by Tawna Fenske
Drew had no idea.
“Thanks again, Drew,” she said slowly. “I mean it, if you need anything besides the paperwork…”
Just you, thought Drew.
“See you tomorrow,” he said instead, and stooped down to collect his toolbox.
***
When Drew was gone, Violet turned to Chris. She looked at his warm brown eyes, his perfectly attractive face, and felt nothing at all.
Dammit to hell.
He smiled at her. “I was hoping to spend the evening alone with you. Not that I wanted to scare your friend away, but I’m glad it’s just the two of us now.”
Violet stared at him. There was no part of her asking What did I see in him? It was pretty damn obvious what she’d seen in him. He was smart, wealthy, attractive, successful—everything she’d ever thought she wanted in a man.
“I think I was wrong,” she said.
“What?”
Violet hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud, but now that she had, there was no turning back. She took a deep breath.
“Chris, look…”
She watched his features darken. He knew what was coming. It didn’t take a psychic to figure that out.
Chris reached out and touched her hand. “Violet… what’s going on?”
She looked down at her feet for a second, getting her bearings. When she looked back up, Chris was still studying her with an intensity she might have found endearing before.
Before what?
“I don’t think this is going to work,” she said slowly. “I mean, I know we’ve only been seeing each other a short time, but I think we both had the sense that it could turn into something serious, but now I think… well, I think it won’t.”
Chris looked at her, his expression grim but not heartbroken. “I see,” he said.
“You’re a really great guy, fabulous actually… an amazing catch, but—”
“It’s Drew, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Drew. You’re in love with Drew.”
Violet opened her mouth to deny it, but no sound came out.
“It’s okay,” Chris said, still touching her hand. “Look, if it’s any consolation, I knew the first time I saw you with him at the restaurant that night… well, I just knew.”
“But I didn’t—”
Chris laughed. Not a bitter sound, but not a joyful one, either. “Oh, I know. I could tell you were trying like hell to fight it. I don’t really know what that’s about, but I think it has something to do with your mom. Or maybe you just didn’t picture yourself with a guy who owns a bar with naked men in it. Whatever. The point is, you were fighting it like hell. But it was obvious you were attracted to the guy.”
It wasn’t obvious to me, Violet thought.
But hadn’t it been? Deep down?
“He’s not my type,” Violet said slowly. “He’s all wrong for me.”
“Maybe. Probably. But how often does it work out that people make their checklists of what they want in a partner and then go out and fall for precisely that person?”
Violet scuffed her toe on the pavement and tried to think of something deep to say. She was coming up blank. She wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong about Drew, about her.
But she was so very tired of pretending.
Violet sighed and looked up at him. “But you’re such a great guy.”
Chris laughed. “Hey, I won’t argue with you. You’re a great girl. But we’ve known each other less than two weeks. It’s not like we’ve made a lifelong commitment here.”
“I know, but I hoped… I guess I thought…”
“I know,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. “I thought the same thing. But hey, if we’d given it a couple more weeks, I’m sure we’d have found a reason to hate each other.”
“I could never hate you.”
Chris shrugged. “Maybe not. But the opposite of hate isn’t love.”
Violet gave him half a smile. “You sound like Moonbeam.”
He grasped her hand in his and pulled it to his lips. Softly, he planted a kiss along the bridge of her knuckles.
“Sounding like Moonbeam isn’t such a bad thing, is it?”
Violet looked at him and shook her head. “No. No, I guess it’s not.”
***
After the requisite hugs and benign pledges to keep in touch, there was really nothing more for Violet and Chris to say to each other.
He didn’t seem angry or even particularly hurt, but still. Violet felt like a jerk.
She spent the evening alone eating leftover pizza and organizing Moonbeam’s CD collection. She kept her hands busy, but her brain was a million miles away.
Just before midnight, she walked into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of the terribly expensive Pinot they’d uncorked the night before. She carried her wine into the living room and dropped onto the couch, conscious of the fact that she was sitting in the spot where she’d practically torn off her clothes and begged Drew to make love to her just a couple nights earlier.
That would have been bad. He was drunk, for crying out loud. What kind of woman takes advantage of a drunk guy?
Violet took a sip of her wine and thought about Drew. About what it would be like to kiss him again, to go home to him every day, to be with him every night.
A terrible idea.
Isn’t it?
They were all wrong for each other. He liked bimbos. He was crass and unfocused and goofy and nothing at all like the man Violet had pictured herself marrying someday.
But he was also funny and sexy and smart. He made her laugh. He made her stop taking herself so damn seriously.
That wasn’t a trait she’d ever deliberately sought in a man, but now that she’d discovered the ability to laugh at herself, she couldn’t imagine not doing it. Not having someone to make her do it.
She took another sip of wine and thought about Moonbeam. Once upon a time, Violet had built her life around doing precisely the opposite of what Moonbeam wanted. If her mother suggested Neapolitan ice cream, Violet chose vanilla. If Moonbeam offered to pay for massage-therapy courses after high school, Violet went looking for accounting programs on the opposite coast. If Moonbeam espoused her political views, Violet made it a point to take the other stance.
