Monster in His Eyes(17)

"No," I whisper, pushing stuff out of the way to make room to set them on my desk beside my bed. "Just a gift."

Melody watches me incredulously, dropping the dress onto a pile of dirty  clothes, forgetting all about it. "The perk of having a Mom who owns a  flower shop, huh?"

I shrug noncommittally.

I don't correct her.

I'm a terrible friend.

Her eyes drift back to the flowers on my desk, and she's quiet for a  moment. I wait for her to question me more, but she doesn't, a smile  lifting her lips. "Lucky bitch."

I laugh. Lucky? Maybe.

Naz certainly makes me feel that way.

Melody flops down on her bed again, cuddling up with her pillow to take a  nap after a morning full of classes. I sit down with my philosophy  book, hoping to get a start on my paper on happiness, wanting to impress  Santino after the disaster class turned out to be.

I try to focus-I try, and try, and try-but my attention keeps drifting  to the flowers. The sweet fragrance swirls in the air around me,  tickling my nostrils whenever I inhale. My lips keep twitching as I  fight off a grin. I feel like the truth is written all over my face,  glowing like a neon sign in the flush of my cheeks.

Melody's soft snores fill the quiet room after a while. I glance over at  her, making sure she's fast asleep, and contemplate for a moment before  grabbing my phone.

My finger hovers over Naz's name in my contacts. I press it, my heart beating wildly as I bring it to my ear.

It rings.

And rings.

And rings.

I'm close to hanging up when the line clicks and he greets me with an exaggerated sigh. "Well hello there."

His voice is rough-grittier than usual.

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

"You did," he confirms.

"I'm so sorry," I say. "I didn't know. I got your flowers and wanted to thank you."

"Ah." I can hear him yawn through the line. "So they made it?"

"Yes." I peek across the room, making sure Melody's still asleep before I  continue. "We only really spent two nights together, though."

"You're forgetting about the first night," he says. "Not surprising, though, since you were out of it."

"But we didn't..." My voice drops even lower. "...you know."

He exhales again, loudly, but this time it's not from his exhaustion.  It's frustration. "I didn't send them to you for sleeping with me,  Karissa. Don't degrade yourself thinking that's your worth. I sent them  because I'm grateful."

"Grateful for what?"

"For you."

"Well, thank you," I say. "So how did I give away that I liked flowers?  Did I wear a flowery shirt, or smell like roses or something one day?"

He laughs. "No, it was just a guess this time. Most women like flowers."

"I probably like them more than most," I say. "My mother grows flowers for a living."

"Is that right?" He sounds genuinely interested. There's a lot about men  that I find attractive, but a man who actually listens is in an  entirely different league.

"Yeah, so I sort of have a soft spot for them, I guess. Makes me a little homesick."

"And where's home, anyway? The post office in Syracuse?"

I laugh, pushing my philosophy book aside to lie down. "Close enough.  Home is …  well, I don't know. We moved around a lot when I was growing  up, so it's not really a place to me. It's more the people. Or the  person, anyway."

"Your mother," he guesses. "The florist."

"Yes."

"I'll have to keep that in mind," he says. "I'm glad you like the flowers."

"They were a nice surprise." I stare at them on my desk. "I was starting to think maybe you forgot about me."

"Why would you think that?"

"I haven't heard from you," I say. "Haven't seen you."

"That's not from lack of remembering," he says. "I've been busy with  work, but you've been on my mind. And you can see me any time you want,  Karissa. Anytime. Just say the word and I'm yours."

"Tonight?" I whisper.

"How about right now?" he suggests. "I can be there in an hour."

My eyes dart to Melody, still fast asleep in her bed. "Can you make it two?"

"Whatever you want," he says. "I'll see you then."

He ends the call, and I set my phone back down, unable to fight the  smile this time. It's building up inside of me to the point that I feel  like I'm going to explode. I let out a silent scream, kicking my legs in  my bed and clenching my fists, unable to contain it. I jump up and scan  the room anxiously, grabbing my robe before jetting to the bathroom,  careful not to wake Melody.                       
       
