Target on Our Backs Read online

  Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone and toss it to her. It lands right on her chest, and she huffs as she picks it up.

  "Find me something else," I say. "But so help me God, Karissa, if you choose that Bieber twit…"

  "Ugh, gross." She grimaces. "I would never."

  She browses music as I continue to rub her feet.

  It only takes a minute before a loud ruckus breaks the silence, high-pitched piano notes mingling with what sounds like kids shouting over a drum beat. It's obnoxious. Karissa tosses my phone back, and it bounces off my lap, hitting the floor.

  Instinct takes over, and I almost step on it.

  I almost stomp on the fucking thing just to get it to be quiet.

  "What is that?" I ask, reaching down and snatching it up, pressing the button on the side to silence it right away.

  "One Direction," she says.

  "Seriously?" I shove her feet off of my lap. "That's even worse!"

  She gasps as she sits up, grabbing her chest. "No way! Take it back!"

  "Please stop."

  "You're crazy! One Direction is the greatest band to ever grace the stage!"

  "You're being ridiculous."

  "They're utterly brilliant, the best thing to ever come out of the UK," she says, grabbing ahold of me when I try to stand up. Before I can move, she pushes herself across the couch and climbs into my lap, straddling me. "Rolling Stones, what? Beatles, who?"

  My hands find their way to her hips, holding onto her, as I stare at her pointedly. "You're embarrassing yourself, Karissa."

  She laughs, like I'm not being dead serious, and presses her lips to mine before I can say anything else. She kisses me passionately, deeply, tongue gliding out and meeting mine. After the night I've had, it's a welcome change. I couldn't think of a better distraction. She hums against my lips as my hands move from her hips, sliding around the curve of her ass. I groan when she shifts in my lap, rubbing herself right against my crotch. It doesn't take much, just a warm brush against my cock for it to stir, standing right at attention for her.

  I shift my hips up, slowly grinding against her, eliciting a gasp from her as she breaks the kiss. My lips trail down her jawline, making their way to her neck, as she whispers something.

  Something I don't quite hear.

  "What was that?" I ask, my teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below her ear.

  She repeats herself again, and again, her voice breathy, almost melodic. It takes a moment before the words strike me, for me to realize what she's doing.

  She's singing the fucking song my phone was just playing.

  "That'll be about enough of that," I say, grabbing her hips and shifting her right off of me, back onto the couch, as I get to my feet. She tries to cling to me, laughing, but I peel her off and walk away.

  "Wait, where are you going?" she asks, turning to watch me.

  "To take a shower."

  "But your, uh, situation," she says, motioning right toward the crotch of my pants. "Don't you wanna take care of that first?"

  "I'll handle it myself."

  I walk out, and all I hear is laughter… loud, carefree laughter. Shaking my head, I can't help the smile that fights to break free. It's completely ridiculous. It's probably the most absurd few minutes of my life. But the sound of her laughter, of her happiness, does to me something nothing else can.

  It cuts straight through my darkness.

  With her, I almost feel light.

  I head upstairs and strip out of my suit as soon as I reach the bathroom. I don't bother to turn the light on, navigating it in the darkness. A small nightlight is plugged in above the sink. It's really all I need. My eyes fix on my reflection in the mirror as the water warms up for my shower.

  I'm not sure if it's just my perception, but I look older than my thirty-eight years.

  I certainly feel older, too.

  I feel like I've lived more than one lifetime, each of them lasting an eternity. An eternity of rage, and resentment, and wrongdoing… it takes its toll on a man, that's for certain. But none of it had half as much effect on me as this past year. Something I learned was sentiment can take it out of you. I used to have no regard for myself—or anybody, for that matter. I had no reason to live anymore. But now that I care about what happens to her—and for her sake, me—I'm growing exhausted from the constant worry.

  Worry my past will catch up to us.

  Worry that she'll be the one to pay for those sins.

  It's the consequence, I think, of loving me.

  The consequence of being with someone who lived so carelessly.