But somehow, Violet had lost her fondness for building her life around defying Moonbeam. Around not becoming Moonbeam.
So what did that mean for Drew and Violet?
Moonbeam abhorred Drew’s business. That much was clear. She wasn’t sure exactly what Moonbeam thought of Drew, but it couldn’t be good.
Violet took a sip of wine and thought about that.
She’d spent the last two weeks thinking of a million reasons she didn’t belong with Drew. He wasn’t her type. He knew too many secrets about her, had a longstanding feud with her mother, had made no secret about wanting to get his hands on their studio space. He could bring the whole business toppling down around them.
He was a dangerous choice. A bad idea for a romantic entanglement.
Somehow, those reasons were starting to seem flimsy.
But on top of all the other reasons, there was this: she cared about what Moonbeam thought. After all these years of fleeing her mother’s kooky shadow, she suddenly found herself craving Moonbeam’s approval.
Even with her love life.
“How’s that for fucking irony,” Violet said aloud, and took another sip of wine.
Fine, forget about Moonbeam’s approval. Forget about the business, the whole phony psychic thing, the fact that Drew would probably never be interested in a woman his own age with an IQ above eighty.
Aside from all that, Violet was leaving soon. She had a job back in Maine, a life.
True, it wasn’t the most exciting job, or an exciting life. But since when had that mattered?
Since now, Violet thought.
She drained the rest of her wine and walked to the kitchen. She rinsed out the glass and set it out to dry. Then she
walked upstairs to her bathroom and brushed her teeth with the organic toothpaste she remembered from childhood. It tasted like dirt and root beer, and Violet had hated it as a child. She remembered pleading with Moonbeam for Aquafresh, sneaking a smear of a friend’s Crest at a sleepover in third grade.
Now, Violet looked at the tube in her hand and studied the lettering that touted all organic ingredients. Could she buy this stuff in Maine, or should she stock up here?
She sighed and rinsed out the sink before retreating to her bedroom. She changed into her favorite silk pajamas and tucked herself into bed. She lay there for a few minutes, blinking at the clock.
She hadn’t slept well the night before, so she expected to fall right asleep. She waited for fatigue to overcome her, for her mind to drift into oblivion as her body became weightless and numb.
It wasn’t happening.
Violet rolled over and curled into a ball, hoping another position might work. She counted sheep. She divided fractions in her mind. She tried to remember the lyrics to “You Shook Me All Night Long.”
She rolled back over and looked at the clock.
It was after one a.m. Too late to go for a jog. Too early to get up and start her day. She didn’t feel tired. She didn’t feel like being in bed.
Okay, she did feel like being in bed.
Just not alone.
Violet flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling.
After weeks of fighting it, pretending she wasn’t interested, avoiding the obvious, Violet had to accept one simple fact.
She wanted Drew.
She wanted him very badly.
“To hell with this,” she said out loud, and threw off the covers.
Chapter 18
“Can I call you ladies a cab?” Drew asked a trio of intoxicated women hunkered down at the bar as he stole a quick glance at the clock.
It was 1:53 a.m.—just a few minutes before closing time at the bar—and Drew was more than ready to go home.
One of the women smiled up at him blearily. “Can’t we get that guy to drive us home?” she slurred, pointing across the room.
Drew followed the direction of her finger to where Jerry was clumsily refastening the Velcro on his police uniform.
“He’s not a cab driver,” Drew said. “But how about if I call you a real one?”
“Can we put the tip in his pants?”
“I don’t recommend it.”
Drew headed to the other end of the bar and picked up the phone, hitting the speed-dial number for a cab company that frequently came to retrieve his more festive clients. He chatted with the guy for a few minutes, describing the clients and suggesting they send a car with an easy-to-clean interior.
As soon as he hung up the phone, he looked back at the women to be sure they were all still sitting upright.
He spotted a new face in the group. A familiar, disturbingly beautiful face.
“Violet?” Drew said.
He was at least fifteen feet away, but she looked up the instant he called her name and smiled at him.
“Hello, Drew.”
He covered the distance to the end of the bar in just a few steps, his heart racing stupidly. “Is everything okay? Are you hurt? Drunk? Why are you here?”
She grinned at him and lifted a water glass she must have gotten from somewhere. “Yes. No. No. To seduce you.”
He frowned. “What?”
“I was answering your questions. In the order that you—”
“Wait,” he stammered as her words started to register. “Wh-what did you say?”
The drunk woman next to Violet smacked him on the shoulder so hard she teetered on her barstool. “She said she wants to seduce you, dumbass.”
The woman laughed like this was the funniest thing she’d heard all night. She began to wobble on her barstool again, this time showing no signs of catching herself.
Drew reached across the bar and grabbed her by one shoulder while Violet propped the woman up from the other side. Sam swooped in and cleared away the women’s empty glasses, leaving Violet’s water in front of her. Drew stared dumbly at Violet, who was offering a kind smile to the drunk woman.
“Thanks for the translation,” Violet told her. “He’s a little slow sometimes.”
