The Probability of Violet and Luke

by Jessica Sorensen

  I get a revelation at that moment, one that I didn’t see coming and I’m not sure if I’m ready to accept it. It crashes into my like a truck, slams the breath out of me, and makes my heart ache in a very unfamiliar way.

  I care about Violet more than I care about myself.

  Maybe even… Love her?

  Fuck, am I in love? No, there’s no way. I don’t even know what love is.

  “You’re not Preston,” Violet interrupts my panicking thoughts, her hand covering the bruise on her leg. “I want to help you if there’s a way. You’re not forcing me to do anything—I’m choosing to do it.”

  I want to ask her what he forced her to do to cause those bruises, but even if she would break down and tell me, I don’t want it to be in the car with Ryler and my uncle pretending like they’re not listening while I flip out and probably lose control in the worst kind of way.

  “She could be a good distraction, Luke,” Cole interrupts as he makes a right off the freeway and up an off ramp. “She’s a beautiful girl—and I mean that in a nice, nonflirting way.” He’s annoying the shit out of me right now and I know he can tell, but doesn’t care.

  “What exactly are you thinking?” Violet scoots forward and crosses her arms on the back of the seat. Her hair is pulled up so I can see the back of her neck and the dragon, along with the stars tattoos, the ones that represent her parent’s death. I don’t know why I do it, but I find myself putting my finger to one of them and tracing the pattern. She jumps from the contact but doesn’t say anything.

  “There’s this guy, Catterson, who’s a total dipshit when it comes to women, but good with cards,” Cole explains as he flips on the blinker. “If you sit near him and try to get him to run his bets high, it might help end the game end quicker and give us a better chance at getting out of there with no problems.”

  “Just how dangerous is this?” she asks warily. “I mean, what problems are you talking about? Like the don’t-come-back-here-if-you-get-caught-cheating kind of problems or the you-won’t-be-walking-out-of-here-if-you-get-caught-cheating kind of problems?”

  “You should probably have Luke answer that,” Cole replies, glancing over his shoulder at me.

  Violet faces me, chewing on her bottom lip, which is stained with red lipstick, tempting enough to bite. “How bad is this place? Worse or better than Geraldson’s?”

  I gently cup the back of her neck. “Worse,” I say and her body goes rigid.

  But she quickly shakes off her uneasiness, putting her hands on my shoulders and her mouth beside my ear. “You sure you want to do this?” she whispers in my ear. “I still have some of Preston’s weed on me. It’s not nine grand worth, but it could be a start.”

  “No, no drug dealing.” My hand finds her waist and my fingers enfold around her as I pull her closer, nearly shutting my eyes at the feel of her warmth. Despite the shit with my mother, I’m still bad for her anyway. Having her here, ready to help with this, is stupid—I’m stupid. “God, I wish we’d been brought together again under different circumstances… I miss you but know I can’t have you...” I don’t mean to say the last part aloud, it sort of just slips out and there’s no taking it back.

  I expect her to jerk away but surprisingly she doesn’t. Instead, she presses a soft kiss to the tip of my earlobe. “I’m going to help,” she says then she turns around in the seat, ready to put herself into harm’s way, all because of my dumbass. “So what should I know about this Catterson guy?”

  Chapter 10

  Violet

  Let the fucked up adrenaline addiction begin.

  I could tell Luke didn’t want me to get involved, but after being with him like we were up in the room, I’m in desperate need of some unemotional time, the razors and prickles are coming in waves as I struggle to keep my emotions toward Luke obsolete. So I seize the opportunity to distract Catterson, who turns out to be a thirty something year old pervert who likes flannel and smells like pot. Jesus, what is it with me and this type? It’s like I draw them to me, like a flame draws a moth.

  Still, like I pro, I get a few drinks in him and end up sitting beside him in The Warehouse, which turns out to be exactly what it sounds like—a warehouse full of boxes, but what they’re full of I have no idea. There are five tables that have five players at each, mostly men, although there are a couple of women playing. They have some classic rock playing lowly, money being thrown away left and right, smoke circling the air, drinks being passed around, a lot of them being consumed by me. I’m not even sure why I’m drinking. I just planned on having one but then I felt relaxed and one turned into another and another and well, you get the picture.

  “So what do you think, sweetheart?” Catterson places a hand on my bare knee right on top of one of the bruises and I have to fight the compulsion to shove him away and slap his face. “Should I go big or play it safe.”

  I dazzle him with my aren’t I so pretty and innocent smile. “What’s that saying… go big or go home?”

  “I like your way of thinking.” He winks at me as he puts in his ridiculous bet and I force myself to giggle while I twirl a strand of my hair around my finger. As he waits for the rest to either fold, match, or raise, he leans into me and says in a hushed tone, “You are legal, aren’t you?”

  Fucking dumbass. “Of course,” I say with another giggle. “Do I really look that young to you?”

  He slants back and lets his pervert eyes lazily scroll over my body, taking an extra long time at where my dress starts to cover my legs. “You look fine as hell.” He says it as if it’s a compliment, as if hell’s a fine place and that being good looking will make me a silly girl who swoons into his arms—and who uses the word swoon.

