The Coincidence 03 The Destiny of Violet and Luke ARC (32 page)

“What a slut,” Seth says under his breath as he reaches for a red plastic cup full of vodka and orange juice.

“She’s not a slut,” I snap a little harsher than I mean to, throwing my cards onto the table. “You don’t know anything about her.”

Seth moves the rim of the cup to his mouth. “Neither do you,” he reminds me. “So how do you know she’s not?”

“Because I do.” But I don’t. Violet lies a lot and it’s hard to tell if what leaves her mouth is real—if anything. Maybe she’s not a virgin. Maybe she sleeps around as much as I do. Maybe she deals drugs, sleeps around, and then does crazy shit like jump out the window.

“God damn it,” I curse because this shouldn’t be bothering me. No girl ever has. Yet Violet is. I shove Kenzie off my lap and she lands on her feet but stumbles forward in her heels. She barely catches herself on the countertop.

“Rude much?” she huffs, standing up.

I rise to my feet as rage blasts through me. I have no idea what to do, but if I don’t do something soon, I’m going to burst.

Violet

Drunk, evil Violet is coming out and she’s bored. This is not a good combination. It more than likely means I’m going to go looking for trouble. And trouble for me usually means doing stuff like jumping out of two-story windows. As much as I love tasting death, the last time I got drunk when I was feeling like this, I ended up actually getting hit by a car. I broke my leg, too, and Preston was not happy about it. I tried to do my best to explain to him why I did it and he told me I was going to be one of those people who wouldn’t be able to drink, not without severe consequences. I hate that I’m thinking about Preston and that I kind of, sort of, maybe miss him a little and the life I’d built for myself with him, because before the whole drama/groping thing it was somewhat comfortable. And I’ve never had comfortable before.

“Hey, do you mind if I light up right here?” Jonah the Dipshit asks as he settles on my bed, crossing his legs. He’s one of my regulars who’s slightly annoying and gets on my nerves, but I’m bored and need a distraction. And I’m fairly certain Luke thinks I came back here to do something with him, by the jealous look on his face. I don’t like how pleased I am at the idea that he might be jealous. But he has no right to be, considering he had that skank on his lap who has so many curves her skirt and shirt couldn’t even conceal them.

“Do whatever you want.” I shrug, sifting through the songs on my laptop. The song titles are hard to read though and the longer I squint at them, the more bored and restless I get. Finally, I randomly click on one and “Make Damn Sure” by Taking Back Sunday starts playing. Then I decide to search out Stan Walice, see if I can get any information on him. Go kick his ass. It’d make me feel better. I run a search on him and add Channel 8, then squint at the screen. It’s hard to tell which one is him… they all look blurry.

“God, this shit smells good.” Jonah grins as he slips his pipe out of his pocket. He’s fairly good-looking for a pothead, and not rich like most of my regular clients. He has a beanie on his head, a fraying leather band on his wrist, and a few holes in his jeans. I have the lamp on and I can see his pupils are dilated. He takes the remainder of the weed out of my prescription bottle and packs it into his pipe. I was sort of surprised when Greyson gave it back to me, only taking a little for his pot brownies. Most people would have taken it all.

Jonah says something to me as he frees the smoke from his chest, but I only crank the music up and continue my search for information on Stan Walice. But after a while I give up because the blurriness and brightness of the screen is stinging my eyes. I move the computer aside, then dig for some gum in the nightstand drawer, but all I have is a bag of suckers. I take one out and pop it into my mouth to get rid of the nasty taste of alcohol embedded in my taste buds. Then I lie down on the bed and gaze up at the ceiling. I can’t stop thinking about that reporter and his questions. What if he shows up again? What if I can’t handle it? Am I handling it right now? There’s a calm-before-the-storm feeling inside my chest, waves ripping, white tipped, ready to rise higher as they soar for the shore. The question is where is the shore? Me? Someone else? I need to do something. I’m too unsettled.

