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She smiled. “Thanks, I think.”
“It’s a compliment,” he said. “And you’ll get more where that one came from if you do it again.”
He hopped down from the counter and poured two more glasses of juice, adding some liquor to both. Haven took a deep breath as she picked hers up. It was a lot stronger the second time, the burn harsher. She barely got half of it down before pulling the glass away with a cough. “Goodness, that’s strong.”
“Yeah, I loaded that one,” he replied. “Don’t chug anymore. If you do, you’ll pass out, and I’d really like some company.”
A swell of emotion shot through her, the longing returning. He wanted her company, too.
He held the bottle up. “And it’s Grey Goose vodka, in case you’re still wondering.”
* * *
They went up to the third floor to Carmine’s bedroom. He set his drink on his desk and sat in the chair, but Haven hesitated in the doorway, unsure of what to do.
“You can sit anywhere you want,” he said, sensing her dilemma.
She took a seat on the edge of his bed and anxiously took a sip of her drink.
“So let’s play a game or something,” Carmine suggested. “How about twenty-one questions?”
Her nerves flared. She had no idea what that was.
He took notice of her bewildered expression. “We take turns asking each other questions until we hit twenty-one. Only rule is you can’t lie. I don’t give a shit what it’s about—just no lying.”
“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “You go first.”
Her hand trembled as Carmine gazed at her from across the room. He sighed and stood, taking her glass and setting it on his desk. After pulling out his keys, he unlocked his bottom desk drawer. “How do you feel about drugs? And that doesn’t count as my question. I just wanna know before I do this.”
“Uh, I don’t know much about them.”
He pulled out what looked to her like a cigar and lit it, the room filling with a pungent woodsy odor. He brought it to his lips and inhaled as he crouched down in front of her. “The weed will relax you, okay?”
She nodded, transfixed by his proximity.
“I’ll make it easy on you,” he said. “Just inhale and hold it as long as you can.”
He brought it to his lips and sucked in deeply as he leaned toward her. Haven’s heart raced as he cocked his head to the side, pausing with his lips an inch from hers. She inhaled as he exhaled, the smoke from his lungs infiltrating her system. She closed her eyes as everything clouded, only letting go when she needed air.
Exhaling slowly, she opened her eyes to see Carmine still in front of her, his staggering expression burning more than the smoke. “Question one—how did you practice reading if you weren’t allowed to have any books?”
She blushed. “I took a book that belonged to my first master.”
“That embarrasses you?”
“I confessed to being a thief.”
He sat down again. “Yeah, well, you live with a career criminal. Thievery doesn’t faze us.”
“You’re a career criminal?”
He looked at her with confusion. “No, I meant my father. You know, with what he does in Chicago.” She didn’t know, and that struck him. “Shit, I figured . . . It doesn’t matter. Ask something different.”
Still confused, she pulled out something random. “How’d you get that scar on your side?”
“Christ, you’re not gonna take it easy on me, are you?” He ran his hand through his hair. “I got the scar when I was eight, bullet ripped through my side.”
Haven thought maybe he’d fallen or cut himself—but she didn’t think he would say he’d been shot.