“They all are, honey,” the woman slurred. “They all are. Sometimes you gotta take the bull by the… by the… whatever. You know?”
“Sure,” Violet agreed, taking a sip from her glass of water.
Drew was still two steps behind in the conversation. Had Violet really said what he thought she’d said? That she was here to seduce him?
“Hey, did you call for a cab?” Sam yelled from the doorway.
Drew waved a hand to catch her attention and pointed at the drunk women, one of whom was now sprawled out across the bar, fast asleep.
“Over here,” he called. “Just these three. Violet’s um… Violet’s staying here for a bit.”
Sam smiled at him and winked. “Gotcha,” she said as she walked over and roused the sleeping woman. “Come on, ladies. Your chariot awaits.”
The women grumbled and staggered, but began trudging reluctantly away from the bar. Sam strode over to the bar and held her hand out to Drew. “Can you grab my purse? It’s under there, on the other side of the beer mugs.”
Drew complied, still a little dazed, as Sam took the purse and began shepherding her intoxicated flock toward the exit.
“I’ll lock up on my way out,” Sam called as she headed for the door. “You kids have fun!”
“Thanks for the cherries,” Violet yelled.
“My pleasure!”
“Cherries?” Drew asked, and Violet smiled at him.
“I was trying to practice tying the stem in a knot with my tongue as part of my seduction plan. It didn’t work out so well, but they’re good with the water.”
She lifted her glass, trying to play it cool, but Drew saw her hand shake a little.
“Seduction plan,” he said, still a little dumbfounded. “What happened to ‘We’re all wrong for each other and this is the dumbest idea ever’?”
“I’m tired of fighting it. I want you. You want me. We both want each other.”
“You sound pretty sure of that.”
“Not really, but I fake it well.”
Drew grinned. “For the record, that’s not a great line to use on a guy you’re trying to seduce.”
Violet leaned forward on the bar, giving him a glimpse down the front of her blouse. “For the record, I never fake it. Any man worth seducing is willing to do the work required to get it right.”
Drew opened his mouth to say something, but his tongue wouldn’t cooperate.
Get it together, man. You’ll probably be needing your tongue.
The bar was eerily silent now. He’d turned the music down to almost nothing, and he couldn’t even make out the song that was playing. He could, however, make out the shape of Violet’s breasts beneath her icy-blue silk blouse. She wore a slim black skirt and high-heeled boots that came up to her knees. Red lipstick. Smoky eyes.
She’d definitely dressed for seduction. Drew blinked, wondering if she was just a figment of his imagination. Could he really be this lucky?
“Where’s Chris?” he asked. “Did you guys have a fight?”
“Chris?” She seemed genuinely perplexed.
“Right. The dashing doctor you’ve been knocking boots with. Stopped by your house this evening. Ringing any bells?”
Violet rolled her eyes. “We never knocked boots. We barely kissed, and even that wasn’t great.”
“I’m not disappointed to hear that. Any of it.”
She drained her water glass and Drew reached over the bar and grabbed it. He refilled it slowly, not saying anything right away.
“Can I have another cherry?” she asked.
“Still planning to try the knot-tying thing with your tongue?”
“Would that turn you on?”
She was biting her lip again, equal
parts bravado and nervous energy. He smiled to himself, intrigued by this new side of Violet, such a magnetic blend of confident seductress and quirky lunatic.
That’s the turn-on.
“You don’t need gimmicks to seduce me,” Drew said as he set the water glass in front of her. “You just need to show up.”
Violet nodded and gripped her glass with both hands. “I’m here. Now what?”
He grinned. “You’re asking for seduction instruction?”
“Now there’s a college course I never took.”
“I’m pretty sure you’ve mastered it anyway.”
She bit her lip. “Actually, I’m not so sure. I’m usually the one being seduced. The seductress role is new to me.”
“You’re doing great so far.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Her eyes were flashing with the lights from the disco ball and with something like mischief. Drew felt an ache in his gut and wanted her so badly he could barely breathe.
Be cool, he told himself. Don’t blow this.
They’d come so close so many times in the past few days. He was afraid to breathe, for fear of scaring her away. Maybe if he tried the slow, romantic approach. Maybe a glass of wine, a neck rub, some soft words whispered against her neck. He started to reach for her…
“Hey, I know!” Violet said, jumping off her barstool and grinning at him. “I could strip.”
“What?”
“Jamie showed me how. He taught me some moves last week. That’s seductive, right?”
“Are you serious?”
“Hey, I’ve seen 9½ Weeks.”
She was heading for the center stage now, looking wild-eyed and so damn beautiful that Drew just stared after her. When she reached the steps, she cocked her head to the side.
“What’s that song?”
Drew moved out from behind the bar and over to the sound system. He glanced at the readout as he picked up the remote.
“I’m surprised you could hear that,” he said as he turned up the volume. “I had it almost all the way off.”
Warrant’s “Cherry Pie” came humming through the speakers, and the two of them locked eyes.
“Cherries,” Violet said.
“Cherry pie, no less. Moonbeam.”