The Coincidence 03 The Destiny of Violet and Luke ARC (25 page)

As he tips to the side, and lets me look under his ass, I get a peek of his ass as the towel slouches lower on his hip and smell the scent of booze on his breath.

There’s a card hidden under him, just like I thought and I snatch it up and hold it between my fingers. “You were cheating the whole time, weren’t you?”

He grabs the card away from me, a trace of a smile at his lips. “I always cheat at cards. It was how I was taught to play.”

“So you knew I’d lose every hand and you’d get to ask the questions.” I sink down on the bed, crossing my legs, unsure what to make of this. No one’s ever played me like that. “I’m not sure whether to be pissed off or impressed.”

“I’d go with the latter,” he tells me, his smile growing and reaching his eyes.

“I could do that…” What the hell is my problem? I should be getting upset with him. He played me. And I kind of like it, in a weird, playful way. “But I only think it’s fair that you answer some of my questions.”

“Why’s that fair?” he asks, tightening the loosened towel on his waist. “I should get to ask more questions for being clever enough to trick you, which I’m guessing doesn’t happen that often. I’m guessing you’re usually on the giving end instead of the receiving.”

“I get to ask you three questions,” I say, cutting him off. “And the first one I want to know is why don’t you have anywhere to live?”

He’s unenthusiastic about my question. “That’s really what you’re choosing to ask?” he asks and I nod. “Fine, but it’s nothing interesting like dealing drugs.” He blows out a loud breath, leaning back down on the bed, propping sideways on his hip. “I do have a place to live, but it means going back to live with my mom in my hometown and I don’t want to do that.”

“Why not?” I ask. “You don’t like your mom?”

“Not really.” He lifts up two fingers. “That’s two questions, for the record. You only get one more.” His voice quivers and so do his fingers. I feel bad for him because I can tell there’s more to it then what he says. As much as I loved my mother, I know from my time in foster care that not all mothers are sweet and loving like mine was. Mine would read me stories, sing with me. She even taught me how to play the piano, but there are some who don’t like children, who hurt them, not just physically, but emotionally, both of which I’ve experienced.

I thrum my fingers on top of my leg, thinking how far I want to delve into his head and my own. “Why don’t you just rent a place here?”

It wasn’t the question he was expecting and he’s startled by the easiness of it. “Because I have about two hundred bucks to my name.”

“Me, too.” I lean back against the headboard and kick my feet up on the bed. “How coincidental is that?”

“Not very coincidental,” he replies. “Considering we’re both two college kids who just had to fork out a shitload of money to pay for fall tuition.” He reorganizes the deck, moving top cards to the bottom. “You know, together we have about four hundred bucks. That’s enough to get an apartment in one of the Oak Section Apartments.” He winces as he says it and I’m not sure if it’s because he just offered to live with me or because the Oak Section Apartments are in the ghetto area of the city, where crackheads and prostitutes live. But they’re easy to get into and cheap because no one but crack heads and prostitutes want to live there.

I’m not sure what to make of his offer. My initial reaction is to reject him before he ends up rejecting me. “Nah, I don’t think that’d work.”

He crosses his legs, still turned sideways. “Why not?”

“Well, for starters, it’d get us a month, but then we’d be broke without food or money to pay the other bills. I still have my waitressing job at Moonlight Dining and Drinks, but I make shit and it won’t cover nearly all the expenses… and I don’t even know if you have a job,” I say. He looks hesitant and I have my answer. “So you don’t have a job?”

He frowns. “Try to look past that fact for a minute… pretend I have a way to get some extra cash. Then what do you think?”

“I think I barely know you,” I reply. “And you barely know me. And it’s really hard living with people you barely know. Trust me. I’ve done it a lot.”

“It’s hard living with people you do know, too.” He pushes up on his elbows and turns over to puts the cards on the desk near the foot of the bed. The towel opens up and I catch a glimpse of his dick.

