"You'll really come?" she asks after a moment.
"Yes."
"I'll call Melody," she says. "Her and Paul were going to pick me up, but since you're going they don't have to."
"Okay."
She pulls out her phone but doesn't use it yet, still looking at me, studying me, like maybe there's something else she wants to say. Her eyes trail me from head to toe before meeting my gaze again. "You are going to change, right?"
Instinctively, I glance down at my suit. "I wasn't planning to."
"It's the Fourth of July," she stresses. "It's a cookout, not a board room meeting or, you know, whatever it is you do in those suits."
The way she words it makes me laugh. "I do everything in these suits… socialize, eat, work… I've even been known to fuck in them before."
The flush of her cheeks and the sly grin she tries to repress tells me she very clearly remembers that happening. "I'm just saying, you know… you might be more comfortable in something like I'm wearing."
She motions to herself to stress her point, and my eyes instinctively scan her body, all too happy to have an excuse to openly ogle her. "Something tells me I wouldn't look nearly as good in that outfit as you do."
She rolls her eyes, the blush only deepening. "You know what I mean."
"Yeah, I do," I say. "If it'll make you happy, I'll change."
"Thank you."
I end up changing into some of my workout clothes—a pair of black gym shorts and a plain white tee, digging a pair of black sneakers out of the bottom of my closet. I haven't worked out in a while, with Karissa keeping me preoccupied and my injury making it hard to even walk around for too long some afternoons.
After I'm out of the suit, I head back downstairs, hearing Karissa's voice as she talks into her phone.
"Yeah, I'm sure," she says. "We'll meet you guys there."
She hangs up, slipping the phone into her back pocket, before turning toward the doorway when I step back in. Her eyes widen, jaw dropping, as she gapes at me so hard it damn near makes me hesitate.
"What now?" I ask, glancing down at myself.
"Uh, nothing," she says, shaking it off as she averts her eyes. Huh. "I've just never seen you wear anything like that before. It looks good… I mean, I'm just saying, you look good."
The flush is back on her cheeks.
"Are you hitting on me, Karissa?"
"What? No! Of course not! I'm just saying…"
"You're saying I look good."
"Yes."
I let out a laugh, shaking my head, waiting for her to finish whatever she needs to do. It only takes her a few minutes before she turns to me and smiles, a large canvas tote bag on her shoulder, stuffed full of her things. I take her expression to mean she's ready and grab the foam cooler, motioning with my head for her to start for the door.
I stick the cooler in the trunk of the car, and she drops her bag beside it, huffing as she does so. "Jesus, it's hot out here today."
"You sure you want to go?" I ask, slamming the trunk closed. "It's only going to get hotter."
She scoffs. "I can handle the heat."
Brooklyn Bridge Park is on the upper eastside of the borough, located along the waterfront of the East River. I park the car in a garage a quarter mile away, knowing I'm never going to find a spot on the street, and grab the cooler from the trunk as Karissa once again slings her bag on her shoulder.
The fifth pier is packed, most of the picnic tables occupied, a few of the charcoal grills already heating. The grass is unnaturally green, the air briny, permeated with the scent of salt this close to the water. Karissa tilts her head back as we get closer, inhaling deeply as a smile plays on her lips. "I love that smell."
She loves it.
Go figure.
It makes my nose twitch.
I notice the group as soon as we arrive, half a dozen people surrounding one of the tables. I don't know most of them, and from the way Karissa's footsteps slow, her approach tentative, I know she doesn't really know them, either. Melody Carmichael is dead center of the crowd, standing behind her boyfriend, as he sits at the table with two other guys. The others are female, pretty little blondes with deep tans, just like Melody.
They're paired up, I realize. Three couples.
No wonder Karissa didn't want to come alone…
My eyes survey the group before shifting to Karissa when she approaches, immediately hugging Melody. I linger behind quietly, setting the cooler down at my feet, and watch as greetings are made and introductions are done. Mandy and Monica—Melody's best friends from high school—along with their boyfriends, Scott and Jackson.
Melody comes to Paul last, wrapping her arms around him from behind and planting a kiss on his cheek that he wipes away the second she turns around. "And of course you know Paul."
"Yeah," Karissa says, her voice tentative as she only briefly glances his way. "Of course."
No one else seems to notice the change in her voice, the less than enthusiastic way she reacts to Paul's presence, but it screams loudly to me, waving a big red flag. I stare at the boy, assessing him. I've seen him before when I watched Karissa from afar, saw him the night at Timbers when Melody left the bar… the night Karissa was drugged and collapsed in the street.
Huh.
That's a strike.
I'm so wrapped up in that fact, caught up in riddling out the mystery, that I don't realize anyone addressed me until the hand presses against my chest. My eyes dart to it, seeing the bright red polish on the unnaturally long nails, before following the arm to the body of someone who shouldn't be touching me.
I meet Melody's eyes.
"Looking good, Naz," she says playfully, the soft blue twinkling with amusement. "I haven't seen you out of a suit before. I like it."
I look back down, staring at her intrusive hand until she removes it. Finally. "It's nice to see you again, Miss Carmichael."
She blushes at my tone like she thinks I'm flirting, but I'm just trying to keep from upsetting Karissa's friend. I smile so I won't scowl, offering kind words so I won't offend. As much as I despise deception, I know how to play the game when I have to.
And much to my dismay, I have to play it often.
I know their type. They smile too easily, welcome too warmly, their words as fake as the moans they make when they let their little boyfriends play around between their thighs. They come from well-to-do families and never want for anything. They don't know what it's like to feel pain. They don't know what it's like to struggle. They don't know what it's like to wake up one day and realize everything you thought you knew about life was a fucking lie.