Gun Games Read online

  “Barely.” Another chomp. His thigh was touching hers. “Who’s covering for you today?”

  “Ariella.”

  “Again?”

  She nodded and nibbled her apple.

  “You better hope she stays your friend. She’s got dirt on you.”

  Yasmine gave him a thousand-watt smile. “Oh my God . . .” Still breathing audibly but slower. “It’s like she is so keyed up about all this.”

  “What?”

  “That I’m sneaking around my parents to meet up with you.”

  He smiled. “Like I’m evil boy?”

  “More like forbidden boy. At least I hope you’re not evil. I think the only thing that would excite Ariella more is if you were a vampire.”

  Gabe laughed as he inched closer to her. “Sorry to disappoint.”

  She was talking to him, her speech going a mile a minute. “She’s a little nuts!”

  And closer still.

  “I keep telling her it’s not a date, that you’re just being nice . . .”

  Until he could smell her sweat . . .

  “. . . that we just have common interests . . .”

  Sweat mixed with her perfume.

  “. . . that it’s nothing romantic and it’s just a concert and . . .”

  He turned and faced her.

  “. . . no big deal . . .”

  Eye to eye, he lifted her chin with his index finger and gently brushed his lips against hers. When she didn’t resist, he did it again. Did it a third time, making it last longer, nibbling her juicy lower lip, tasting the salt on her skin. She was sweet, sweaty, soft, and fragrant.

  Man oh man!

  He sat back in his seat, putting his hands behind his head, closing his eyes, his erection jammed between his leg and his jeans. “I’m sorry, Yasmine, I got distracted.” He turned to face her. “What were you saying?”

  She didn’t answer him. Instead, she sat stock-still with sweat pouring off her forehead and hands in her lap, her eyes on her hands. She was still holding her apple. Her mouth was slightly open, and she was breathing rapidly.

  He knew he had blindsided her. Not nice, but at least she knew where he stood. Gently, he nudged her arm. She looked up, and he raised his eyebrows. She looked down again.

  Maybe he had misread her. Maybe he had wanted to misread her. Even if he had, surely she couldn’t be that freaked out by a couple of chaste pecks on the lips even if it was her “first” kiss.

  Slowly she unfolded her hands. The fingers on her right hand spider-walking across her thigh onto his until her hand rested about four inches away from the danger zone.

  His brain screamed: higher, baby. Instead he took her hand, brought it to his lips, and then placed their entwined fingers back on his thigh, a comfortable distance from his boner. His body relaxed and so did she.

  They rode in silence for a while, every so often exchanging glances while holding hands. Finally, she dropped her apple in her purse and then let out an audible sigh. “I give up!” In a swift motion, she threw her arms around his neck, weaving her fingers in his hair, and mashed her lips against his.

  Whoa!

  Sweet!

  Time passed muy rapido. Hot and sweaty and dizzy with arousal, he kept reminding himself that she was innocent and they were in public. But he couldn’t help himself. They kissed and kissed and kissed, and it took all his willpower to keep his hands from slipping under her sweater. Her mouth was soft and warm, her breath smelled like apples, her perfume was something floral, and her sweat was musty. He was practically swooning. He became so enrapt that he almost missed their stop, jumping up from her embrace at the last moment to pull the cord. The bus lurched and they pitched forward. He felt heat coursing through his face and knew he was beet red. This time, he was breathing hard. “We get off here.”

  She nodded and picked up her purse, and they stepped off the bus, avoiding the disapproving looks of some of the older ladies. As soon as the bus pulled away, he threw his arms around her body, lifting her way off the ground until she wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her for a block or so, the two of them kissing as he walked. Over and over and over until he felt like he was going to explode. He put her back onto her feet. “Oh God,” he told her. “I need to calm down.”

  She giggled. He held her hand and they strolled in silence.

  “Are you okay?” she asked a minute later.

  “No,” he said. “I’m a little light-headed.”

  “Want a cookie?”

