“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. And I know neither of us is going to say anything.”
He casts her a sidelong look, and I watch his jaw clench, and his eyes narrow. I can just tell that he's about to lower the boom on Jade, and just hope that he's a delicate about it.
“Lemme guess,” he says, “you’re tryin’ to piss off your rich parents? Find some lowlife like me to bang? Do somethin’ a little different? You're edgy like that, right, princess?”
So much for being gentle or delicate about it. Still, I can't deny that what he's saying isn't true.
But, as she hears his words, Jade recoils, and I see her face darken. I look away, and bite my lip, doing my level best to stifle the laugh that's threatening to burst out of my throat. 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 you dare to presume you know me,” she says, mustering as much disdain in her voice as she can – a move she's very well versed in pulling.
Her attitude is imperious, and her tone almost regal – like a Queen addressing a lowly subject – but Carter is having none of it. He's got her number in a big way, and I can tell that he's more than happy to stand toe-to-toe with her, and trade verbal blows.
It's something Jade isn't used to – guys generally tend to grovel when they displease her. They fall to their knees, bowing and doing every pathetic thing they can think of to get back into her good graces.
Not Carter, though. I love my best friend with all my heart, but it's kind of funny to see her get knocked down a few pegs.
“You are such a jerk,” she seethes. “Who in the hell do you think you are, speaking to me that way?”
He shrugs but can't keep a devious little grin from flashing across his face. “Let's think about this for a minute – who's the real jerk here?” he asks. “A rich girl who thinks she can come down here from Richie-Rich land, and expect me to roll over and thank my lucky fuckin' stars before servicing her on demand? Or the guy who says no to that bullshit?”
Carter is really letting her have it, and although she looks outwardly offended, and is speaking to him with a haughty, imperious tone, I can see in her eyes that his rejection, and verbal takedown of her, is only egging her on.
“You can just take me home,” she huffs, and gives him the address.
Jade turns away from him, and pouts in the passenger seat. It's all part of her master plan to rope him in. His eye catches mine in the rearview mirror, and my heart stutters, then almost stops.
“So, how'd you end up living the high life, Darby?” he asks. “I didn't realize you were living on the Upper East Side.”
I shrug. “Not my doing,” I reply. “It's my aunt and uncle.”
“Thought they moved you Upstate?” he asks. “I seem to recall your brother going on and on about the country air, and all the open space. Seemed pretty excited about it, I thought. Never expected to see you back in the city, let alone back in the Kitchen.”
“They did. We lived in the country for a couple of years. It was nice. Quiet. A lot simpler, actually,” I reply. “Then, my uncle came back down to the city to run his law firm. And, here we are.”
He nods. “And what about Mason?” he asks. “What's he up to these days?”
“Following in Uncle Walter's footsteps,” she says. “He's becoming a lawyer too, since he can't really think for himself anymore.”
“Wow,” he says. “That's great.”
“Yeah, I guess. Gotta appease the old man, I suppose,” I say and roll my eyes. “What about you? I figured once you got out of St. Aggie's, you would have put Hell's Kitchen behind you and never looked back.”
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 reply.
Jade snorts loudly in the passenger seat, her arms folded over her chest, while she pointedly looks away from us. She's clearly not happy about losing her spot at the center of attention and is doing her best to get Carter to shift his focus back to her. He doesn't. He continues to completely ignore her, which I’m sure is frustrating the hell out of her. She's not used to having to work this hard for a man's attention.
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 turns, waiting for me to join her on the sidewalk. I slip out of the backseat, and I’m about ready to close the door, when Carter's voice stops me.
“Hey, why don't I drop you off at your place, Darby?” he asks.
“It's okay. I'm only a few blocks from here,” I say. “I can manage.”
He shrugs. “I'd love to catch up a little more. Come on. Let me give you a lift. It's cold out.”
I look at Jade and see the irritation on her face. I'm not used to receiving attention from guys. Especially not around her. Honestly, it feels kind of good. It's a nice change of pace. 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 until she's done with him.
“Yeah, that'd be great,” I say. “Thanks.”
I see a spark of anger in Jade's eyes, so I go and throw my arms around her, hugging her tight, trying to calm her fears.
“Don't worry,” I whisper in her ear. “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 behind me.
“Bye, Carter,” Jade calls.
