The Coincidence 05 The Certainty of Violet & Luke (27 page)

I grab the bottom of his shirt and bat my eyelashes at him as I lean in, trying not to scrunch my nose at the foul scent of alcohol on his breath. “How about you take me to your room?” I breathe against his cheek. “So we can take care of some business.”

He blinks his blue eyes through his drunkenness, alarmed by my bluntness. Most people are. And that’s what I love about it. Throw them off. Never let them know what’s really hidden in me. Never let anyone in because no one really wants to get in, not for good reasons anyway.

“Okay,” he slurs, dropping the bottle of tequila down onto the countertop, and then he drags his fingers through his clean-cut blond hair.

I keep smiling as I grab a lime slice from off the counter and shove it into my mouth. I suck the juice off so that I can get the damn tequila taste out of my mouth. It tastes bitterly sweet, but better than the burn of the alcohol. After I’m done with it, I discard it onto the counter and scoop up the bottle of tequila.

“Lead the way,” I say to J and he gives me another one of those goofy drunk smiles of his, probably thinking he’s going to get lucky after we make the deal. Most guys do which is why Preston loves having me do this for him.
You’re a distraction
, he always tells me.
A very beautiful, enticing distraction.

Deep down, I know I could do it. Fool around with J and probably feel fine afterward. I can turn off everything I’m feeling in the snap of a finger and put it away, only bringing it out when needed. I wouldn’t feel a single part of it, which makes doing things I don’t necessarily want to do easier. Plus J’s not that bad looking, although he’s a little too athletic and preppy for me. He’s tall, with broad shoulders, and lean muscles, his entire body screaming that he spends way too much time at the gym. I wonder if he’s a jock, but I’m not going to ask him. Just like I’m not going to fool around with him.

He takes my hand, his palms clammy, and he leads me through the crowd of college-age people packed in the townhouse living room, where a game of beer pong is going on. A few of the girls shoot me dirty looks, like I don’t belong with a clean-cut guy like J who’s wearing a collared shirt and a watch that probably cost more than all the money I’ve spent in my entire life. And I’m fine with it, too high on the thrill of what I’m doing—what I’m about to do. The danger. The instability. The adrenaline.

When we reach the hall, we disappear out of the sight of all the judgmental eyes and lucky for me, J’s not doing that great. His feet can barely carry him as he stumbles his way to the last door in the hall, hauling me with him.

“Whoops.” He giggles like a girl as he turns the doorknob. “I’m sorry.”

I have no idea what he’s sorry for, but I just smile. “It’s fine.”

He grins again, stealing the bottle of tequila from out of my hand. He tips his head back and knocks back a mouthful, gagging as he moves the bottle away from his lips. Then he aims it at me.

Not having my beer to spit it back in, I grab the bottle and set it down on a small bookshelf nestled in the corner. “Let’s take a little break from drinking, okay?”

“Sure,” he says, trying to stun me with an award-winning smile. “How ’bout we just get ya in here and get ya out of those clothes of yours.” His gaze scales my body and I briefly contemplate clocking him in the face. I know that look way too well, just like I know what he wants way too well.

I give him a little shove so he stumbles across the dark, empty bedroom. I follow him as he continues to stagger back and then lands on the bed. I shut the door and lock it without taking my eyes off him as he lies there on the mattress. Soft moonlight filters in through the window and lights up the dazedness on his face.

“Come… here…” He props up on his elbows, working to keep his head up.

I saunter toward him, glancing around at the clothes scattered around the large room decorated with a dresser set that matches his king-size bed.

“How about we talk some business,” I tell him, positioning myself in front of where his legs hang over the edge of the mattress.

He shakes his head determinedly, and then flops his hand toward the leather belt looped through his slacks. I watch him fight with the buckle for a while and then growing impatient, I finally unhook the buckle myself, and jerk it from his belt loop.

“I knew you’d like to play rough.” He laughs and starts to sit up, his fingers seeking my waist. But I gently shove him back by the chest so he’s lying flat on the bed.

I toss the belt onto the dresser. “I didn’t come here to play.”

“Preston promised you’d take… you take…” He blinks around the room, looking lost. “That you’d take care of me first.”

