by R. S. Lively
“How old are you two?” he asks.
“We're both eighteen,” Jade purrs.
“Uh huh,” he replies. “Look, I'm not gonna get myself into trouble with the cops by givin' booze to a couple of underage girls.”
She shrugs and runs a fingertip up his arm. “You won't get in trouble if you don't tell anybody, silly.”
He casts her a sidelong look. “Lemme guess,” he says, “you got yourself some uptight rich boyfriend, but he doesn't know how to give it to you so good, right? He never makes you come real good. So, you figure, you'll find some lowlife like me to bang, just to get your rocks off. Maybe to piss off your parents or your uptight boyfriend. You figure you'll do somethin' a little different. A little dirty. Because you're edgy like that. Am I right, princess?”
Jade recoils and I see her face darken, but I bite my lip and have to stifle the laugh that threatens to burst out. He hit the nail on the head and she knows it. But, she can't really admit to it, so she figures it's best to throw a fit of righteous indignation instead.
“Don't presume to know me,” she says, mustering as much disdain in her voice as she can. “You are such a pig.”
He shrugs. “Who's the real pig here? A rich girl who thinks she can flash her little pussy and then expect me to roll over and thank my lucky fuckin' stars before I service her?” he says. “Or the guy who says no to that bullshit?”
Carter is really letting her have it, and although she looks outwardly offended, I can see in her eyes that it's only serving to turn her on. Jade is an odd girl.
“You can just take me home,” she huffs, and gives him the address.
Jade pouts in the passenger seat and I hear Carter chuckling to himself. His eye catches mine in the rearview mirror and my heart stutters, almost stops.
“So, how'd you end up living the high life, Darby?”
I shrug. “My aunt and uncle.”
“Thought you moved Upstate?”
“We did,” I reply. “But, my uncle came back down to the city to run his law firm. And, here we are.”
He nods. “And what about Mason? What's he up to these days?”
“Following in Uncle Walter's footsteps,” she says. “He's becoming a lawyer too.”
“Wow,” he says. “That's great.”
“What about you?”
He shrugs. “Just doing my thing.”
“And what is your thing?”
He looks at me in the mirror and smiles. “You writin' a book?”
“Maybe,” I say.
Jade snorts loudly in the passenger seat, her arms folded over her chest, and pointedly looks away from us. She's clearly not happy about not being the center of attention, and is doing her best to get Carter to shift his focus to her. He doesn't.
We ride on in silence for a little bit longer and then he pulls to the curb outside Jade's place. She quickly gets out of the car and waits for me on the sidewalk. I get out of the backseat and am about ready to close the door when Carter's voice stops me.
“Hey, why don't I drop you at your place, Darby?” he says.
“It's okay. I'm only a few blocks from here,” I say.
He shrugs. “I'd love to catch up a little more.”
I look at Jade and see the irritation on her face. I'm not used to being the center of attention when it comes to guys. Especially not around her. And honestly, it feels kind of nice. She looks at me and I know what's going through her head. She's already staked her claim and doesn't want me getting too close to Carter. Not until she's done with him, anyway.
“Yeah, that'd be great,” I say. “Thanks.”
I see the anger in Jade's eyes, but I go and throw my arms around her, hugging her tight.
“Don't worry,” I say. “It's not like that.”
“Call me later,” she says.
“I will.”
I drop down into the passenger seat of Carter's car and close the door.
“Bye, Carter,” Jade calls.
He gives her a wave and I blow her a kiss as he pulls out into traffic. Truthfully, I don't know why I'm going with him. I told Jade it's not like that, but I don't even know what “that” is. For whatever reason though, I just felt compelled to hang out with him for a little while.
As stupid as it sounds, I feel some sort of connection to him. It's completely irrational and makes absolutely no sense, but it's powerful. Almost overwhelming. So, I just decide to go with it – where ever it may lead me.
A moment later, my cell phone chimes with an incoming text message. I look at the display and, unsurprisingly, see that it's from Jade.
“He's super hot,” the message says. “I want him. He's mine.”
I laugh and drop the phone back into my purse, shaking my head. Carter looks over at me and grins.
“Let me guess,” he says. “Jade?”
I nod. “Yeah, seems like she's a little smitten with you.”
“Well, I hate to burst her bubble,” he says. “But, she's not really my type. Seems a little too high maintenance for me.”
“She can be,” I say. “But, she's a sweetheart if you get to know her.”
“So, you're a rich girl now,” he says, diverting the conversation away from Jade.
“I wouldn't say that,” I reply. “It's my aunt and uncle who are rich.”
“Still,” he says. “Upper East Side address? Posh prep school? Seems like you're doin' pretty okay for yourself.”
I shrug. “I guess.”
“For what it's worth, you don't seem the snooty type,” he says. “You don't seem like your friend.”
I give him a warm smile. I don't know why, but having him see me for who I am – not for where I live – feels nice. Where I come from, people judge you by where you live. The car you drive. The clothes you wear. They don't take the time to actually see you as a person. It's doubly harsh in a school like I go to.
“I – I don't have to be home right away,” I say.