  As steam starts to fill the bathroom, I step into the shower, letting the scalding spray wash away today. It can't be more than a minute or two later when a sudden blast of cold air surrounds me.

  Somebody opened the bathroom door.

  The shower curtain is pushed aside, and I glance that way, my eyes meeting Karissa's. She's not laughing anymore, but the amusement is still etched all over her face. Without a word, she starts to strip, flinging her clothes behind her onto the floor.

  "Is there something you need?" I ask, raising an eyebrow as my gaze trails along her exposed skin. Brave woman she's turned out to be. "Something I can do for you?"

  "Maybe," she says, climbing into the shower with me, flinging the curtain closed again. It's so dark I can barely see her. "Or maybe it's something I can do for you."

  She drops to her knees in front of me, right there, under the water. Her hand wraps around my cock, stroking it, her grip firm. A voice in the back of my mind tells me to stop her, reminds me she doesn't belong on her knees, reminds me that after everything I've done, I should be the one worshiping her. She deserves it. But her mouth is on me before I can say anything, her lips wrapping around my cock as she takes me in, and I forget.

  I fucking forget.

  I forget I've ever had a worry in the world.

  It's just that good.

  "Jesus, Karissa," I groan, running my fingers through the wet locks of her hair. "I wish I knew what I did to deserve you."

  "Today, ladies and gents, we're going to dive into the topic of war."

  Adjunct Professor Rowan Adams stands in the middle of the classroom, his hands absently drumming against his pants legs, as he looks around at all of us. We're in a familiar classroom… the same classroom I once took philosophy in. They seem to think enough time has passed that people wouldn't be affected anymore, and maybe they're right, I don't know. All of the makeshift memorials that popped up after his death are long gone. But what I do know is that I'm freaked out by it, even if nobody else around here is.

  Three weeks into the semester and it still gives me the heebie-jeebies.

  Professor Adams, who insists we call him Rowan, is a far cry from the kind of teacher Santino had been. He's open, and kind, and patient. I've never heard him belittle anyone. He's also young, late 20s at most, barely out of college himself with a degree in something or other. Okay, I hadn't exactly paid attention, but I'm guessing History¸ since that's what he's teaching. So maybe it's his age, or maybe it's just his temperament, but he runs this room vastly different than Santino had.

  "Give me some reasons why people go to war."

  Answers are shouted out all around me.

  "Revenge."

  "Pride."

  "Stupidity."

  "Fear."

  "Protection."

  "Love."

  Rowan acknowledges the answers one by one, smiling as he points toward the source of it, before zeroing in on that last one. He swings toward the guy who shouted it… a guy who happens to be sitting right behind me. Ugh. "Ah, yes, love. But the love of what specifically?"

  "Country."

  "God."

  "Women."

  Again, it's the guy behind me who shouts out the last one, the one that gets the professor's attention. He turns back to him, grinning. Most eyes in the room shoot that direction, almost like it's instinct, and I slouch down further in my seat,
not wanting them to notice me. I learned my lesson last time. I'll never draw attention to myself again.

  "The love of a woman," Rowan says. "There's no more valiant reason, is there? Whether it's to defend her honor or prove their own worth, men have been fighting wars since the dawn of time all because of the love of a woman. Cleopatra… Helen of Troy… we all know their stories… but today we're going to talk about Bathsheba."

  He wanders by the desk at the front of the classroom—a desk he never sits at—and snatches a Bible off the top of it.

  "During the fight for the Holy Lands, King David found himself transfixed by a woman named Bathsheba. Problem was, Bathsheba was married to one of his soldiers—Uriah. That troubled King David, but not enough to keep him from sleeping with her. The two had an affair, but King David, deep in love, wanted her all to himself, especially... especially... after she became pregnant. Imagine the scandal! So come the Battle of Rabbah, David ordered Uriah to the most dangerous position on the battlefield, knowing the soldier wouldn't make it out alive. His enemies took care of his rival for him. Problem solved."

  Rowan pauses, looking around to see if we're getting the point of it.