I crank the music down and sit up as Jonah takes another hit from his pipe and smoke fills the room. I pull my knees up and watch him toke over and over again as I suck on the sucker. He says nothing, but keeps eyeing the sucker in my mouth, or my mouth—I can’t tell for certain. I bounce back and forth on whether I want to kick him out so I can get my adrenaline rush solo or do I want him around? Could I use him for anything? When I kissed Luke it’d felt good and distracting. I wonder if Jonah could give me the same effect. I could try it, because I kind of need it tonight. Need to forget about my life. About my job. About Stan, the stupid reporter.

“What? Why are you looking at me like you want to fuck me?” Jonah asks with a grin, a cloud of smoke snaking from his lips.

“I’m not.” I kneel up on the bed and sweep my hair to the side as I inch closer, pulling the sucker out of my mouth. My shirt’s ridden up and Jonah takes in my bare skin with a lazy grin on his face. I could kiss him and find out if Jonah is as good of a distraction as Luke. I’ve never been one for kissing, but maybe something’s changed, maybe I could—

Someone hammers on the door. “Violet, open the fucking door.” It’s Luke’s voice and it’s full of anger.

Jonah’s eyes bulge as he coughs on a breath full of weed. “Oh shit, is Luke your boyfriend?”

I roll my eyes as Luke bangs on the door again. “In the year that I’ve been dealing to you have you ever seen me with a boyfriend?”

He shrugs, flicking the lighter. “No, but I don’t know anything about you—no one does.”

I open my mouth to agree with him, when Luke starts banging on the door over and over again. Shaking my head, I get up from the bed, tripping over the bottom of my skirt when I step on it, and brace myself on the door. Luke bangs on the door again and I jerk it open. He’s still in the middle of banging on the door and his fist flies toward me. I don’t move and he barely stops in time, right before he hits me in the face. He lowers his fist to his side, looking startled, but then the look vanishes and he pushes past me and into the room.

“Get the fuck out,” he says to Jonah in this calm, unsettling tone as he nods his head at the door.

Jonah moves the pipe away from his mouth. “What the hell’s your problem? I’m just sitting here smoking a bowl. I didn’t touch her.”

Luke walks up to the bed and grabs the pipe from Jonah’s hands. “You’re my problem. Now get the fuck out.”

Jonah gets up from the bed. He’s shorter than Luke, but thicker in the body. Still he does what he’s asked and heads for the door, pausing before he steps out. “Can I at least have my pipe back?”

Luke shoves him out the door, and then he tosses the pipe at him. Jonah misses it and it hits the floor, spilling singed bud all over the carpet. Jonah curses as Luke slams the door and locks it. I’m tingling from head to toe as I wait for him to turn around, but he doesn’t, he just leans his head against the door.

He has on a black shirt and jeans that are just tight enough to make his ass look really nice. Maybe his ass just looks really nice though. I’ve never really paid attention to it until now. I put the sucker into my mouth, tilting my head to the side to get a better look. When he turns toward me, I don’t even bother trying to hide the fact that I was just checking him out. I’m drunk and careless and every blasé personality trait of mine is amplified.

He rubs his hand over his cropped brown hair, his arm muscles rippling. “You’re driving me fucking crazy.”

“You say that a lot.” I roll the sucker in my mouth and his eyes dart to it.

He stares at me, his eyes large and radiating desire. “Are you doing that on purpose?” he asks with a feral look as he nods his head at the sucker in my mouth.

The sucker clicks on my teeth. “No, I had the taste of tequila on my breath and this is the only thing I had in the room that’d cover it up.”

He slumps back against the door, looking worn out. “I bet Jonah was loving it.”

My lips turn upward around the sucker. “I’m sure he was.”

He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. “I swear to God you’re trying to get under my skin.”

I pull the sucker out of my mouth and chuck it into the trash. “I’m not trying to do anything to you. You’re the one who came barging in here.”

His eyes open, cold, sharp, and the look in them throws me back. And excites me. As the excitement mixes with the alcohol, I completely forget about everything. Where I am. Who I am. What I want.