  He grabbed her by the waist and spun her around. “I want you.” He put her down, took her face in his hands, and planted a wet kiss on her mouth. He looked at his watch and his eyes went wide. “God, we’ve got about ten minutes to get across campus.” He took her hand and they started speed-walking.

  “Did you buy a ticket for me?”

  “Of course I bought a ticket for you. I was hoping you would come.” Pulling her along. “It would have helped if you had told me that you might come.”

  “I didn’t know until the last minute.”

  “Well, you could have at least texted me a maybe. I didn’t hear a peep from you.”

  “Well, that’s because I didn’t hear a peep from you.”

  “What are you talking about?” Gabe said. “I asked you to be my friend on Facebook.”

  “And I accepted.”

  “But you didn’t write back.”

  “The boy writes first.”

  Gabe rolled his eyes. “Since when is that the rule?”

  “I dunno. But it is the rule.”

  “You know I came to Coffee Bean looking for you.”

  “You did not.”

  “I did so.” Gabe was offended. “I came on Tuesday and Thursday.”

  Yasmine said, “I came on Monday and Wednesday.”

  “Ooh, psych!” He took her hand and started running. “If you would have texted me, I would have met you. I mean I can’t exactly call you.”

  “Why on earth would I assume that you’d want to meet me?”

  “Why wouldn’t you assume it? I asked you to the concert.”

  “I thought you were just being nice. You said it wasn’t a date.”

  He stopped and grinned. “I lied.”

  They arrived just as the lights were dimming . . . again. The first half of the concert was fine, but he was constantly aware of Yasmine’s presence, her hand in his, setting off motion below his waist. It wasn’t until Paul took the stage that Gabe was finally able to relax and lose himself in the music. When the concert was finally over and the lights came up, Gabe was calmer.

  “He did a good job.”

  “You approve?”

  “I do.” He turned to her. “What’d you think?”

  “I really enjoyed the piece. I think I like Saint-Saëns. He composes with a common theme or voice or whatever you call it. He’s not all over the place like some composers.”

  “Good call.” Gabe eyed her face and was dying to kiss her, but he didn’t want to get aroused. It would be a big faux pas to greet Paul with a woody. “I gotta go show my face. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  He led her backstage where Paul was talking to a few of his classmates and a young woman named Anna Benton who Gabe knew well from previous piano competitions. Anna was eighteen with long blond hair, bright blue eyes, and legs that wouldn’t quit. As usual, she was blabbing a mile a minute to whoever was listening. Paul and Gabe exchanged a guy hug.

  “Excellente!”

  “Yeah, it worked out.”

  “Did a great job.”

  Paul nodded. “Not bad. Thanks for coming.”

  “Anytime.” Yasmine was hiding behind his back. Gabe pushed her forward. “This is my friend, Yasmine.”

  “Hi, there,” Paul said.

  “You were terrific,” Yasmine whispered.

  Anna butted in and gave Gabe a bear hug along with a kiss on the mouth. “Well, hello there, Whitman, have you been living in a cave?”

 
“It hasn’t been that long—”

  “You weren’t at Atlanta, you weren’t at Paris, you weren’t at Brussels . . . were you at Chicago? No, you weren’t at Chicago either.”

  “I had a few issues last year,” Gabe said. “I’m coming to Budapest.”

  “For Liszt in Junior competition?”

  “Yes, Liszt; no to Junior. I’m Adult now.”

  “You’re fifteen? Fuck!” She glared at him. “When the fuck did you turn fifteen?”

  “Like seven months ag—”

  “Fuck!” Anna said. “Shit! You had to choose Budapest to turn fifteen? Fuck!”

  “First you yell at me for not coming, and then when I say I’m coming—”

  “Yeah, you’re going against me. Fuck!”

  “Maybe I’ll choke.”

  “Why would you choke? You never choke. You’re the antichoke. And now that you’re working with Nicholas Mark, you must be really good.”

  “He is really good,” Paul told her.

  “Well, that’s just terrific! Just terrific! Fuck!”

  “I love you, too, Anna.” Again, Yasmine was ducking behind him. Gabe edged her out until she was standing by his side. “This is my friend, Yasmine.”

