Untouchable (Untouchables, 1)

“Fall’s my favorite, too,” he agrees. “You ever experienced a northern fall?”

I shake my head. “I’ve always lived here. Never even visited. For my 18th birthday present, my mom wanted to surprise me with a weekend in New York, but she couldn’t come up with enough money to pull it off.”

“That sucks. A weekend in New York isn’t long for a first visit, but better than nothing. Where were you planning to stay?”

“I don’t know,” I offer, eyeing the basket, debating whether or not I want to keep eating. “We never got that far. Somewhere in Manhattan, I imagine.”

“When the season’s over, I’m going for a visit. You should come with me.”

I’m glad I’m not eating or drinking anything when he says that, because I might actually choke. “Come with you? In a few months? To New York?”

Nodding like it’s no big deal to make plans for us a few months out, he says, “Yeah, why not? I’ll be going anyway, and it’ll be more fun with company. I can show you around that corner of the city, show you around campus. I’ve gone for school visits already, but this time I’ve gotta go check out the apartment and sign some papers.”

“What apartment? Columbia is setting you up with your own apartment?”

“No, not Columbia. My parents. It’s my graduation present.”

Blinking, I reiterate flatly, “Your graduation present is an apartment in New York?”

As if that’s a normal gift, he casually reaches for a French fry. “My dad got a pretty good deal on it. Ugly divorce. NYC real estate is always a good investment,” he offers, when I continue to stare. “It’s a 10-minute walk from the school, and since I’m going to be there for many years, it makes more sense to buy than to rent, anyway. We aren’t renters.”

Still struggling to wrap my head around the ability to buy your son a New York City apartment, I offer, “I guess four years of rent in New York would be pretty pricey. Does that mean you won’t come home for summers?”

“Not just four years. After I graduate, I plan to go on to Columbia Law. I’m sure I’ll come home for visits, but not the whole summer. I’ll have a life there, not here. New York is home; Texas is just a pit stop.”

Every part of what he just said is fodder for some intense dissection, but I am stuck on the absolute hilarity of the first part. “Did you just say, Columbia Law?”

His brown eyes sparkle with a hint of shared amusement. “I did.”

“You’re going to law school,” I repeat, dumbstruck. “You are going to law school?”

Flashing me a grin, he says, “That’s right. I’m going to be a trial lawyer. Not what you expected?”

I throw my head back and laugh. It’s probably an inappropriate response for a lot of reasons, but I can’t help myself. When I catch my breath, I bring my gaze back to him. Seeing he’s not offended by my laughter, I ask, “Are you at least going to be gettin’ the bad guys off, or are you the one puttin’ them away? I have to know how deep your hypocrisy runs.”

“Does it really count as hypocrisy if I’m well-aware of it?” he shoots back. “Most hypocrites are in denial, fumbling around with bullshit justifications and empty reasons why they’re special and breaking the rules doesn’t make them a bad person. People who do bad things but need to believe they’re still good—that’s a hypocrite. That’s not me. I don’t lie to myself like that. I don’t have to justify my actions in order to sleep at night. I don’t blame anyone else for the way I behave, or pretend I’m being fair when I’m not. I know I’m fucked up, I just don’t care.”

Sighing, I tell him, “You’re shameless. I think that’s one of the reasons I like you, though.”

“Probably. One of the many,” he half-jokes.

“Oh, so many,” I mockingly agree. “It’s impossible to keep track of all the reasons. I should really keep a spreadsheet for all of them. Update it every time I think of one.”

Smirking, he grabs the last fry and drags it through my cheesy ketchup concoction as he stands up. “You’re such a nerd.”

“Better than being a sociopath,” I tell him, watching as he gathers up all our garbage and takes it over to toss in the trash. I grab my drink and follow him, taking a few quick gulps so I can finish it before we leave.

Carter glances back at me over his shoulder. “I told you before, I’m not a sociopath.”

“You’re something abnormal,” I tell him.

“I protect my inner world from people, that’s all,” he offers. “Give them something easier to swallow, since that’s what they need. Keeps everybody happy.”

I shake my head as he opens the door for me. “You can’t make everybody happy. That’s impossible. If you try to, eventually you’ll snap.”