I roll my eyes.
Damn it, Preston.
I hate when he promises stuff. If he’d just be vague about what was going to go down, then I wouldn’t get in so much trouble when I don’t follow through. Then again, most of them can’t remember that much about what happens anyway.

“I will, baby,” I lie, cringing at my endearing term, but doing what I have to do to smooth things over. I reach for my jacket pocket and take out the small bag of pills. If I’m lucky he’ll try one and then quickly pass out. “But first I need you to pay up.”

Shifting his weight to the side, he snatches the bag out of my hand and then scoots back so he can sit up. He totters as he sits up straight, then when he gets settled he opens the bag. He glances inside it, pretending like he’s checking to see he’s not getting ripped off, even though it’s too dark to count the pills.

“You got the cash?” I scan his room, his stereo on the nightstand, the open closet overflowing with clothes, and the closed armoire in the corner. I can’t see a wallet anywhere, so I’m guessing he’s got it tucked in his pocket. Things just got a little complicated if he decides to be a pain in the ass about paying.

“Cash comes after we play,” he says, but I shake my head, ready to be done with this deal. I’m about to tell him to pay up, when he has an abrupt burst of energy. He throws the bag of pills aside and his fingers quickly jab into my waist. He jerks me toward him and I lose my balance and fall down on him as he collapses back onto the mattress.

He starts sucking my neck, his wet tongue placing sloppy kisses all over my skin as his hands start to wander up my leg toward the bottom of my dress. His breath reeks of tequila and cigarettes. “God, you smell so good.” His fingers pinch down into my skin and it kind of stings. “I bet you like it wild… you sure as hell look like you do.”

I roll my eyes. If I had a penny for every time I heard that, I wouldn’t have to be here dealing.

Turning my head, I lean to the side and try to slip out of his grip. His hold on me starts to loosen, but he continues to kiss my neck, his hands moving all over my ass and slipping between my legs. I’m starting to get bored, my mind wandering to homework, finals, moving back in with Preston in a few weeks.

J moans against my mouth. “I’m so hard for you right now, baby.” He rubs the evidence that he is against my leg and runs his fingers through my hair.

I get a little annoyed by his pet name and that I’ve become a humping post. I’m about to gently knee him in the balls and get rid of his hardness for him, ending this tiring situation, when he stops kissing me and slumps backward. He mutters something about me being a cock tease and then his head flops against the mattress. His eyes drift shut and seconds later he’s passed out, his chest rising and falling as he breathes loudly.

“Thank God.” I slip out from his arms and climb off him.

Although the situation has gotten more complicated, I’m glad he passed out. After a lot of deliberating on what I should do, I decide it’s best to leave it up to Preston so I take out my phone and dial his number.

“What’s up, beautiful?” he asks after three rings.

I climb off the bed and pace in front of it. “I got a dilemma.”

“What’d you do now?” he asks in that flirty tone he uses on everyone. Even guys. It’s just how he is and I know he really doesn’t mean anything by it. Besides, he’s eight years older than me.

“I didn’t do anything.” I glance over at J. “Well, not really… J… that guy you were having me deliver to, passed out.”

“And?” I can hear the laughter in his voice.

“And I want to know what you want me to do.” I stop pacing and look down at J with his legs and arms sprawled out to the side. “Do you want me to just grab his cash or really screw him over and take the pills, too?”

It takes Preston a while to answer. I can hear voices in the background, which probably means he’s at a party. “What do you think you should do?” he finally asks me.

“I know what I want to do,” I answer, biting on my fingernails, a bad habit of mine I can’t seem to break. “But I mean, it’s really your thing. I’m just doing it as a favor to you and I’m done once I finish paying for my tuition. You know that.”

“A favor to me, huh?” he deliberates. “How disappointing. All this time and I thought you were doing it because you secretly were in love with me.”

I roll my eyes at his twisted sense of humor. “You did not.”

“I did, too.”

“Did not.”

“Did—”

“Stop.” I cut him off because this could go on forever and J is starting to stir. “Look, I really want to get out of here. I’ve got a final to study for. And a life to get back to.” The last part is kind of a lie, but it sounds like a good point to make in theory. “So should I take the pills and the cash or just the cash?”

He pauses. “How much does he have on him?”