I bite my lip, thousands of thoughts flooding my head as my heart thuds in my chest and my skin covers in tingles. When he turns around all the way back, I pretend to be examining my fingernails while shivers continue to nip at my skin.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t know, but we could make it work. And it’s better than living on the streets or in my truck… I think.” He fidgets uncomfortably, readjusting the towel back over himself. He examines the backs of his hands like they’re the most fascinating thing and for a moment he looks very vulnerable, but when he glances up there’s only this rough, raw, animalistic look in his eye. “We can make it work.”

“How would you get extra cash flow?” I say, nerves bubbling in my chest from the rough edge of his voice. “I told you earlier I won’t be dealing anymore.”

“And I’m glad,” he says. “And let me worry about the extra cash flow on my part.”

I shake my head. “I need to know—I need to know what I’m walking into.”

“Fine, I’m going to gamble.”

“There’s nowhere to gamble around here. There won’t be any campus parties.”

“Not at the kind of the parties you’ve been to, but there are others.”

“Dangerous parties.” The words roll off my tongue like sweet-tasting honey and my nerves calm down.

“Why do you sound so exited when you say that?” he wonders curiously.

“I don’t,” I lie, sitting up on the bed. Can I do it? Live with him? Am I seriously considering this? My heart beats quicker, harder. Jesus. “So if we do this, then you’ll actually make money, right? Not lose it.”

He glances down at the cards. “I just showed you how easy I can win.”

I frown, unconvinced. “Yeah, but I also caught on to your little trick.”

“Yeah, but you’re more observant than others.”

“True.”

“So what do you say?” he asks with a crook of his brow, laid-back and casual, but there’s a darkness haunting his eyes. “Roomie?”

My hands are shaking, but in a good, holy-hell sort of way. “All right, it’s a deal.” I stick out my hand and we shake on it. His touch sends tingles up my arm and my pulse accelerates, throbbing in my wrists, fingertips, neck, and even between my legs. I wonder if he can feel it.

He frees my hand and rises to his feet, turning his back to me. He opens the towel up and I wonder what he’s doing. Then he ties the towel back up and disappears for the closet. “All right, Violet, who still hasn’t told me her last name. We have a deal,” he calls out.

A slow breath eases out of my mouth, freeing my restless energy. Before I even know what I’m doing I open my mouth and say, “It’s Hayes. My last name is Hayes.”

I want to slap myself in the head for giving him my real last name. Normally I tell people I’m Violet Smith, a simple name that I used to go by when I was younger because it was better than telling people my real last name. Sometimes I’d make up extravagant names for the hell of it when Smith got too dull. Yet, I just handed over the one real thing about me to Luke. I vow that for the rest of the night I’ll be as quiet as possible to avoid letting anything else stupid slip out of my mouth.

I lie down on the bed, putting my head on his pillow, which smells like smoke and cologne—like him. I focus on my breathing, keeping myself calm as night approaches outside.

When Luke wanders back out of the closet, he’s wearing drawstring pajama bottoms, but he didn’t put a shirt on so I’m stuck staring at his muscles and tattoos all night. He opens another bottle of Jack and takes a few more shots, which I’m noticing he does a lot and I wonder how hard it is on his body since he’s a diabetic, especially after what happened in his truck. It makes me kind of nervous, thinking about the fact that he could either get really sick all of a sudden or drop dead even. As I think about the idea, it sort of hurts my heart.
Holy shit. I’m actually worried about him.

He stands to the side of the bed staring down at me with a pucker at his brows. “So Hayes, huh?” he asks, folding his arms and jerking me out of my thoughts.

I shrug, pretending it’s not a big deal when it is. “Yeah, it’s just a last name, though.”

“Yet, you seemed very reluctant to hand it over to me.”

“Maybe, I was,” I say, keeping my tone light and sarcastic. “But I guess you wore me down.”

