but gibberish to me. "Whoa, is this even English?"

  She rolls her eyes, once again trying to take the book, but I thwart her attempt as I flip pages. A few chapters in I run into a stack of papers—notes. I'm about to hand it back to her, not wanting to mess up whatever kind of chaotic system she has with the thing, when my eyes gloss over the top paper. It's a stream of definitions, notes written around them in the margins, but up top, front and center, is a little scribble, a boy's name is a lopsided heart.

  Leo

  "Leo?" I squeak. I fucking squeak. "Who the hell is Leo?"

  As soon as the words are out of my mouth, she forcefully removes the book from my hands, closing it and shoving it right into her backpack, like she hadn't needed to study in the first place. Functionalism be damned. I stare at her incredulously as her cheeks flush, turning bright red.

  She's blushing.

  Melody Carmichael, ever confident and controlling, is blushing.

  Holy shit.

  "Who is he?" I ask. "Oh my God, Melody, you better spill it right now, or I'm going to think you've got a thing for DiCaprio."

  She shrugs. "He's not so bad."

  "No, not Titanic DiCaprio," I tell her. "Not Romeo and Juliet DiCaprio. Not even Wolf of Wall Street DiCaprio. I'm talking real DiCaprio. On his yacht DiCaprio. Full beard DiCaprio."

  Melody makes a face of horror, shuddering as she turns to me. "No way."

  I cock an eyebrow at her. "You got a thing for dad-bod's?"

  Laughing, she throws a balled up napkin across the table at me. "Oh, God, shut up!"

  "Who is he?" I ask, grabbing the napkin and throwing it back. "Tell me!"

  "Okay, okay!" She holds her hands up. "He's just… he's nobody, really."

  "Nobody? You're drawing his name in hearts and he's nobody?"

  "He's just a guy I met," she says. "We've been out for coffee a few times."

  "Coffee?" I gasp, grabbing my chest in mock horror. "But coffee is our thing!"

  She continues to blush. I'm absolutely baffled. First, Naz rolls his eyes, and now Melody is blushing. I woke up in the Twilight Zone yesterday, and I don't know how the hell to get out of it. I don't know if I even want to.

  "It's not serious or anything," she explains. "I don't even know if that's something he's looking for."

  "But you hope."

  "But I hope," she admits, sighing as she leans closer to the table, smiling giddily. "He's just… wow. He's perfect in every way. Absolutely perfect."

  Uh-oh. I've heard this before.

  I heard this about Paul.

  "Perfection isn't real," I point out.

  "Puh-lease," she says, waving me off. "You married perfection, did you not?"

  A sharp bark of laughter escapes me at that. "Hardly. Naz is… he's great. Naz is what I want in life. But perfect? No way."

  I'm sure he'd agree with that.

  "But he's perfect for you. You're both, you know…" She waves toward me, like that's supposed to make sense of it all. "In the words of Meredith Grey, you're dark and twisty, okay? He's all intense and you're all complex and you're frankly weird, okay? You both are. But it's a good weird; you know… it's a mutual weird. Sometimes he scares the hell out of me and sometimes you confuse the hell out of me, and together the two of you just… you make sense."

  I stare at her as she finishes babbling. "We make sense."

  "You do," she says. "And Leo… I don't even know how to explain it. He makes me feel like I'm the only other person in the world, like nothing matters more than me in the moment. He listens to me… really listens. And it's crazy, I know, because after what happened with Paul, I didn't think I'd ever feel this way again, but I do." She sighs. "I do."

  I don't even know what to say. I'm happy for her, of course, but it worries me at the same time. Paul was the first guy she'd ever kept around for a while, and well, we all know how that turned out.

  Well, I know how that turned out.

  To most, he's just missing, vanished into thin air. They still hope he might someday come back.

  I know better.

  Another one of those bite-me-in-the-ass questions I asked Naz.

  "That's great," I tell her, meaning it for the most part. I'm glad she's finally moving on with her life. "When do I get to meet the lucky guy?"

  "Uh, I don't know," she says. "Maybe we could double sometime."

