Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 111768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
After kissing me, a simple peck on the lips, he steps back, snatching hold of the newspaper he's carrying, lightly tapping me with it as he walks away, heading for the den. I stand there for a moment before following, stopping in the doorway. I lean against the doorframe, watching him as he sits down at his desk and opens the newspaper in front of him. He skims through pages quickly, stopping somewhere in the middle, and stares down at it. I don't know if he's reading or what, but he's certainly transfixed by something he sees.
Curiosity gets the best of me.
Carefully, I stroll over to him, half expecting him to close the newspaper and throw it aside when I approach. That's what Old Naz would've done, anyway. Old Naz kept secrets. Old Naz sometimes shut me out. Instead, though, he simply pushes his chair back, putting a bit of room between him and the desk, as he looks away from it. His eyes turn to me, and he opens his arms, inviting me into his space.
I don't know if I'll ever get used to the openness.
I perch myself right on the arm of his office chair.
My gaze goes straight to the newspaper.
Fire Destroys Historic West Village Building
Seven reported injured, two dead in the blaze.
I'm not sure what I expected to see, but that certainly wasn't it. There's not much in the way of details, just that it happened the day before and the cause was still under investigation. I turn my head, glancing at Naz. He's staring at a fixed point on his bookshelf along the wall, that expression again on his face, the same one from the foyer.
Not angry, no… more troubled.
"You didn't?" I ask quietly. Okay, I shouldn't be asking at all, but I can't help it. This is bothering him. "I mean, did you…?"
"No."
"I didn't think so, but you know…"
"But I wasn't home when it happened." It was when he'd left, telling me not to wait up because he had things do to. "I was somewhere else then."
I turn back to the paper. If he says it, I believe him. "Did you know the people?"
"Yes."
"Were they friends of yours?"
He lets out what sounds like a sharp bark of laughter, but there's no humor to it. "I wouldn't exactly say I have any friends, Karissa."
"Then maybe you need to make some."
I'm serious, but he laughs again, this time like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard. "I'm afraid my days of finding friends out on the playground are long over."
"Well, what about the neighbors?" I ask. "This is a nice neighborhood. They look like they might be the dinner-party-on-the-weekend types. I could hang out with the Stepford wives while you, I don't know, go golfing or something."
"Golfing."
"Yeah, I bet you have a killer swing."
He shakes his head. "With as many times as the police have visited this house, Karissa, I don't think that's going to work. I step one foot on their property and I guarantee they're already calling 911."
"Well… then I'll go golfing with you."
Raising his eyebrows, he glances at me. "You want to go golfing?"
"No."
"Me, either."
Thank God.
"We could always double with Melody and her new guy sometime."
Naz reacts to that just as I expected he would the first time Melody suggested it. He stands up, laughing again, as he shuts his newspaper, balling it up and throwing it in the trashcan. "I've seen her taste in men, so I'll have to pass on befriending anybody she takes up with."
"I don't know," I say. "This new one might be different."
"Have you met him?"
"Yes," I say, quickly correcting myself. "Well, not technically, but I've seen him."
"You've seen him."
"Yep."
"Looks can be deceiving."
"I know that," I say defensively. "I've just got a good feeling about this one."
"Did you have a good feeling about me when we met?"
"No." I hesitate. "I don't know, maybe? You were kind of intimidating, but I didn't have bad feelings about you, if that's what you mean."
Naz strolls across the room, over to his bookshelf. His fingers graze the spines of a few books before he pulls one out. He turns back to me as he clutches hold of it, and I catch a glimpse at the cover. War & Peace. He pauses in front of me, tilting his head slightly as he studies my face. "This new guy, he's what? Nineteen? Twenty? Probably not even old enough to legally drink."
"Probably."
"And you think I'd have something in common with him?"
His question is serious.
He thinks I'm being ridiculous.
Hell, maybe I am.
But not for the reasons he thinks.
"I'm only twenty, you know," I remind him. "My age didn't stop you from getting to know me."
I think it's a goddamn good argument, personally, but I can tell he still thinks I'm just being ridiculous.
"Karissa, baby, I love you. You know that. But do you honestly think, if I hadn't had other reasons, I would've even given you a second look?"
I blanch. "Ouch."
I stand up from the arm of the chair and attempt to walk away—because ouch—when he grabs my arm. "Don't act like that's anything more than it is. You're beautiful and wise beyond your years. But I'm pushing forty here, sweetheart. It wouldn't have even crossed my mind to pursue you. You're everything I'm not. Everything I'll probably never be. And just the simple fact that you honestly think it's possible for me to make friends in this city, after the things I've been involved in, proves what I'm saying."
I almost do it, because part of me thinks he wants it. I almost bring up moving, the possibility of getting away from New York, like we've talked about before, when Melody shouts my name from somewhere near the foyer.
Now's not the time for this conversation, I realize.
"I'm in here," I yell back as Naz lets go of my arm. It only takes Melody a moment to appear, bounding into the doorway, her hair pinned up.
"How do I look?" she asks, spinning, showing off the getup.
"You're wearing the Moreau," Naz says.