Zeke drags his narrowed eyes up and down my torso, back to mine, leans forward, his palm grazing my forearm. “I still feel like a dick after last night.”
“You acted like a d-dick.” Great, dick is the perfect word to stutter over, Violet. Real classy.
“You look pretty.”
“I do?” I mean, I do—I know I do, I’m not a fool. I know guys think I’m cute, know they like my pale wavy hair and weird hazel eyes.
But that’s just it; I’m cute, not sexy. The good girl next door, not the polished sorority girl or outgoing flirt. The girls that show up at his wrestling meets all dolled up with half their clothes off.
Like the girls in this bar.
Like my own roommates, whose shirts are cropped. Whose pants are tight.
The music beats around us, bass pumping. It’s dark and dingy and he has to move in even closer to hear me when I say, “You think I look pretty?”
He quirks one of those dark, somber eyebrows. “You know I do.”
My head gives a little shake. “This isn’t how you talk to me. You don’t say things like that.”
No, he normally growls words like a bear.
“Maybe I don’t know how.”
I tip my head to study him. “How many beers have you had?”
“Three.”
“Three?”
“Yeah, three. But I’ll stop if you want me to.”
I giggle. “You’re a big boy. I’m not going to tell you what to do.”
He is laugh is sardonic. “Sometimes, Violet, I think I’d let you.”
“Uh…” It’s the best I can come up with.
“Sometimes, Violet, I think I’d let you lead me around like a big, fucking dope.”
“I-I…wouldn’t want to.”
“No?” He’s skeptical.
“No.” My head dips shyly. “I wouldn’t want to lead you around. I would never want you to feel like I was using you.”
“Using me? You? Violet, look at me.” He takes two fingers and tips my chin so I’m looking into his crystal-hued irises. His mesmerizing, weirdly colored eyes. Mouth now curved into a delicious smile.
A smirk.
“Use me any way you want.”
I watch those full, sexy lips say the words and feel my entire body getting warm. Hot.
Oh. God. He isn’t talking about me leading him around like a big fucking dope. He’s talking about his body; I can tell by the way his pupils dilate under the light. The flaring from his nostrils.
Zeke Daniels isn’t done with me.
We’re not done with each other, not by a long shot.
Except I’m not a well-practiced flirt. I have no idea what to say or what to do with this strapping, broody boy in front of me who suddenly looks like his solemn self.
The boy who thinks too much and does everything with purpose.
I want to kiss that boy so bad my lips ache.
The music around us gets low, slow, and sentimental—I think it’s a heavy metal hair band from the early 90s, but it’s a ballad, and the dingy house lights get dimmer. Lights above the makeshift dance floor flicker, strobing. Biker couples and college students dance. Sway.
“I should probably get back to my friends. I’m sure they’re looking for me.”
His nose grazes my cheek when his lips find my ear. “You have to know this bar isn’t safe, Violet. You have no business walking around, wandering off alone. You shouldn’t even be in a place like this.”
“Where should I be then?” My long lashes flutter. Lips tingle from our energy.
“Not here.”
“You’re here.”
“True, but it would make me feel better if you were safe at home.”
“I’m here with a group, so it’s fine.” To illustrate, I point to Melinda’s boyfriend Derek, who’s shaking a drink between two silver cups at one of the main bars. Mel and Winnie hover at his station, glancing my way.
“Fine? There are only three of you! You couldn’t fight off any of the guys here if one was all up in your shit.”
“All up in my shit.” I laugh, crossing my arms and tapping my toe. “Stop being so bossy, Zeke.”
His eyes go wide. “Bossy?”
I scoff. “N-No one has ever called you that before? I find that very hard to believe.”
A snort comes out of his nose. “All I’m staying is, you could have picked a better place. Do not let your guard down, got it? Too much nasty shit goes down when no one is looking.”
I cock my head, intrigued. “Yeah? Like what?”
“Like roofies and date rape and back-alley shit.”
“Are you planning to roofie anyone tonight?”
For the first time since we met, Zeke appears absolutely horrified. “What? Jesus Christ, Violet, that’s not even funny!”
No, it’s not funny, not even a little bit, but a laugh squeaks out anyway. “Sorry, I can’t help it. You should see the look on your face.”
“I don’t want to see the look on my face.” He’s snarling now, really getting worked up.
My palm finds his bicep, resting there, giving it a gentle pat. “I highly doubt I’m in any danger of unwanted attention, but you can keep an eye on me if it makes you feel better.”
He silently stares down at me.
“Would it?” My lips are moving and he watches them intently. “Make you feel better to watch me, I mean?”
He nods. “Yes.”
“You wanna know what I think?” My hand glides down his bicep, to his forearm, squeezing the tight muscles beneath my palm. “I-I think you care, Zeke. That’s why you’re so irritated with me all the time. I think you care a lot but you don’t know how to say it.”
His shoulders dip and he’s leaning in again, driving me crazy with the smell of his aftershave. “Is that what you think? That I’m irritated all the time?”
“Aren’t you?” I close my eyes when his warm breath lingers near my lobe, luxuriating in the closeness.
I long for it.
“No.” His body presses into me; his hands slide up my neck, holding my face. Jawline. “I don’t get irritated with you Violet, and I wasn’t mad at you last night; I was mad at myself.”
I inhale, holding my breath; he’s opening up to me.
“I wish I could say I was going to try harder to not be such a dick, but this is who I am. I’m an ass and I’ve been like this a long time. But you’re not jaded—not like me. I’m a beautiful mess.” Rough thumbs tenderly stroke my cheeks. “You’re just beautiful.”
His words kiss my soul.
His lips kiss the exposed skin on my collarbone, up the side of my neck, gently.
My eyes close when he kisses the lids. The tip of my nose. The divot above my lips.
Tenderly, like we aren’t in a biker bar, surrounded by people, in a room full of drunks and troublemakers.
I let my hands slide around his waist. Feel his intake of breath from the contact when I glide my hands up his chest, up his neck. Over the stubble to cradle his face like he’s cradling mine.
I don’t even care that he’s probably kissing me because he’s had three beers. That he might not be thinking straight. That in the morning he probably won’t feel the same way I feel about him.
Because when our lips finally meet? It’s magic. Tingling electricity all the way to my toes.
This kiss is music and moonlight and basking in possibility.
This kiss is…
A light tap hits my shoulder.
My roommate Melinda’s voice somewhere behind me.
“Violet, please stop making out with the pissed off cheesy-looking bo-hunk. We said we’d stick together tonight, remember?”