  "Double? Like in a double date?" I ask. "I think me and Naz might be kind of beyond the whole double date thing."

  Or rather, Naz is beyond dating.

  "Yeah, you're right." She laughs. "Besides, I should probably get him to do more than take me for coffee before I start making plans."

  "Probably," I agree, smiling as I watch her pack up her things. "I've got my fingers crossed."

  "Me, too, girl… me, too."

  "Leo," I muse over the name. "He's not like a, uh, tubby mountain man looking motherfucker, is he?"

  "DiCaprio? Nah, he's not that bad."

  "No," I laugh. "Your Leo."

  "Oh, no way." Standing up, she slings her backpack on her back. "He's gorgeous, way out of my league."

  "Nobody's out of your league, Melody."

  She smiles, giving me an awkward one-armed hug, before planting a sloppy kiss right on my cheek. "And that's why you're my best friend, Kissimmee… you truly believe that. I'll see you later, okay?"

  She's gone before I can even respond, jetting out the door to class so she isn't late for her Philosophy test. I sit there for a moment, sipping my tea, before getting up and heading outside with it. I'm done for the day and consider just grabbing a cab, as one is just sitting there, begging to be grabbed, but at the last second, I think better of it.

  Pulling out my phone, I request a car instead.

  They're there within a few minutes, a man I vaguely recognize. I've ridden with him before, but I don't know his name. He opens the back of the car for me and I climb in, settling into the seat for the trip back to Brooklyn.

  When I arrive, I let him open the door for me again, because these guys get kind of angry when I do it myself. I don't know if it's policy or if they're just afraid of what Naz will do if they don't, so I oblige it, annoyingly, for the sake of keeping peace.

  I watch as the car pulls away and turn to head for the house when I catch sight of another car parked in front of the place. The four-door unmarked black Ford sticks out like a sore thumb, with its darkly tinted windows and half a dozen antennas.

  Detective Jameson is leaning against the bumper, his arms crossed over his chest. The moment I look his way, he pushes away from the thing, heading right for me.

  Awesome.

  "Miss Ree—uh, Vitale," he says as he stops in front of me. "Mrs. Vitale."

  "Detective," I say. "What are you doing here?"

  "We didn't get a chance to really talk yesterday, so I thought I'd stop by."

  "And what, interrogate me?"

  "Hardly," he says, feigning offense. "I simply wanted to take a moment to offer my congratulations."

  "For what?"

  He nods his head toward my hand. "Your marriage."

  "Oh." Absently, I tinker with the ring on my finger. "Yeah. Thanks, I guess."

  "I would've said it yesterday, but you disappeared before I could. Your husband did, too, for that matter. He was gone before I even arrived. He was there with you, wasn't he?"

  "You tell me," I say. "You'd know."

  Turning, I start to leave when his voice stops me again. "Curious, though, how it all happened so fast."

  I should keep walking. I know I should. But I want to know what he means by that. "What?"

  "It's just that, well, the two of you rushed into marriage," he says. "So it's jus
t a bit curious to me, you know… makes me wonder if it has anything to do with marital privilege, if maybe he made it so you'd never have to testify against him about anything."

  I recoil when he says that, almost like he slapped me right in the face. How dare he belittle what we have? "Are you accusing him of something?"

  "Should I be?"

  "Naz didn't do anything," I say. "He was eating lunch like the rest of us. Just another innocent bystander."

  The detective shakes his head. "If that's the case—"

  "If you'll excuse me, I'm done with this conversation," I say, moving to leave, not turning back around this time. "Goodbye, Detective. You can see yourself off our street."

  I don't give the man a chance to try to goad me into more conversation. When I reach the front door of the house, I chance a peek back, seeing he's gaping at me. Guess he didn't like what I had to say. Going inside, I make sure to lock the door behind me, dropping my things right in the living room as I stomp through the house.

  Jackass.

  The moment I step into the kitchen, my footsteps falter. Naz is leaning back against the counter by the sink, exactly where he had been when I left hours ago. It's as if he hasn't moved an inch all day.

  "So what did Jameson want today?" he asks right away.

  "You knew he was out there?"