  “Hi.” She gave Yasmine a once-over and returned her eyes to Gabe. “It’s not that I don’t love you, Gabriel. I do love you. But I hate you. Fuck!”

  Paul said, “You have time for dinner, Whitman?”

  Gabe looked at Yasmine who seemed terribly out of place. He knew the feeling. “Nah, I’ve got some shit I’ve gotta do for Nick.”

  “Nick the prick.”

  “Not as big a prick as you are,” Anna said to Gabe.

  “Nick is fine except when he isn’t.” To Paul, Gabe said. “I’ll be on campus on Tuesday. Can you meet for lunch?”

  “I think that would work.”

  Gabe said, “I’ll text you.” He looked at Anna. “Bye, darling.”

  “Just shut the fuck up!”

  “I love you, too.”

  They hugged, and Gabe led Yasmine into daylight. They walked a few minutes in silence. Then Yasmine said, “I think she didn’t like me.”

  “Who?”

  “Your friend Anna.”

  “Anna always swears.”

  “No, she was giving me the stink-eye.”

  “No, she wasn’t. She was probably scoping you out. She’s a lesbian.”

  “She’s a lesbian?”

  “Yep.”

  “How can that be? She’s beautiful!”

  “Why can’t lesbians be beautiful?”

  “I mean they can but . . . what a waste!”

  “You’re sounding like the guys. I like Anna, but she’s a handful. I was never attracted to her even before I knew she was gay.”

  But Yasmine’s mind was elsewhere. “If I were that beautiful, I’d . . .”

  Gabe waited for her to continue.

  How could she explain it to him? She loved her culture. She truly, truly, truly loved being Persian. But sometimes, it was hard to be a minority, really a minority within a minority because most of the Jewish kids she knew were white. She knew what their parents said about the Persians: that they were clannish, that they were aloof, that they were always cheap, that they were cheaters, that they were untrustworthy. It was all a stereotype. Besides if you had to run away from your country with just the clothes on your back, you might be a little cautious also. Her father was a wonderful, honest man. Her mom wasn’t aloof, but she was shy. It was terribly hard having to justify who you are in your mind. Sometimes, it would be nice to just fit. “Nothing. Never mind.”

  Gabe kissed her gently on the mouth. “You know what’s really sexy?”

  “What?”

  He grinned. “When a girl shows up on time.” He grabbed her hand and started running to the bus stop. They made it right as the bus was pulling up. Yasmine started toward the back like the first time, but Gabe pulled her arm.

  “Go in here. Take the window seat.”

  “Okay—”

  “Put your head down.”

  “What?”

  “Just do it. Don’t talk.” He swung around until most of his body was blocking hers. Two stops later, a group of four gangbangers came up from the back, pushing and shoving each other. When they got to the exit doors, one of them spied Yasmine and his eyes went wide.

  Gabe took out his crucifix and spoke to the cholo in Spanish—not that he was fluent, but he could make himself understood. The guy answered back, his voice somber. A moment later, the bangers were gone. Gabe turned around, slumped in his seat, and blew out air. “I keep forgetting what area we’re in.”

  Yasmine said, “What was that all about?”

  “It was about someone as pretty as you being dog meat to these guys.”

  “What did you say to him?”

  “I told him I was a priest and that your brother was just shot. That you and I were going to the hospital to deliver him last rites. He sends his sympathies.”

  Yasmine stared at him. “He believed that you were a priest?”

  “Apparently.” Gabe kissed his crucifix and tucked it back into his shirt. “It was my grandmother’s who gave it to my father who gave it to my mother who gave it to me.”

  “When did you learn to speak Spanish?”

  “I’ve been taking lessons from the lieutenant. I don’t speak like a native, but I suppose that made me more convincing.”

  “I can’t believe they believed that you were a priest.”

  “It’s all attitude, Yasmine. Anytime I’m in a tight spot, I channel my dad and usually I do just fine.”

  “Isn’t there anything you can’t do?”

  “I can’t draw a straight line and I can’t speak Farsi.” He threw his arm around her shoulders. “Nothing I can do about the first one, but maybe you can help with the second.”