  "Pride, revenge, protection, fear, love," he continues. "Probably a healthy dose of stupidity on top of it. It's all right here in this book. King David married Bathsheba when it was all over, and she gave birth to their son, but the child died afterward. Punishment, he thought. You see, there are always consequences to war, even after we think we've won."

  He tosses the Bible back down on the desk. A few people throw out questions that he happily answers. He's got a 'don't bother raising your hand' policy on top of an 'I'm not going to call on you if you don't want to speak' philosophy that makes for a fairly peaceful class period.

  If only we weren't in this damn room.

  I wait out the rest of the hour, jotting down a few notes, waiting until we're dismissed to haul ass out of my seat. I'm the first one to the door, the first one out of there. It's my third year at NYU, although I'm technically still a sophomore.

  I missed a semester while in recovery.

  Wandering outside, I pause and look around, not sure what to do. I've got about an hour before I have my next class, and usually I'd just head over to the library, but for the first time in quite a while I'm caught up on everything.

  Down the block, I cross the street, heading over to Washington Square Park. It's a nice day out, the summer weather insisting on lingering. I find an empty cement bench along the path and plop down on it, dropping my bag on the ground by my feet. I slip in my pink earbuds and plug them into my phone, pressing play on some music, as I look around.

  Enjoying the view.

  Enjoying the sense of solitude.

  It's somewhat busy out here, with students coming and going, but nobody bothers me. Nobody even seems to notice me, for that matter.

  It's nice, surprisingly, feeling invisible.

  I used to yearn for someone to look at me, to see me.

  Some days I wish I could just disappear again.

  Not to say I don't love my life, because I do. I love it. But I don't love some of the things that happened. I don't love all of the memories that haunt me here.

  I just always wanted a normal life.

  None of this is normal.

  I've been sitting here for about twenty minutes when something catches my eye. Familiar blonde hair bounces my direction as people weave along the path. Melody. Smiling, I tug an earbud out and am about to call for her when someone beats me to it, someone standing nearby. The voice is all male with a strange sort of accent, almost like they don't really have one. Weird.

  Turning my head, I spot a young guy.

  A gorgeous young guy.

  Holy shit.

  I watch as Melody turns to him, her expression brightening, eyes lighting up like the Forth of July. And I know it instantly, just by the look on her face… that smitten, speechless, one of a kind expression.

  Leo.

  Tubby mountain man motherfucker he is not.

  He looks like something off of a runway.

  He's tall, and skinny, but not lankily so. Broad shoulders and tanned skinned, a sharp jawline and dark, dark features. His hair is as black as midnight, and his eyebrows might be a tad bit bushy, but he rocks them like it's the latest thing in fashion.

  And hell, what do I know?

  Maybe it is.

  His teeth are so white they're dazzling as he flashes a smile at her. He's wearing jeans and a black button down, the sleeves shoved up to his elbow, which come on, is the hottest thing imaginable.

  I love Naz. I do. I love him more than anything in this world. The first time I laid eyes on him, the man left me speechless, and looking back, I knew that moment that life as I knew it had been over. Naz is the kind of guy that, once he walks into your world, he throws it off its axis, so even if he walks back out, nothing spins the same anymore.

  I love him, despite everything, with every fiber of my being.

  But Leo.

  Whoa.

  I can appreciate beauty when I see it.

  That's the kind of face women would go to war for, I think.

  They approach each other, and he wraps an arm around her, pulling her to him for a hug. It's brief, but I can see the blush on her cheeks from him doing it. When he pulls back, he says something to her, chatting for a moment, but they're too far away for me to hear any of their words. The more he talks, though, the more her eyes light up, before she eventually nods enthusiastically. He kisses his fingertips and presses them to her lips. The action is so quick I barely catch it.

  He's gone then, walking away, looking back at her once and smiling before disappearing into a crowd of people. Melody stares at him, waiting until he's out of sight before she lets out a loud squeal.

  She jumps up and down in place, like she's having a fucking fit.

  "Melody?" I call out.

