Behind Your Back (13 page)

“Y
ou fucked her on the first date? Well done, man,” Row says, holding his closed fist out for me to bump. I give him a glare and then pound it anyway.

“How was she? Not that I would know anything about it,” Track says, shuddering. “Pussy just doesn’t do it for me.”

“We
know
,” Hardy, Row and Baz say at once with many eye rolls.

“I’ll only put premium beef in this body. It’s a temple, you know,” he says, which earns him a few cuffs on the head and a bottle thrown in his direction that he catches with ease.

“Stop talking about dick and get back to the girl,” Baz says.

“Do you all want a play-by-play?”

“More like a thrust-by-thrust,” Cash says, shoving a tortilla chip in his mouth and crunching down loudly.

“Oh, should I have recorded it on my phone so you all could have a visual?” I say. I’m not sure why I’m suddenly angry about sharing my escapades with Saige. Normally, we all share and then start telling stories about our favorite conquests, but it doesn’t feel right this time. I don’t want to share. I want to hold onto that warm moment with Saige. I’m regretting even telling Cash about it. Too late to take it back, though.

“We’re just busting your balls, man. Calm the fuck down,” Cash says. I don’t like them talking about her like this, but I’m not going to sit down and analyze that particular feeling.

“Whatever. To move on, things are going well. I’ll update you when I have more details. Anyone else?”

Track pipes up and starts talking. He gives me a look and I send him a nod of thanks. Then it’s time for a Hardy update. Money, money, money. It makes the world go ‘round.

My mind wanders as everyone debates our next move after Mr. B. It’s not time to vote yet, but we’ll have to deal with that problem soon.

“That reminds me. I need some money,” Baz says.

“What for?” I ask.

“No reason. I just need it.” He’s being cagey and it’s annoying.

“How much?” Hardy asks.

“Half a mill.”

“What the hell for, Baz? You can’t ask for that kind of green without telling us all what it’s for. We don’t spend a cent without discussing it. That’s how this works. That’s how this has always worked.”

“It’s none of your fucking business! Just give me the cock-sucking money!” He’s on his feet and we’re all a little shocked by the outburst. He’s asked for mysterious money before, but he’s never been so adamant about it. His light blue eyes snap and crackle as he looks at us.

“Simmer down, man,” Cash says, putting his hand on Baz’s shoulder. Baz shakes it off and starts pacing around the room. Row and Hardy share a look. They have that weird twin thing that freaks me out, honestly. Like they are one brain in two bodies.

“I just need it, okay? Can you just do me a solid and give me this? I’ll never ask like this again. I just need it.” Baz being this desperate for money means one of two things: Either he’s in trouble, or someone he loves is. He never talks about his family. We have a sort of “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy about our personal lives.

I look around at the boys and we all sort of realize that he’s serious and he’s not going to tell us, no matter how much we ask.

“Vote?” I say.

“All in favor of giving Baz money?” Every single hand goes up. Well, except for Baz’s. He just stands there and stares at us all, as if he can’t believe it.

“Okay, vote is unanimous. Hardy, can you set everything up?” He nods and Baz sits back down with a thump.

“Thank you,” he says, so quiet I can barely hear him.

“You’re welcome. But just know this is a one-time thing. And it better not get you into trouble.” I have the feeling this is going to get him or someone out of trouble. Hopefully.

Track cleared his throat and then asked if anyone wanted another beer while he was up and getting one out of the fridge.

That breaks the tension and the business portion of our meeting ends and the non-business part starts. Yes, we all work together toward a common goal, but we also genuinely like each other. For lack of a better word, these are my brothers. My family.

I’m the last to leave and Cash grabs my arm before I head out the door.

“Hey, are you doing okay? You seem a little… off.”

Shit. I don’t want to talk about this.

“I’m fine. Seriously. Just tired.” He studies me for a while and then smiles. So fucking happy. Cash is so good at faking a smile, sometimes I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not.

“Just checking in.” He slaps me on the shoulder and holds the door open.

“Well don’t,” I say before I head downstairs and out into the night.

Twelve

“H
ave any lunch plans?” Saige says after Grace puts her through on my work line.

“Why, are you going to suggest something?” I say, glad I’m not with a client so I can talk to her without anyone eavesdropping.

“Well, I just got out of class and I was thinking that maybe you’d like to grab tacos or something at this little place off campus. But if you’re
terribly
busy, I understand.” The last sentence is dripping with sarcasm.

“I think that can be arranged,” I say and she rattles off the address. I grab my cell phone and type it in so I can find it. I’m going to have to cab it to get there.