He scans my entire body and my knees slip apart, like they’re giving him an open invitation. For a second I think of the porn movie I saw at Preston’s and the look on the guy and girl’s faces as they went to town. So content. Blissfully, lost in themselves. It kind of makes me want to let Luke do the same thing to me, see if I can get to that place.

“What are you thinking about?” he wonders as he sits down on the edge of the bed.

I bite my lip, feeling embarrassment surface, but I play it off. “Nothing important.”

He seems greatly conflicted about something as he continues to stare down at me. “Do you want to borrow one of my shirts to sleep in?” he finally says.

I almost laugh at the idea of wearing something that belongs to him as I fall asleep in his room. It’s too personal, then again this entire situation is getting personal and I start to get up to change beds. “I’m good, but thanks.”

He nods and then with hesitancy, he lies down on the bed beside me, leaving hardly any room between us. “You can just sleep in… my bed if you want. I don’t have any extra sheets or blankets.”

I freeze, glancing at the mattress on the other side of the room, and then at the limited space between us. “That’s okay… I can handle sleeping on a filthy mattress for one night.”

He pauses, looking as uncomfortable as I do. “Just stay in my bed, Violet. If you want I’ll take Kayden’s old one, but I’m not going to make you sleep on that filthy thing.”

I frown, considering the options. I hate sleeping with people and I know I should take the other bed or make him take it, but for some reason I find myself curious about the idea of sharing a bed with him. “Fine, we can share.” I lie back down on the bed and shoot back against the wall, putting as much space between us as I can. “Just don’t crowd me.”

“And vice versa,” he says and I roll my eyes. “And don’t worry, I usually don’t sleep talk, although I do sometimes sleep kiss.” The corners of his lips tease upward and I’m struck by how nice his smile is.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t sleep bitten anyone in long time,” I retort. “Then again, no one’s given me a good reason to.”

“Dually noted,” he says with another smile as he moves his arm above our heads to the pillow and turns on his side to face me.

I smile back, but it’s tight and not necessarily my phony one, but a nervous smile. I can’t believe I’m actually going to sleep in a bed with someone. The last time that happened was when a son in one of my foster families would sneak into my room and kiss me until I fell asleep. I was fourteen and he was sixteen. Honestly I was confused because it felt so good to be kissed yet at the same time it felt wrong. Regardless of my conflicted feelings I kept letting him come into bed with me, touch me, even though we barely said ten words to each other my entire two months there. Then his mother walked in and caught us and it was good-bye Violet.

I start to sit up, deciding that I’ll take the gross mattress over this because I don’t think I can handle it. But he shifts closer to me, crowding me just like I asked him not to do, I feel the current of his body heat hit mine. I remember how it felt in the truck to be under him, how good his lips felt on mine, and it keeps me glued to the mattress until dark settles through the room and my eyelids become too heavy to keep open.

* * *

It’s dark. So dark. Why does it have to be so dark? My legs are trembling almost as bad as when I was downstairs, but they shouldn’t be. The scary people left and I’m okay. The lady that acted like she saw me, but never said a word. I’m free. They didn’t hurt me. Everything is going to be okay. But why doesn’t it feel that way?

I stand outside my parents’ room forever. The door is wide open, making it easy to go in, yet it seems so hard, like I’m stepping into a haunted house and something’s going to reach out and grab me at any moment. My heart hurts so bad and I want to cry, yet I don’t. Why?

Finally, I lift my foot over the threshold and enter the room. It seems darker in here, yet there’s more light flowing in from the window. The carpet is soft against my feet yet it stings. My teddy bear is the only thing that seems to be comforting me but it seems like at any moment it’s going to vanish from my hands. Then I see my mother lying on the floor and for a second everything feels like it’s going to be better. She’s here and I’m not alone.

“Mommy.” I kneel down beside her, stroking her head over and over again. My hands shake as I feel a warm, liquid substance coat my skin. “Mommy, wake up.” She doesn’t move, her body lifeless on the floor beside the bed. This isn’t right. The room shouldn’t be this quiet. Why do I feel so alone?