He steps forward beside the head of the bed and I’m standing by the foot. “I was banging on the door because I was afraid of what you were doing in here.”

“What? Dealing drugs? That’s what I do, Luke. I already told you this.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be… and that’s not what I was thinking…” His legs stretch as he strides toward me. “I thought you were having sex.”

I want to back away from him, because heat and passion are pouring off of him as much as the scent of tequila and vodka is pouring off the both of us. “It’s not really any of your business if I was.”

“Yeah it is. Everything you do is my business.”

I snort a laugh. “How do you figure?”

He crosses his arms as he stops just short of me. “Because you brought me into your life, moved in with me…” He trails off, his focus drifting to my mouth. “Kissed me.”

I laugh and it’s my drunken laugh, high pitched and goofy sounding. “
I
kissed you. Get your story straight. You’re the one who smashed your lips into mine.”

“I didn’t smash my lips into yours,” he says hotly, blinking his eyes into focus as he leans in. “We kissed each other together and you liked it. Admit it.”

I shake my head in denial. “I won’t.”

“Say it.”

“No way.”

“Oh my God,” he growls, shaking with irritation as he clenches his hands. “I can’t win with you. I try and try and try to get something from you—anything—and you won’t give it to me.”

“I’m so sorry that I don’t let you win with me like all the other girls you sleep with,” my inebriated mouth says. “There’s the door.” I point my finger at it. “You can leave whenever you want.”

He shakes his head and lets out a piercing laugh. “This was supposed to be our room, but you took it over.”

“I didn’t take it over, you just won’t come in here.”

He pauses and when he speaks again, he’s calmer. “Is that what you’re really waiting for? For me to just come in here? Because it seemed like you wanted your space.”

“Yes, it’s what I was waiting for,” I stammer. Actually stammer. I never stammer. Through our little code talk I’ve somehow managed to lose my confident voice
and
admit to him that I’ve been waiting around for him to come to me.

He pauses, looking startled, horrified, the sedated, his eyes darkening as his eyelashes lower. “Say it again.”

“Say what?”

He slides his foot across the floor, stepping closer, and his knee bumps against mine. “That you were waiting for me to come in here.”

I shake my head, pushing my knee up against his. “I wasn’t.”

His gaze flicks to our knees touching. “You just said you were.”

“Well, I’m a liar.”

“I know, but you weren’t lying.”

I don’t say anything at all. I think about walking by him, leaving the house, heading down the road, hitchhiking to the tallest building in the city. Get to the roof and soar. Instead I stay put, because the haziness in my head is making it okay to stay here with him. I wait eagerly for him to do whatever it is he’s going to do. Yell at me. Leave me. Kiss me.

His arm comes out to the side and curls around toward my hip. I start to open my mouth as his fingers brush my skin and enfold around my waist, but suddenly I lose it and lean in, kissing him. The second our lips touch, I feel safe from all the bad in my life. I blame it on the tequila. But I’m pretty sure it’s not the tequila that makes me do what I do next, only the passion I feel in the moment. As I part my lips hoping he’ll slip his tongue into my mouth, I eliminate the space between our bodies, crushing myself up against him, then I raise my leg to hitch it over his hip. There’s a pause of reluctance on Luke’s part and then he lets out a husky groan and everything abruptly starts moving in fast motion. His hot palm slides down my hip to my thigh, fingers stabbing through the fabric of my skirt as he grips my leg and scoops me up. I hook my legs around his, locking my ankles as his tongue slides deep into my mouth. He presses up against me, moaning again as he steers us around toward the bed. Seconds later we fall. Together. We land on the mattress and it becomes concave, conforming to the weight of our bodies. We get tangled in the sheets and blanket, our legs entwined, hands all over each other, bodies writhing in harmony. I keep making these little whimpering noises, but it can’t be right. I don’t whimper.

Luke pulls his mouth away as I whimper for the fifth or eleventh time. He scans my face as I pant loudly, my hands cupping his shoulder blades, the warmth of his skin flowing through the fabric of his shirt.

“Why’d you stop?” I ask, breathless.