           



       

I shower, and scour, and shave, and stress, the giddiness making me  edgy. I stay under the hot spray until my fingertips prune. Getting out,  I slather on lotion, making every inch of my body silky smooth, coated  with a touch of fragrance. Heading back into the room, robe on, towel on  my head, I find Melody sitting up in her bed, awake again, searching  through her bag.

"Hey," she says without even looking up at me. "Paul called, wants to meet up. Our next classes are side-by-side."

"Really?"

"Yeah, isn't that something?" she says, smiling. "So we're going to walk to class together and then get some dinner afterward."

"Awesome."

"You wanna come with?" She raises her eyebrows as she casts her eyes at  me. "Would be nice to get something not out of a can or from the dining  hall."

"Yeah, I'll pass this time," I say. "Thanks, though."

"You sure?"

"Positive. You and Paul have fun."

She stands up, grabbing her things and getting them together. "Well, let  me know if you change your mind and we'll meet up somewhere, okay?"

"Okay."

I won't change my mind, but I don't tell her that, relieved I won't have  to try to explain why I'm getting dressed to leave in the middle of the  afternoon. I know I should tell her the truth-I'm breaking every rule  my mother ever taught me and violating the friendship code by sneaking  out like this. Always make sure someone knows who you're with and what  you're doing, how they can find you, and never-ever-go somewhere without  a friend knowing. It's an unspoken pact, one I've violated again and  again, and I don't even know why.

But I can't say anything.

I'm not ready to tell anyone.

There's something thrilling, something chilling, about having something  that's all mine. I've lived a life of secrecy since I was born, a life  of uncertainty because of my mother's quirky ways, but this is another  level I can't even explain. It's having a different world to step into, a  world so much unlike my own-a world where I'm not just another person …   I'm a treasure.

He makes me feel like the sun, the world revolving around me, and I'm not ready to invite any others into our universe.

Naz is my very own knight, fearless and chivalrous, although I suspect his shining armor may be concealing a bit of darkness.

Instead of putting me on guard, that thought intrigues me.

I throw on jeans and a soft pink sweater, grabbing a scarf to finish off  the outfit, and take time to fix my hair, leaving it down and wavy. I  put on makeup, swiping lipstick the same shade as my sweater on my lips.  Once I'm ready, I grab my purse, making sure I have my keys and ID and  phone on me before heading out.

I keep my head down, not wanting to run into anyone and be delayed. I go  outside, walking around the corner to the parking garage just as the  black Mercedes pulls in.

Perfect timing.

I don't give him time to get out and open my door for me, climbing in  beside him right away. He's dressed as usual, black suit, dark tie, his  hair a sexy wave. He hasn't shaved, his facial hair thicker today than  I've seen it before. The masculine scent of his cologne fills the car.

"You look nice," he says, cutting his eyes at me as he pulls back into traffic. "Are you hungry?"

"A little," I admit. "You don't have to take me anywhere, though."

"Nonsense. I need to eat, too. What are you hungry for?" Before I can  get out a response, he cuts in again. "And don't say 'whatever' or  'anything' or 'it doesn't matter', because those aren't answers."

"Uh, I don't know."

"That's not an answer, either."

"Fine. Pizza."

"Delivery, takeout, or eat in?"

I laugh. "Eat in, I guess."

He nods once, acknowledging me, then drives in silence. I stare out the  side window as the city flies by, watching as he takes me straight  across the bridge into Brooklyn. He heads deep into the borough to a  section I'm only familiar with by reputation, a rough and tumble kind of  neighborhood.

Old graffiti covers the outside of some of the buildings as he pulls  down a side street and stops about halfway down the block, in front of  an old brick building. It looks much like every other place nearby, but  people stand outside in front of it and huddle on benches, chatting as  they wait around.