  "Of course."

  Of course he did.

  I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, cracking it open to take a sip. "He wanted to know if we got married so I'd have some kind of immunity from testifying."

  Naz seems genuinely surprised by that. "Oh really? What did you say?"

  "I said I didn't need immunity because you weren't guilty of anything."

  Immediately, Naz laughs, the kind of loud laughter that can't be contained.

  "This time," I elaborate, narrowing my eyes at him. I'm glad he finds this funny. "Regardless of what you think, you did nothing wrong yesterday."

  "Whatever you say."

  "Anyway…" I roll my eyes. "I can't believe you knew he was out there and you didn't do anything about it. You didn't even try to stop him from talking to me."

  "You're a big girl. You can handle yourself."

  I nearly choke on a drink of water when he says that. For the second day in a row, he let me fend for myself when it came to the police. Old Naz would've never risked it. Old Naz would've micromanaged that shit. "You're sure putting a lot of faith in me these days."

  "I trust you," he says.

  "You trust me?"

  "Of course."

  Those words stun me. Maybe they shouldn't after everything, but they do. Trust was always shaky between the two of us, and part of me figured it would just always be an issue, so to hear him say, point blank, that he trusts me, is almost mind blowing.

  Although, truthfully, I suppose I've come to trust him, too.

  "I married you, Karissa. I wouldn't have actually done that if I didn't trust you with my life. My faith in you was sealed the moment I put that ring on your finger."

  "Because I belong to you now."

  "No, because you belong with me. I decided to keep you that day, for better or for worse."

  "And what happens if I decide someday to no longer keep you? What then?"

  "Huh." He stares at me. "Haven't thought about it."

  "You haven't?"

  "No."

  "You seriously haven't considered what would happen if I tried to leave?"

  "Not at all," he says. "Back… before… I would've just dragged you right back. But now, if you walk away from me, I suppose I just hope I don't miss you."

  "You hope you don't miss me?"

  "Yeah, but I don't think it would be a problem," he says, pushing away from the counter, strolling toward me. "After all, I'm a pretty good shot."

  I gasp when it strikes me what he's saying, and he grabs ahold of me, wrapping his arms around me, laughing. He's laughing.

  "Not funny, Naz," I growl, trying to push him off, but he refuses to let go. "Not funny at all."

  "Ah, come on," he says, kissing the top of my head before loosening his hold. "Admit it… it was a little funny."

  I glare at him, not at all amused, which only makes him laugh even more.

  "Look, you really want to leave me, Karissa? Then I suppose I just… watch you walk away." He shrugs, as if it's just as simple as that, as if he'd just let me go. "Are you trying to tell me something? Planning your escape?"

  "No, of course not," I say, shaking my head. "I don't even know why I'm asking. I think the detective just threw me off with what he said."

  "Well, it's nonsense," he says. "You've had ample opportunity to send me up the river… you could've easily gotten me locked up long ago just by opening your mouth. I didn't need to marry you to gain your silence. You've given it to me from the start. If you didn't turn on me then, when you had plenty of reason to, I trust that you won't do it now, ring or no ring. I married you, Karissa, because I love you. Nothing more, nothing less."

  As many times as he's said those words… I love you… it still makes my stomach flutter to hear them come from him. The butterflies soar. He's not an outwardly emotional person, not at all, so when he says it, I know he means it.

  Wrapping my arms around his neck, I reach up on my tiptoes and kiss him. His lips are soft, sweet. His tongue tastes like peppermint. "I love you, too, you know."

  "I know."

  My gaze shifts past him, out into the backyard. Killer is running around, excitedly chasing butterflies, wanting to play with them. He'd never dare hurt one. Naz usually puts him out there whenever it's just the two of them alone.

  My guys, they still aren't quite fond of each other.

  "So I guess you really did do nothing today," I say, turning back to Naz, looking him over, as my fingertips tinker with the hair at the nape of his neck. He's dressed nice. He smells like Heaven, woodsy and aquatic and so very him. He even shaved this morning. It's a rare occurrence, Naz being completely clean-shaven. "I don't know why you bothered to even put on a suit."