Carter looks over at me, a crooked little grin tugging at one corner of his lips. My eyes widen, and my mouth falls open as I hear the words I just spoke. Part of me wants to take it back, knowing what it implies.
But, another part of me doesn't.
“Okay,” he says and gives me a little wink.
My heart thundering in my breast and my stomach roiling with both excitement and fear, I let Carter navigate away from my home, taking me to God knows where.
Chapter Three
Carter
New York is a crowded place. Buildings on top of buildings, people on top of people. There ain't many places you can go if you want to be alone. Fortunately for me, I happen to know of a few places you can.
We sit on the rooftop of a building in the Kitchen, overlooking the sprawl of the city below us. I'd spread out a blanket for us and grabbed some sodas to drink. She didn't think I'd been serious about not giving alcohol to minors, but I was.
“You really eighteen?” I ask.
She nods. “Turned eighteen a few weeks ago.”
I take a sip of my soda and put the cap back on the bottle. “So, what were you doin' in the Kitchen today?”
“Taking pictures,” she replies.
“Pictures?”
“Yeah,” she says. “It's for a project for school. I've always admired urban art –”
“Urban art?” I laugh. “You mean that shit taggers spray paint on walls?”
She looks at me, her expression serious. “There's actually a lot of really beautiful artwork on those walls,” she says. “You might be surprised if you stop and look at it.”
“I've never been much for art, I guess,” he says.
“I remember. Books were always your thing.”
I look at her and can't help but feel surprised. “You remember that?” I ask. “You were just a kid.”
“I remembered you, didn't I?” she says and smiles. “I was eight. And yes, I remember seeing you with your nose in a book all the time.”
“Huh,” I say. “Go figur
e.”
We sit in a comfortable silence for a few moments, just looking out at the city. The world around us is growing dark as day gives way to the night. Lights in the skyscrapers and office buildings in the distance start to come on as the city prepares for the darkness of the evening.
I love living here. Can't imagine being anywhere else. There's just something about being in New York that's unlike any other place in the world. It's filled with this – energy. This sustaining life force and electricity that just fills you up. I wonder if Darby feels the same way.
I guess if you're not from here, you might not understand it, but New Yorkers are a different breed.
“So, what happened to you after we left St. Agatha's,” she asks softly.
“Nothin',” I say.
“Nothing?”
I shake my head. “Nope,” I reply. “I turned eighteen and left that place.”
She turns and looks at me, her eyes holding steady to mine. “What about after that?”
I shrug. “Got a job,” I say. “Got my own place. Livin' the dream.”
She giggles. “You never did tell me what you do.”
That's the tricky part. It's not like I have the kind of job you run down the street telling everybody about. It ain't glamorous and it's actually kinda illegal. For some reason though, I don't want to lie to Darby. There's just something about her – something that stirs something up inside of me that I don't understand, but can't deny.
I remember those eyes of hers and the way they bored into me back when she was a kid. And now that she's a grown woman, that impact hasn't lessened. When I realized who she was, standing outside of Pops' bar, it felt like I'd taken a sledgehammer to the gut. I literally felt like the air had been knocked right out of me.
It's something I've never felt before and honestly, it's a little disconcerting. I have absolutely no idea what it means or what to make of it.
All I know is that kid I knew back at the home had grown up to be a stunningly gorgeous woman. Long, curly red hair, skin the color of cool marble, a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and curves for miles. She doesn't wear a lot of makeup like some women I've known – women who cake it on with a trowel. No, Darby has this sweet girl-next-door look, but I can see she's also got a bit of an edge to her. She tries to hide it, but I can see it all the same.
And I find the whole package sexy as hell and incredibly appealing. As I take her in from head to toe, I feel that familiar stirring in my groin. I want her. I want her bad.
Letting out a long breath, I lean back on my arms and look up at the sky, pushing away my desires for the moment. I guess there's no harm in telling her about my life. For all I know, this might be the last time I ever see her again.
Even though we live just miles apart, we might as well exist in two completely separate universes. Our worlds just do not coincide with one another.
“After I left the home,” I say. “I got a job working as a runner for Pops Ramazzo.”
“A runner?”
I nod. “Yeah, delivering packages, picking things up,” I say. “Pretty much whatever Pops asked me to do.”
“And who is Pops Ramazzo?”
It's strange having to explain who Pops is to somebody. He's pretty much a living legend in the Kitchen. An icon and a pillar of the community.
He's also a former mob boss and carries a certain notoriety to him. People still whisper about him in hushed, fearful tones, afraid that even speaking his name will bring Pops' wrath down upon them. And the cops seem to like hassling him, even though he's been out of the game for a long time.
In a way, Pops is the adult version of me, back when I'd been at St. Aggie's. He built a reputation that sustained him. One that keeps people in check. He still takes no shit from anybody, but he's not gonna drive you out to an abandoned field and put two in the back of your head. He's not that guy anymore – though, people still think he is.
Truthfully, I don't know if he was ever that guy, or if it was just a reputation and a myth he perpetuated about himself. True or not though, it keeps people in line.
