The Maddest Obsession (Made 2)

He smacked me lightly on the ass and walked out of the room.

I later did my homework. His name was Christian.

But it didn’t matter.

It would be three more years before I’d ever see him again.

I walked down 7th Avenue, struggling to balance my phone, latte, yoga mat, and purse.

“I mean, what kind of guy goes down on a girl and then doesn’t even call her back so she can reciprocate?” Those were the first words out of Valentina’s mouth after I’d had to juggle my things to get my phone to my ear.

“Why did I tell you about this again?” I asked.

“Because I’m an expert of men, and you wanted me to dissect your pretty fed’s brain.”

True. “And?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but, honey, I don’t think he’s into you.”

I mulled that around. I couldn’t say her words felt right—he kissed me—but why else wouldn’t he have even called after two weeks? A vulnerability had followed me around since that night. He’d seen me naked, had made me come apart under his hands. I’d begged him for more. And I’d gotten nothing from him. He hadn’t even taken off his stupid tie. Maybe it was all part of his game. Or maybe he was already bored of me. Frustration heated my cheeks.

“He only had Raisin Bran,” I muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.” I took a sip of my latte, then said, “He gave me his number.”

“Really? Why haven’t you called him?”

“Because I don’t want to call him. I just want to know why he hasn’t called me.” Perfectly logical.

Valentina laughed. “Listen, your fed is a total hottie—God knows, I wouldn’t tell him no if he’d like to go downtown—but he’s dirty. And I mean, really dirty.”

“Trust me, I already know. He killed Prince Charming.”

“What? Oh, never mind. I don’t want to know. Ricardo told me nobody knows where the fed’s from, that he sort of just popped up in the underworld one day with connections from La Eme to the Bratva.”

I dodged a cyclist at the last second. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, he’s this super-important guy with super-important connections . . .” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

“Apparently, he’s good with computers, like some kind of genius or something. Like Einstein, just without a conscience. Guess that’s why the Bureau picked him up. You can’t trust anyone who works for the government, Gianna. He’d probably knock up another woman with twins the second you two became steady.”

“Your imagination is extraordinary.”

“Thanks.”

A beep told me I had another call, and when I saw it was from Chicago a zip of anticipation shot through me.

“I have to go, Valentina. I’ll chat with you later.”

“Toodles.”

I answered the other call. “Hello?”

“Gianna.”

The sorrow in her voice cooled my veins.

I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, my pulse fluttering in my throat. “Tara . . . how is she?”