“Chicago,” he said, setting his glass down without taking a drink. He turned back to her, his blank expression surprising her as much as his answer.
“Chicago?”
“Actually, it’s Hillside, a few miles outside of Chicago.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway,” he said, “what’s your favorite color?”
“Green.” Her cheeks flushed as she answered. She lay back on his bed to avoid his gaze.
The bed moved as he sat beside her. Her eyes shot to his as he stared down at her. “Your turn.”
“What’s your favorite color?” She was too flustered to think of anything else.
“I’m torn between deep brown and this shade of pinkish red right now. Looks kinda like my tie.”
Her blush deepened, and she had to look away from him as her heart raced.
“My turn,” he said. “Why’s green your favorite color?”
“Pass,” she said.
“You can’t pass.”
“But you didn’t answer some questions.”
“Fine, I’ll ask something else. Why are you embarrassed about your favorite color?”
Her brow furrowed. “I passed on that question.”
“No, you passed on why green was your favorite color. Now I wanna know why green being your favorite color is embarrassing. Two completely different things.”
He spoke matter-of-factly, as if it were just that simple.
“I think you’re cheating,” she said. “So I pass again.”
Carmine laughed as he relit his cigar. Haven was mesmerized at the calmness of his expression as he inhaled, and goose bumps popped up on her skin at the sight of him. Maybe it was the intoxicants, but something made her feel at ease. She felt safe there, and as frightening as that was she basked in the sensation. Because never in her life had she truly felt safe with someone—not even her mama. She couldn’t protect her.
was no music tonight. Nothing to distract her.
After the boys left for the dance, Haven spent the evening drawing and thinking about her life. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she’d allowed herself to grow jealous. She longed to be the pretty girl in the pretty dress, going to a dance with the other teenagers.
Tired of wallowing, she crawled out of bed to go downstairs. She headed to the kitchen for a drink but froze when she turned on the light and realized someone was there.
Carmine sat on the counter beside the fridge, his shoulders slouched and a bottle of liquor in his hand. Their eyes met, and even from across the room she could see the passion. A lot of soul lurked beneath his hardened exterior.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said.
“You’re not interrupting, Haven. It’s not like I’m fucking doing anything. I’m just sitting here, drinking myself into a coma.” His tone startled her. She considered walking away, but he spoke again before she could. “I sounded like a dickhead, didn’t I?”
Without answering, she brushed by him to open the refrigerator door. She pulled out the jug of orange juice and set it on the counter, reaching past Carmine to grab a glass from the cabinet.
He spoke then, his breath fanning out against her. “Get me one, too.”
A shiver ripped through her as she grabbed a second glass, unable to stop her reaction. Haven poured them both some juice and put the jug back in the fridge.
Carmine’s behavior confused her, but a naïve part of her craved his company. Now that he was there, she had a distraction. And maybe she’d even have the music again.