  "I've told you before… I don't need to do anything to put on a suit. I'll put one on to answer the door, to order take-out, to sit at my desk… hell, I'll put one on just to fuck."

  A chill rolls through me, tingling creeping up my spine. "That sounds nice."

  "Which part?"

  "Fucking."

  "Huh." He leans down, his nose brushing mine. His cheek comes to rest against my cheek as he whispers in my ear, "Is that what you want? Me to take you upstairs and fuck you silly, Jailbird?"

  It still gets to me whenever he calls me that. Jailbird. I can feel my body flushing, every inch of me warming in anticipation. "Uh-huh."

  I can barely get the response out. My voice is breathy, needy. He chuckles quietly at my obvious reaction, his lips lightly skimming along my skin, his teeth grazing my earlobe. My eyes close, feeling his hands slip beneath my shirt, stroking the skin along the small of my back before his rough fingertips trail up my spine.

  I lose myself in the moment, practically panting and close to just climbing him like a fucking mountain, when a loud noise echoes through the kitchen around us, startling me. My eyes snap open. I instantly pull away.

  It's a song, I realize, after a second, as it continues blaring.

  Hotline Bling.

  What the ever-loving fuck?

  Groaning at the interruption, Naz reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. The ruckus... the song... is coming from it.

  Seriously. What?

  He casts me a look as he presses a button on the phone, silencing the sound. I think he might've hung up on the caller, with the way he just stands there, but he brings the phone to his ear after a moment. "Hello."

  I can't hear whoever is on the line, but Naz listens intently, his expression guarded. "Give me about twenty minutes and I'll be on my way."

  He hangs up, slipping the phone back into his pocket, and advances toward me but I hold out my hands to stop him. "What the hell wa
s that?"

  He hesitates. "What?"

  "That song," I say. "That ringtone."

  "Oh, you don't like it?"

  "I, uh..." What am I supposed to say? "I don't know, do you?"

  He shrugs. "It's not the worst I've heard."

  He tries to kiss me, leaning in, but I move my head out of the way. "No, seriously, Naz, what the hell? Where did it come from?"

  He gives up, at least temporarily, and takes a step back, cocking an eyebrow at me. "I downloaded it today. Figured I could use a new ringtone."

  "But that?"

  "What's wrong with it?"

  "Nothing, but..."

  "But what?"

  "But it's not you."

  "Not me?"

  "Besides, you don't even like music. You told me it was just noise, and pointless, and you didn't like it."

  "True."

  "So what the hell? Is this, like, some kind of mid-life crisis?"

  "Ouch," he says, laughing. "I'm not that old."

  "Okay, you're not, but really... what gives?"

  Different.

  So goddamn different.

  He stares at me in silence for a solid minute, long enough to make me start to squirm under his gaze. Finally, he steps forward, his hand slipping around the back of my neck, gripping it as he steers me toward him.

  "I'm down to fifteen minutes before I have to leave," he says, his voice stone cold serious. "So do you want to talk about Drake some more, or do you want to go upstairs and fuck?"

  Well, when he puts it like that...

  "Fifteen minutes," I say. "Is that long enough?"

  His expression cracks at my question, a cocky smile turning his lips as the dimples come out. "Sweetheart, all I need is five."

  "I'll take the second option, then," I tell him, "but I see no reason to have to go upstairs for it."

  Naz's face hovers in front of mine, his mouth so close I can practically taste his breath. Softly, his lips brush against mine, as he whispers, "I like the way you think."

  I go to kiss him, but before I can, he spins me around so my back is against him, his arm snaking around my waist, gripping me tight. He drags me across the room, shoving me against the kitchen counter so hard that it knocks the breath from my lungs.

  I gasp, inhaling sharply, as he unbuttons my jeans and tugs on them, yanking them down my legs. I try to help, try to kick them off, and manage to get one leg free before he gives up. One of his hands slips down the front of my panties, his fingers roughly stroking my clit, as his other works on his own zipper, doing nothing more than yanking it down to free himself. He strokes his cock a few times before pushing my panties down my thighs, giving up when they reach my knees.