  “Why do you want to learn Farsi?”

  “So when you talk to Ariella or your parents, I can eavesdrop.” He smiled, then said, “Seriously, I like languages.”

  “I’ll teach you Farsi. What do I get in return?”

  Gabe wanted to grin, but kept himself in check. “I’m sure . . . if I give it some thought . . . I can teach you a thing or two.”

  “Like piano?” She shook her head. “Forget it. It’s a lost cause.”

  Man, she was naive, didn’t even recognize a come-on. But she sure could kiss. He said, “Maybe not piano, but like the cliché goes, I bet we could make some beautiful music together.”

  She blushed and turned her head to look out the window. He’d grown up with fast-tracked girls. This one was definitely a throwback to another age. “If I flirt with you, don’t get all nervous. I like you, but I know how to behave, okay?”

  She nodded. A slow smile spread across her mouth. “Don’t behave too good.”

  Gabe grinned and threw his arm around her delicate shoulders. “Your words are music to my ears.”

  Chapter Eleven

  An uneventful weekend gave way to a hellish week, as if everyone saved their felonious activities for working hours. By four-thirty Tuesday afternoon, Decker was finally ready for a lunch break when Marge came into the office, a black purse slouched over her shoulder, keys in hand. She said, “Off to see Kevin Stanger.”

  “Who?”

  “The bullied boy who transferred out of Bell and Wakefield. Why I’m bothering is another question. First of all, the tox came back on Gregory Hesse. None of the regular drugs were in his system. He did have a .05 BAL, which for a kid his size is probably a few beers.”

  “Maybe he was steeling himself to do the deed.”

  “Could be,” Marge said. “But the fact remains that he shot himself and he wasn’t doped up to the point where he didn’t know what he was doing.”

  “We all agree it was suicide. The question is why?”

  “A question we may never answer because it seems that Wendy Hesse had a change of heart. She hasn’t called back since my visit last Thursday. Has sh
e called you?”

  Decker shook his head no. “Maybe we shouldn’t bother with Kevin Stanger.”

  “The kid agreed to talk to us, Pete. The police would look like idiots if I said never mind.”

  “I’m not too busy right now. Want company?”

  “You sure? I know you’re busy.”

  Decker picked up his jacket. “I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve been here since six and have yet to see daylight.”

  “You’d better hurry. The sun is going down fast.”

  “Yeah, even an inanimate star knows when to call it quits.”

  By his stature alone, Kevin Stanger didn’t look like the type of kid that could be easily bullied. He was around five ten, one fifty, with a fair amount of muscle across his back. His face told a different story. It was round and weak chinned with cheeks spangled with acne. He wore braces. His hair was unruly, and his brown eyes were hooded under thick brows. Even before hello, his expression exhibited a defeatist attitude.

  The boy led them into the living room and seated them on the sofa. Then he glanced out the glass picture window and sat down, his leg shaking a mile a minute. He said, “We have to make it quick. My mom’ll be home at six.”

  Marge’s watch read ten after five. She said, “You told me your mom was okay with this.”

  “Well, kinda. She didn’t say no.” Kevin wore a sweatshirt and a pair of pajama pants. His face was flushed. “I wasn’t feeling well so I decided to skip my last two classes. I mean, I told one of the school’s VPs, Mrs. Holloway. She said I could go home if it was okay with my mom. So I pretended to call my mom and then told Mrs. Holloway it was okay with mom. I mean, I don’t know that it’s not okay with my mom because I didn’t call her. ’Cause I wanted to talk to you guys and I didn’t want to ask. Sometimes it’s easier to leave parents out of it.”

  Decker nodded and said, “What can you tell me about Greg?”

  “He was a good guy.”

  “Nobody seemed to have had a problem with him,” Marge said.

  “Yeah, I thought Greg held his own.” He scratched his head. “Maybe not. If he was going through hard times, I wish he told me. He never said anything.”

  “Could you talk about what you went through?” Decker asked.

  “It’s hard to talk about.”