He peeked at her. “You’re quick at math. And that’s ridiculously high, I know.”
He looked upset by his own answer, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he regretted some of those girls. She smiled, trying to be reassuring, but he just groaned. “New subject. Question number . . . whatever fucking number we’re on. When’s the most afraid you’ve been?”
“Maybe in your father’s room.”
Carmine nodded like he expected that answer and turned away to grab his drink. “Your turn.”
“Where’s your mama?”
She blurted it out, and her hands covered her mouth as Carmine froze, his glass midair.
“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.
She trusted him, when she’d never trusted anyone in her life. And she knew she shouldn’t, especially him. He was the son of the man who controlled her—his family held her life in their hands. They could kill her, and she’d be defenseless to stop it. But she trusted him anyway. She could feel it in every inch of her body, every beat of her frenzied heart.
Something about this boy had burrowed under her skin.
Carmine leaned forward, pausing an inch from her mouth. She parted her lips, inhaling everything he gave her, and closed her eyes as she tasted his breath.
His face grazed her cheek, the sparks from his skin sending tingles through her body. She could feel the slight stubble of his facial hair, rough and scratchy, as he inhaled deeply. He breathed her in, and she allowed herself to wonder if maybe—just maybe—this frightening creature could want the same thing she craved.