He gives her a wave, and I blow her a kiss as we pull 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 felt compelled to hang out with him a little while longer. I’m curious about the man he's become – especially after watching the way he handled Jade.
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. Keep your claws off him. Love you.”
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. Besides, she seems a little too high maintenance for me.”
“She can be,” I say. “But, she's a sweetheart if you get to know her.”
“I see 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. I'm just the lucky beneficiary.”
“Still,” he says. “Upper East Side address? Posh prep school? Seems like you're doin' pretty okay for yourself.”
I shrug. “I guess,” I say. “But, like I said, it's my aunt and uncle's money. Not mine.”
“For what it's worth, you don't seem like the uptight-as-hell, snooty type,” he says. “Not like your friend. You seem a lot more down to earth than she did.”
“Thanks,” I say. “I try.”
I give him a warm smile. I don't know why, but him seeing 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 or effort to actually see you as a person. It's doubly harsh at my school. To have somebody see me for the content of my character, rather than my zip code, is a nice change of pace.
“I don't have to be home right
away,” I say, and then immediately bite my lip, not knowing why I just blurted that out.
Carter looks over at me, a crooked grin tugging at one corner of his lips. My eyes widen, and my mouth falls open as I hear the words I just spoke echo through my head again and again – and I cringe a little more each time. I'm not that kind of girl. I don't just casually sleep around. That's not who I am. I have more respect for myself than that.
Part of me wants to take it back, knowing what it implies, and how he might take it – but, what I find utterly shocking is that, another part of me doesn't. There is something about Carter Bishop that draws me to him. Beckons me. Something that makes me feel – safe.
It's crazy. It's stupid. I don't really know him. And hell, I only knew him for a month back when I was a little girl. And yet, when he turns those piercing eyes on me, and flashes me that handsome grin, I can't help but feel myself being carried away by a river of emotion. I can't help but feel like I'm safe with him. It completely defies rational thought and logic, but I just somehow know he'll never hurt me.
“Okay,” he says and gives me a little wink.
My head is spinning, and I feel nauseous. My heart is thundering in my breast and my stomach is churning with both excitement and fear, as I let Carter navigate away from my home. We move back out into traffic, and I let him take me to God knows where.
I’ve never done anything like this before. Not that I know what I'm doing, or what's going to happen.
It’s exhilarating. There's an unapologetic freedom in doing something so impulsive.
It's a new sensation, and I have to admit, I like it.
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.
Even though it's getting colder, I wanted to show her this place. My place. It's where I come to get away from the world and decompress for a while. It's where I think. It's where I go when I'm stressed out and need to contemplate my life.
We're sitting on the rooftop of a building in the Kitchen, overlooking the sprawl of the city below us. I've spread out a blanket for us and grabbed some sodas to drink. She didn't think I was serious about not giving alcohol to minors, but much to her surprise, I was.
“You’re really eighteen?” I ask.
She nods. “Turned eighteen a few months ago.”
I take a sip of my soda and put the cap back on the bottle. She shivers, so I hand her a sweatshirt I'd brought from the car. She gives me a smile before she slips it over her head and pulls it down. She looks like a little kid in my big ol' hoodie. It's pretty adorable.
“So, what were you doin' in the Kitchen today?” I ask.
“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.
“Yeah, the murals on the side of some buildings that –”
“Wait – you mean that crap taggers spray paint on the walls?” I ask, incredulous. “You call that art?”
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 stopped and looked at it.”
“I've never been much for art,” I reply. “I obviously don't see things the same way you do.”
“I remember,” she says. “Books were always your thing though.”
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. That memory sticks out to me.”
“Huh,” I say. “Go figure.”
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. The sky is set ablaze in vivid hues of red and orange. Lights in the skyscrapers and office buildings in the distance start to come on as the city prepares for the darkness of the evening. All around us, we can see the red and green lights, not to mention all of the gaudy, garish trappings of the holiday season – giant wreaths, and outrageous trees – that's bearing down upon us, flaring to life.
Thinking about the coming holiday season fills me with an oppressive weight, and a sense of loathing – as it always has. Though, I'm not going to ruin my time with Darby by dwelling on it. Seeing her again after all these years is a big surprise, and the feelings that are popping off in me as I sit next to her, are even more surprising than that. I want to explore and enjoy it a little, rather than ruin it with my shitty attitude about the holidays.