“Meet you there in ten?” I say.

“Perfect.” I hang up and realize there’s a smile on my face. I definitely need to stop that. She’s a job. A mark. Well, the daughter of a mark. Nothing more. When she’s gone, I won’t even think about her. Just like I don’t think about the other former marks. Their names and faces and bodies all blur together. I don’t even know how many there have been. I should feel bad about it. But I don’t.

I think on that for a moment as I put my cell phone in my jacket pocket and head out to meet Saige. But then her face fills my brain and cancels everything else out.

“D
are you,” Saige says when our tacos come with three choices of salsa. Mild, Regular and Surface of the Sun.

“Only if you do,” I say, reaching for the cup of Surface of the Sun.

“You’re on,” she says, sticking her fork into the sauce and then blobbing it on top of her taco. I do the same and we both lift our tacos up.

“Ready?” she says.

“Absolutely,” I say and we bite down at the same time. Shit, they weren’t kidding. I’m no pansy when it comes to salsa but holy SHIT.

I chew and swallow, but I can’t do it without a cough. My eyes instantly water and I drop the taco on my plate before reaching for my water. I know it won’t stop the pain, but I don’t know what else to do.

“Holy fucking shit,” Saige coughs out and I can’t see through the tears streaming through my eyes, but I can imagine she’s doing the same thing I’m doing.

Pain. So much pain. If I wasn’t in so much pain, I’d be amused by her cursing.

It takes a while for both of us to be able to breathe and see again.

“Tried the SOS salsa, didn’t you?” our waitress says, coming to refill our water glasses. I blink at her and see the smirk on her face.

“Yeah,” I choke out as I reach for the water and drain it.

“Well, don’t say we didn’t warn you,” she sing-songs as she goes to check on another table.

“That was a terrible idea,” Saige says, her eyes red. I’ve finally stopped crying so I can see her now. Her hair is straight, and partially held back on one side of her face with bobby pins. She’s casual today, in jeans and a black t-shirt that’s just a little bit tight. It’s a good look for her. There are tiny little crystal skull studs in her ears. I imagine this outfit pisses her father off and that pleases me. Soon, this will seem like no big deal. Not after I’m through with him.

“That was a bad choice,” I agree and we both laugh.

“I think I’m going to stick with the mild. If I have any taste buds left.” I wasn’t sure if I had any either.

We shared the mild salsa and finished our tacos before splitting a piece of chocolate cake.

“I’m so full, I don’t want to move,” she says, leaning back in her chair.

“Same here. And I’m pretty sure it’s going to take a while to recover from that salsa. Holy hell.” She cringes.

“Do you have to go back right away?” she asks as I look at my watch.

“No, I have some time.” This is a lie. I have an appointment in twenty minutes and it’s going to take at least ten to get back by cab. I pull out my phone and send a quick message to Grace.

“So, how was class today?” I ask. I need to learn as much about her as soon as possible so I can use it to get closer.

She describes her classes and I ask her more about her major and why she chose it.

“I’m not sure. It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment decision. And I think a little part of me wanted to pick something my dad would hate.” She’s always talking about her dad, but not about her mother. I wonder if there’s a story there. Something I might be able to use to my advantage.

“And did it work?”

She laughs.

“Did it ever. I was treated to quite the lecture. But I went ahead and declared my major anyway. I’m not a child. I can do what I want.” No, she’s definitely not a child and I suspect even when she was, she didn’t let anyone push her around.

“And you love it,” I say. It’s not a question. It’s easy to see when she talks about her classes. Well, except for drawing. She doesn’t like that very much.

“It feels like I’m doing something that matters. Something important. That might sound silly, but I don’t care. Paintings are some of the only historical records we have in some cases. Especially of historical figures. Even though the portraits probably aren’t as accurate. But who doesn’t put a filter on their Instagram pictures?” The last part makes me burst out laughing.

“That’s a good point. So, what are your plans after you graduate? Travel the world? Find yourself?”

She presses her lips together.

“Not sure yet. We’ll see. I don’t like to speculate on the future beyond today.” I like that.

“I can drink to that,” I say, raising my glass of water. We clink our glasses together and then she asks me if I want to take a walk.

“The last time we took a walk, I fucked you up against a wall,” I say, but she doesn’t react. As if she was expecting me to say that. It’s going to take more than that to shock her.

“True,” she says as I leave a generous tip for the waitress, even though she laughed at us.

“So are you saying it could happen again?” I ask as I hold the door for her.

