New York Billionaires Series

“Got it,” a voice says from the front seat.

I crack my eyes open. “How do you know that place?” I ask him.

Carter chuckles. “That’s where you live.”

“I know that. How do you?”

“I’ve dropped you off there before. I’ve also picked you up from there, last week. Remember? When we went out and ate pizza?”

Pizza… pizza… delicious cheese. “I want pizza.”

“You’ll have to wait for a bit, kid. Can’t eat for a while.”

I lean back against the seat. “Why? And why does my mouth feel weird? Does it look weird? I feel like I’ve lost it.” But when I reach up to touch the cottony area, something closes around my wrist. A warm hand.

“Don’t,” Carter says. “You shouldn’t touch it.”

“But I’ve lost my mouth.”

“No, you haven’t. It’s still there. I can see it.”

“You might be lying.”

“Would I lie to you?” he asks. “I’ve been more honest with you than I have with anyone for years.”

It takes me a few seconds to process the words. Honesty. Okay. If he says I still have a mouth, I probably do. So I twist my hand over and grab a hold of his instead. “Fine,” I say.

“Great,” he murmurs, and our intertwined fingers drift to my lap. I lean my head back and close my eyes. Nothing feels real, nothing feels tangible, except the seat beneath me and the tight grip around my hand. For a long moment I just let myself drift.

But maybe it’s more than just a long moment.

“Spitfire, we’re here. Can you get out of the car for me?”

I blink my eyes open. It’s bright again. Why is it so bright? “Yes.”

“Come here, then. Let’s get you home.”

I emerge on shaky legs on the sidewalk. It’s cracked beneath my feet, and I stare at the crack for a long time, daring it to move. It feels scary. What if the asphalt breaks apart?

Carter’s hand squeezes around mine. “Ready to go inside?”

“Yes,” I say, and give the crack in the sidewalk a last look. “Don’t move,” I warn it.

“Well, we have to,” he says. “Do you have your keys?”

I reach inside my jacket, searching for the inner pocket. My arms feel heavy. They weigh tons and tons, but I finally find it.

Carter takes it from me. “Great. Come on, up these stairs.”

I catch sight of a curtain on the first floor shifting. Old Man Pierce watching me come home, no doubt. He keeps his eagle eyes trained on the stoop most days from the comfortable perch of his century-old armchair.

“He’s watching,” I tell Carter.

Carter’s focused on unlocking the front door. “Interesting,” he says. “Are you referring to God? But come inside.”

“Not God. Landlord.”

The front door clicks closed behind us and I’m just about to point toward the stairs, up to my room, when the door to Pierce’s apartment swings open. He’s standing there, dressing gown on and glasses perched on his nose. He looks like a turtle. Or a vulture. A giggle escapes me and I press my entire hand against my mouth to stop it.

It hurts.

“Audrey?” he says. “What’s the matter?”

“She’s had her wisdom teeth removed,” Carter replies. He sounds like he does at work. Cool and slippery, like rocks beneath a stream. Distant somehow. “I’m helping her home from the dentist’s.”

“Oh. I’ve seen you around before,” Pierce says. “Good, good. Always told you to get a boyfriend, Audrey.”

I giggle harder. As if. Pierce gives me a final nod and closes the door again, retreating back into his apartment. The door closes and only the smell of mothballs remains.

“Boyfriend,” I whisper. “Everyone thinks that.”

“Yes, well, it’s a logical conclusion. You live up here?” Carter asks. There’s a hint of disapproval in his voice. He doesn’t sound smooth anymore. He sounds raspy, like sandpaper.

I walk after him up the stairs. “You don’t want people to think that. Of course you don’t. I get it. I geeeeeet it,” I say, drawing out the word.Têxt © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Kid, I have no problem with people thinking we’re in a relationship. But I don’t like you living in a place that smells like mold.”

“Oh.” I look down at the carpeted stairs. “There was a leak… a few years ago. Ergo, mold. People don’t use ‘ergo’ enough. I should start adding it to my articles.”

“No, it sounds pompous,” Carter says, “and why hasn’t the mold been fixed? You breathe this on a daily basis.”

I grip his arm to get him to look at me, to tell him off about complaining. But his arm feels huge in my grip, and I’m distracted by the width of his bicep. Bicep. Also a weird word. Bi-cep.

“Audrey?”

“You never call me Audrey.”

He looks down at my hand on his arm. “Sometimes I do. When I need you to take me seriously.”

“I always take you seriously. When you’re not being silly.”

“I’m never silly,” he says solemnly, and I break into laughter again. I’ve never met anyone who’s sillier.

“Is your room on the right or the left?”

“Left,” I say. “The right one belongs to Jonah. He smokes pot all the time.”

Carter mutters something under his breath and reaches for the knob to my room. Then he pauses. “Where’s the lock?”