  The sound of my voice stalls her. She swings my way so fast she nearly falls over. "Karissa!"

  She jogs over to where I'm sitting, wordlessly shoving me over on the bench. I make room for her, shifting my bag out of the way so she can drop hers by our feet.

  "That must've been the infamous Leo," I say, motioning the direction he disappeared. "Gotta say, Mel, I totally get it now."

  She grins, shoving me excitedly. "Told you! Isn't he everything?"

  "Yeah, he's something, all right."

  "He just asked me out," she continues. "Like, really asked me out, and not just for coffee. I'm talking dinner and a movie. A real date."

  "That's awesome! When is it happening?"

  "Tonight." The moment she says it, her expression drops. "Oh my god, it's tonight! What time is it? I gotta go! I've got my hair to do, and makeup, and oh shit... what am I gonna wear?"

  "Whoa, calm down," I say. "It's like, one in the afternoon right now."

  "That only gives me six hours to get ready!"

  I laugh to myself, amused by her panic, before she grabs ahold of my arm and yanks me out of my seat. Reaching down, she grabs both of our bags, pulling me along with her. "Let's go!"

  "Whoa, wait, I've got class in a bit."

  "Jesus Christ, Karissa, class can wait! Didn't you hear me? I have a date!"

  I'm not sure if she realizes she rhymed there. Usually she'd point it out, like she's some kind of rapper in training, but I think she's too frazzled to find the humor in it right now. "Okay, okay, relax, Dr. Seuss. I'll go with you. Just... give me a second."

  She stops pulling on me, and I take my bag from her, situating it on my back before motioning toward the path. "After you."

  Melody still lives in the dorms, the same room we used to share together, back before I moved out and, you know, got married. A sense of nostalgia hits me when we reach the thirteenth floor, and I stare at the door as she unlocks it, smiling. 1313.

  So many memories happened here, but unlike the classroom, these are mostly all happy.

  My smile dims
, though, the moment she pushes open the door and my eyes fall right upon her latest roommate. It's her fourth since me… they never last long. The new girl turns, her eyes narrowing, and she glares at us as we enter, the kind of hostility you shouldn't ever get from a stranger. Slamming her book closed, she snatches it up and storms from the room, brushing right past us without saying a word.

  Melody seems, for the most part, unaffected. I watch as the girl goes straight for the elevators, slapping the button for it like the damn thing offended her. She's a pretty girl—ginger with green eyes and freckles—but the scowl on her face is kind of ugly.

  "Trouble in paradise?" I ask, stepping into the room behind Melody and shutting the door.

  She sighs dramatically. "They can't all be as understanding as you were."

  "Uh-oh, you didn't pick up a guy in a flight suit at Timbers and bring him home to screw, did you?"

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  The moment the words come from my lips, I instantly regret them. I'm an idiot. Of course I'd bring up Paul at a moment like this.

  She frowns, flopping down on her bed... or what appears to be just a gigantic pile of clothes currently. "She says I'm messy."

  "Yeah," I say, looking around. Melody's side of the room is, as usual, akin to a natural disaster. "So?"

  "So she says I'm careless, and loud, and ugh, she says I snore. Can you believe that? Me? Snore?"

  "Well, uh... only when you've been drinking."

  "I haven't been, though. I've done nothing to that girl! But all she wants to do is sit here in silence and eat her frickin' protein bars and meditate. Do you know she's never been to Timbers? Who hasn't been to Timbers?"

  "I guess she hasn't, whatever her name is."

  "Kimberly," Melody says, her face scrunching up. "Kimberly Anne Vanderbilt. Rich snob of a name if I've ever heard one."

  I refrain from pointing out that she's a Melody Priscilla Carmichael, which isn't any more common-folk sounding. I can tell she's getting in a funk now, though, so I change the subject. "Now, about this date..."

  It's like a switch is flipped. That quick. The spark is back in her eyes as she lets out another squeal.

  Man, I still envy how she bounces back so easily.

  She's off the bed again, digging through her closet, flinging more clothes onto the mountain on the bed.