“We’ll see,” she says, giving me a little smirk. Oh hell. What is this girl doing to me?

T
he sun is brilliant on Saige’s hair. Almost blinding.

“Where to?” I ask.

“This way,” she answers, pointing. It’s just like the night of our first date, with her leading the way. But only because I let her. I’m still in control.

“So tell me more about you, Quinn Brand. You’ve asked all kinds of questions about me, now it’s my turn.” I have answers ready for anything she could potentially ask me. I’ve done this part so many times before.

“What do you want to know?” She taps her chin as if she’s thinking really hard. Like she hasn’t thought about it until now, which I know is bullshit. She said she doesn’t plan for any day further than today, but now I think that’s a lie.

“Everything. Where did you grow up? Do you have any brothers or sisters? What’s your mother like? How old were you when you learned to ride a bike? Have you ever played Truth or Dare?” That is… a lot of questions.

“Do you want me to answer them all at once?” She laughs.

“You don’t have to. Just start with something. Anything.”

I’d rather not tell her about my fake childhood where I’d paint her a rosy picture of cookies and two parents and Christmases with mounds of toys. I want to talk about something different.

“I have never played Truth or Dare.” It’s nice to be honest with her, at least for this question.

“Never? Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“How is that possible?”

I shrug.

“No idea. Just never came up. Have you?” I turn the questions back on her.

“What else was there to do at sleepovers once you’d done prank calls and snuck into your parents’ liquor cabinet?” I stifle a laugh.

“Well, pillow fights come to mind,” I say and she lightly punches my shoulder.

“That’s just a male fantasy, by the way. I have never had a pillow fight in my life.”

“Now that is a damn shame.”

“Perv.”

We reach another intersection and she points. I have no idea where we’re going and I don’t care. People pass by and the city noise envelops us, but I’m focused on her.

“What is the craziest dare you’ve done?” I ask. I really, really want to know.

“I’ll tell you if you tell me about your first kiss.” Damn. I definitely don’t want to tell her about that and not because I don’t want to talk about my personal life; it’s an embarrassing story. Beyond embarrassing.

“Deal,” I say. “But you have to go first.”

She sighs as if it’s a huge imposition.

“Fine. But this better be a good story.” I’m sure she’ll enjoy it, even if I hate telling it.

“It is.”

She blows out a breath and looks straight ahead.

“The craziest dare I ever did was when I was sixteen. Oh God, it was so dumb. So we’d been doing Hamlet in school, so I got dared to do Ophelia’s death scene with a Scottish accent in the middle of Wal-Mart. Let’s just say I didn’t get through the entire scene before I was asked to leave and then escorted out of the store. I refused ever to go back to that store afterwards. Good thing that was before a lot of phones could take video on them or else it would probably be on YouTube for all the world to see.” I laugh. I can totally picture her doing that.

“Man, I wish there were a video. That’s something I’d like to see. Maybe you can reenact it for me sometime?” She rolled her eyes.

“Hell no. Now, tell me about your first kiss.” Now it was my turn to sigh and bear my awkward childhood.

“I was ten and it was at camp.” As soon as I start telling the story, I am sucked back in time to that bunk and that girl. Lacey.

“There was this girl, Lacey, I’d had a crush on all summer, but I’d been too shy to do anything about it. Of course I was an idiot and told one of my friends and then the entire boys’ bunk knew and teased me about it. Finally, I had to kiss her just to shut them up. So I passed her a note during lunch and told her to sneak away and meet me in the boys’ bunk during arts and crafts. I was freaking out and had to keep rubbing my palms on my shorts. She came and I remember wishing I’d watched more romantic movies so I’d have the right thing to say. I don’t really remember what happened next, but we ended up sitting on my bunk and I leaned in and kissed her. She smelled like gum and bug spray. She pulled back so fast I almost fell off the bunk. And then she threw up in my lap.”

I cringe, remembering the smell. I’d had to go shower and change and try and get the smell out of my mattress. It stunk a little bit for the last week of camp. But at least no one teased me about not kissing her. Instead they teased me about her throwing up. Because of course that got out as well.

“Oh my God, Quinn,” Saige says through a laugh. She grabs my arm and we stop walking. Then she throws her head back and laughs at my misfortune. I should probably mind, but I don’t. I’d laugh at me too.

“That is the most tragic first kiss story I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. It was pretty traumatizing.” I’d been horrified it was something I did that caused her to vomit. Like my breath was bad, or I was gross or something. Took me four years to try again, and luckily that girl didn’t vomit during any of our kisses. She was my first actual girlfriend.