Today, he runs a legit business. He owns the bar I'd been coming out of when I ran into Darby and her friend. Pops is a good man, which might be counterintuitive, given his past. But, when I came to him after I left St. Aggie's, he gave me a job. He gave me a place to live. He took me under his wing and was more of a father figure to me than anybody had ever been in my life.
He's also the only one who ever saw something in me worth nurturing. Worth developing. He's the only one who saw that I'm great with numbers. After about a year of being a runner for him, I started running numbers for him. I was great at analyzing a mountain of information and predicting the outcome of games.
In the back room of Pops' bar, he has a little betting parlor. He hosts some card games now and then, but most of that back-room business is sports betting. And it wasn't all that long after he took me in that he saw my talent for setting lines and picking winners, and a short time after that, he had me running his little back room sports book.
Like I said, it's not the kind of job you write home about.
But, Pops was never one who wanted me to settle for being a bookmaker. He wants me to aim higher. Dream bigger. He wants me to make something of myself. So, about a year ago, he introduced me to a man named Doug Woods, who runs a hedge fund. I've been interning with Doug, learning all the ins and outs of the stock market. Learning the ropes of trading.
Darby listens to my story, takes it all in. And when I'm finished with my tale, her smile is brighter than the ball that drops in Times Square on New Year's Eve. It lights me up inside and makes me feel things I don't think I've ever felt before. Things I don't understand.
“Wow,” she says. “So, you're a stockbroker?
I shake my head. “Not yet,” I say. “Still learning and studying. I'm going to have to pass some tests to get certified and all.”
“Sounds like you're on your way though.”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
“Do you like it?”
I can't keep the smile off my face. “I love it,” I say. “Playing the market is an absolute rush. And in a lot of ways, it's like running a sports book. I mean, it's doing a lot of data analysis and predicting trends. There's a lot of similarities.”
“I have to say, I'm impressed,” she says.
“Why's that?”
She shrugs. “Back when we were in the home,” she says, “I'll admit to wondering if you were going to grow up to be one of those thugs we saw out on the street. The way you controlled everybody in that place – it was kind of scary.”
A rueful chuckle crosses my lips. “It was a way to survive in there,” I say. “It was all smoke and mirrors, honestly. I just wanted to be left alone.”
She nods. “I also thought, even back then, that there was more to you than that,” she says. “The way you were always reading. I'd never seen anybody tear through books like you. It was like you couldn't get enough.”
“It was an escape.”
“Maybe,” she says. “But, it also showed me that you're a lot more intelligent than you let on.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Just that, you are so busy projecting the tough guy image that it seems like you hide your intelligence,” she says. “Right down to the way you speak.”
“The way I speak?” I laugh.
She nods. “The way you spoke in front of Jade is different than the way you're speaking to me now that we're alone,” she says. “You sound more – educated. Less like some guy from the streets.”
“I am a guy from the streets though,” I remind her.
“Yeah, but you're more than that,” she says. “I can see right through you. And you seem to hide behind that street tough exterior.”
“I don't know about that,” I say.
“There's also the point about you actually knowing what the words presumptuous, cretin, and gauche even mean,” she says, her smile s
tretching across her face. “I bet if we went and rounded up a dozen people on the corners around here, not a one of them would know what those words meant. Yet, you do.”
I look away and laugh softly. What can I say? I mean, I'm no Einstein. No rocket scientist. But, I think I'm reasonably intelligent. And yeah, maybe I do hide it because in the world I run in, smarts aren't something people notice or respect. Strength is.
Until Darby though, nobody has ever called me out on it – and I don't even know what to make of it.
“This is the strangest day I think I've ever had,” I say.
She smiles. “Hopefully, not strange in a bad way.”
I turn to her and stare into those green eyes, feeling like I can lose myself in them. Whereas ten years ago, they'd disconcerted me, now they seem to compel me. Beckon me. Without stopping to think about what I'm doing, I lean forward and press my lips to Darby's. Her body stiffens for a moment, but she soon melts into me, her arms sliding around the back of my neck as her lips part.
Our tongues swirl and dance together as I pull her to me, relishing the feel of her body pressed to mine. I run my fingers through her hair, taking hold of it and pulling her head back as I lower my mouth and kiss her neck, drawing a soft moan from her.
Sliding my hands up, I cup her breasts through her shirt, feeling her nipples stiffen beneath my touch. I unbutton her shirt and push it back, exposing her shoulders. Planting a line of soft kisses down her neck, I slide the tip of my tongue across her collarbone. She pulls and tugs at my hair as I kiss her, as I knead her soft, tender flesh.
Sliding her shirt all the way off, I drop it onto the blanket next to us and then unclasp her bra, letting her full, round breasts spill out into my hands. I cup them, lean down and circle one of her nipples with my tongue. She murmurs something as I take a nipple into my mouth, sucking on it. When I give it a playful little nip, she draws in a sharp breath.
Her green eyes catch mine and hold me fast. Her lips are parted and she's a little breathy. In her face, I see absolute desire. An animalistic hunger. But also, a healthy dose of caution. I have a feeling she's a good girl. That she doesn't actually do things like this normally. I have no doubt her friend Jade fucks for sport and entertainment, but I don't get the same feeling about Darby. For her, I think it means something.