I sigh and pat the front pockets in J’s slacks, but they’re empty. Pressing the phone between my cheek and my shoulder I use both my hands to rotate him on his side and then I check his back pockets and find his wallet in one of them. I take it out and step away from the bed, opening it and counting the money inside.

“There’s a hundred bucks in his wallet.” I frown, knowing what it means.

“Well, isn’t that interesting, since I told him it was going to be two hundred bucks for a bag,” Preston replies in a calm voice.

“So you want me to take the pills, too,” I say flatly. Sometimes when I’m doing something I’m not totally comfortable with, like stealing from an unconscious guy, my conscience tries to wake up on me.

“I think it’s only fair,” he replies simply. “Especially since he was obviously going to screw you over.”

“Maybe he has the money somewhere else,” I suggest, but even I can hear the doubt in my voice.

“Or maybe he was just going to try and fuck you over,” he says. “Literally.”

I blow out a breath and take the cash out of the wallet, feeling the slightest bit guilty. Then I drop the wallet onto the bed, reach over J, and snatch up the bag of pills. I put the cash and pills into my pocket, then head for the door.

“Give me like a half an hour and I’ll be at your house,” I tell Preston, opening the door.

“Sounds good,” he replies as the music in the hall drowns over me. “And, Violet, remember, I’m a nice guy and everything but don’t try to screw me over.” He always says this as a warning, reminding me that business comes before our friendship… our foster-parent bond… whatever the hell we have. He used to not be this intense when I was younger, but now he’ll say just about anything. It makes me nervous and uncomfortable, but I never say anything about it, worried I’ll lose the only family I have.

“I remember.” I step out into the hall, but halt when I spot a group of guys I’m pretty sure I’ve scammed before, standing at the end of the hall. “Look, I got to go.” I hang up and stuff the phone into my jacket pocket.

One of the guys with a really thick neck points at me, saying something, and the rest of their gazes wander in my direction.

“Hey, I know you, don’t I?” the tallest one says as he strolls down the hall in my direction. “You’re that girl, right? The one who sold me the stuff at that party a month ago. The one that fucking screwed me over.” I spot anger in his eyes at the same time I note the thickness of his arms that can easily hurt me. For a moment, I just stand there, letting the group of them get close to me, feeling the beat of my heart accelerate inside my chest, alive and thriving—finally awake.

But when they’re almost within arm’s reach, I whirl around and run back into the bedroom where J’s sleeping. I lock the door and then search through the dark for a solution.

“Open the door, you fucking cunt!” One of them bangs on the door as they shout loudly over the music and J lets out a loud snore.

It’s not the first time I’ve been in this kind of situation, and I doubt it will be my last. I wonder what my mom and dad would think of me if they were here now? Would they be ashamed? But they’re not here and there’s no one else in the world that really gives a shit what I do with my life. I can’t just wait around here and wait for something—or someone to show up and miraculously help me. I’m in this on my own, which is for the story of my life.

Striding over to the window, I pry it open and pop the screen off. Tossing it onto the floor, I lean over the edge and look down the two-story drop to the wooden fence right below the window. It’s not that far of a fall, but if I land on the fence things could go badly, like one of the pieces of wood could get lodged in my body or I could land the wrong way and hit my neck or head on it. They’re such morbid thoughts, but my mind always goes to that dark place. The what-ifs of death. Those random occurrences that no one can control. Most of my life has been based on one random occurrence of death.

I know if I jump, either I’ll safely land on the grass just over the fence or I’ll mess up and get hurt, maybe even killed if random occurrences really hate me. Either way, I don’t care what the hell happens to me, so I climb up onto the windowsill, letting destiny take over as I slide my legs over the edge. I hear the lock on the door click and open. My time here at this place is up.

My heart speeds up and I breathe in the rush of knowing that something tragic could happen to me. It makes me feel alive and without any hesitation, I jump.

(Freshman year of college)

My night has been filled with shot after shot. Empty glass after empty glass. I knock back one after another as the sound of the music vibrates inside my chest. With each scorching swallow of Bacardi, tequila, Jäger, I feel more at ease, letting all my worries and the fact that I haven’t checked my insulin slowly erase from my mind. My tongue becomes numb. My lips. My body. My heart. My mind. It’s a fucking beautiful state of mind to be in and I wish I could never leave it—most days I don’t.