“It's beautiful up here,” she says. “So peaceful. You'd hardly know how busy and crowded it is down on the street unless you walked to the edge and looked down. I can see why you like coming up here.”
“It's kind of my little slice of paradise away from the dirty world below,” I say. “Up here, I feel free, you know?”
She nods. “Yeah, I think I do,” she says. “Or, at least, I'm starting to.”
I get the impression that she's not the kind of girl who sits on rooftops very often. But I'm glad she can see the beauty and peace I find up here.
Personally, I love living here, and really can't imagine being anywhere else. Something about New York is unlike any other place in the world. It's filled with this – energy – you can’t find anywhere else. If you open yourself up, and if you let it, it really ties you to the city. Bonds you to it. Makes you a part of it. Permanently. I wonder if Darby feels the same way.
I guess if you're not from here, you might not understand it, but New York is a very different sort of place, and New Yorkers are a very different breed. There's just an urgency, a vibrancy, and a frenetic energy about the place that's different from anywhere else.
At least, that's how I see it, anyway.
“So, what happened to you after we left St. Agatha's?” she asks softly. “I wouldn't have expected you to stick around here.”
“Nothin',” I say. “
“Nothing?”
I shake my head. “Nope,” I reply. “I turned eighteen, left that place, and here I am.”
She turns and looks at me, her eyes holding steady to mine. “And where exactly are you, Carter Bishop? Other than still living in the Kitchen, that is.”
I shrug. “Got a job,” I say. “Got my own place. Livin' life my way, on my terms.”
She giggles. “You never did tell me what you do for a living.”
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 if I'm bein' honest, it's kinda illegal. For some reason though, I don't want to lie to Darby.
I want to be open and honest with her. To expose all of my secrets and the dark corners in my mind. I don't get it, but I feel like I can trust her with my darkness. There's no rhyme or reason for it, but I feel like I can share myself openly with her, and she won't judge me. I wasn't kidding about her being nothing like her snooty family and friends.
I remember those eyes of hers, and the totally unnerving way they bored into me back when she was a kid. That really disquieting way it felt like she could see right through me. That impact hasn't lessened any now that she’s a grown woman. When I realized who she was, standing outside of Pops' bar, it felt like I'd taken a sledgehammer to the gut – like the air had been knocked right out of me. It was all I could do to not double over and start gasping right then and there.
It's something I've never felt before, and honestly, it's more than a little worrying. I have absolutely no idea what it means or what to make of it. And I'm usually a guy who can dissect myself quickly. I don't usually second guess myself. This is different, though. Very different.
All I k
now, is that oddly silent kid I knew back at the home has grown up to be a stunningly gorgeous woman. Long, curly red hair, freckles across the bridge of her nose, and curves for miles.
No, Darby has this fresh-faced, sweet girl-next-door look about her – and yet, she's also got a bit of an edge to her. She tries to hide it, but I can see it all the same. There's a rebel hidden beneath the prim and proper, high society, rich girl facade.
And if I'm being honest with myself, I have to admit that I find her sexy as hell. She’s incredibly appealing to me.
Letting out a long breath, I lean back on my arms and look up at the sky, pushing away my desires for the moment, and trying to get myself under control. The last thing I need is for her to see me sporting a hard on.
So, to distract myself from undressing her with my eyes, I decide there's no harm in telling her a little bit about my life. For all I know, this might be the last time I ever see her, so what’s the harm?
Even though we live just miles apart, we might as well exist in two separate universes. Our worlds don’t coincide with one another, and any sort of crossover between the Upper East Side and the Kitchen is merely coincidental. Although, these days, with all the changes going on, it's almost like they're trying to annex the Kitchen, and turn it into something it ain't – a playground for the rich.
But, that's not what Darby wants to hear me talk about. “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. I'm just a gopher, really.”
“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. I didn't know there were people in New York who don't know Pops.
Pops is a former mob boss and carries a certain notoriety to him. People respect him, and all he does for the community. I almost think that without Pops, there would be no Kitchen left to speak of. Some people speak of him reverentially, like they're in awe of what he gives to the community. Other people still whisper about him in hushed, fearful tones, afraid that even speaking his name will bring Pops' legendary 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.
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