  “Thank you,” I say like an airhead. Jesus, all I need is some bubblegum and I’m one step away from being a ditz.

  He nudges my half drank drink in my direction, a vodka and cranberry. “Drink up beautiful.”

  I can tell he thinks I’m going to get good and wasted, go home with him, and get freaky. Honestly, I’m getting to the wasted part, so my cattiness is starting to come out, claws and everything… oh, claws… and Luke’s skin… I shake the fogginess in my head. Focus. Violet. And stop drinking so much.

  Catterson is still grinning at me and I have to force myself to grin back. There’s no way I’m going home with this guy. I have my eyes set on the smoking hot guy sitting across the table, intense brown eyes, soft hair, smell like familiarity and everything I wish I could have, but am scared as hell to take, because of what it’ll mean—facing my emotions head on. But seriously, if there weren’t so many damn people around right now, I’d crawl across the table and attack him… rip his clothes off and bite him, lick him, do all kinds of naughty things to him…

  That thought has me looking down at my glass, wondering just how much I’ve drank. It’s empty now. Crap, I can’t even remember finishing it off… and is it my fifth, sixth… eighth? Dammit, this is bad. Drunken Violet is reckless, wild, impulsive. She can easily get out of control, worse than sober Violet. I should get up and go sleep it off in the car… yeah, I’ll do that, just after I do another shot with what’s his face.

  “Bottoms up,” he says as he hands me a shot glass full of black licorice scent booze—probably jager. Then he lifts his own glass and chugs the whole thing down in one swallow.

  I put the rim of the glass to my mouth and knock it back in one gulp, licking my lips and plopping the empty glass down on the table like I’m some kind of badass shot taker. But I’m not and I instantly regret drinking it as my stomach churns. Vomit burns at the back of my throat… I think I’m going to throw up. No, don’t do that. Suck it up.

  “You going to be okay there?” Catterson asks, putting his hand on my shoulder to steady me as I start to tip sideways in the chair.

  I make my damn lips turn upward, forcing myself to suck it up—be tough Violet. The one that sells drugs and dazzles costumers. “I’m good,” I tell him, managing to smile again, which he gladly reci
procates.

  “A little strong for you, huh?” he asks and then doesn’t wait for me to answer. “That’s okay. We’ll get you one of those little fruity drinks,” he says and I have to resist the urge to let my smart mouth fly. Grinning, he turns back to his cards, losing the hand and cursing under his breath, but when he looks at me he simply says, “You win some, you lose some.”

  “I have a feeling you’re going to get lucky the next hand.” I wink at him and let my fingers drift to the low neckline of my shirt. God, I’m good, I think to myself as I see the bulge in his pants

  “I sure hope so,” he says, adjusting himself as he picks up his newly dealt cards and observes them with a serious look on his face.

  I take the opportunity to sneak another glance at Luke sitting across from me. His uncle and cousin are spread out at different tables. In the car they explained that it was pointless to play against each other, especially when they’re all cheating. Evidentially, cheating is some kind of family thing or something, at least on his father’s side. Although, Ryler didn’t seem to into it. In fact, he acted like he was only here for his father.

  Luke’s been pretty quiet the entire game, sipping on Bacardi and smoking his cigarettes, up quite a bit. I know him well enough to know he’s cheating, but I can’t tell what hands he’s cheating on, which is probably a good thing.

  As I continue to openly stare at him, he assesses his cards as the bids make their way around the table. When it’s his turn, he puts in about two hundred chips then sits back in the chair, appearing relaxed as the dealer turns over a card. Keeping his cards in one hand, he takes a long sip of his drink, then a deep drag of his cigarette, seemingly oblivious to my excessive gawking of him. Or at least that’s what I think until he glances up at me over his cards, his lips quirking as he winks at me, and I wonder if he was aware of it the entire time. It makes little butterflies dance in my stomach, which has never happened before. Then again it could be the jager and vodka that’s doing it, not butterflies. Oh who the hell cares what it is. I want him. I don’t even care that I’m drunk. I need to do something reckless tonight to still all this energy inside me and right now I want that something to be him, even though he’s the cause of the energy.

  Game end soon please. My thighs are burning.

  I squeeze my legs shut and attempt to be as patient as I can, watching the players dwindle around the table, while remaining my charming self to Catterson. Finally, the damn thing comes to an end, Luke winning over nine grand, while his uncle and Ryler lose all their money. Well, at least that’s how it appears. But I overheard them in the car. Cole and Ryler were to lose to make it not look so suspicious and in return Luke gives them each a third so technically he’s only up three grand. I wonder if he’ll be able to make enough and what will happen to him if he doesn’t. Being a realist and knowing something about Geraldson’s world, I have two pretty good ideas, 1). Luke will get the shit beat out of him, pretty badly. I’m not sure if they’d kill him, but just thinking about it makes me sick to my stomach. Or 2). Luke will end up not going back to Laramie, deciding it’s better to stay away than return to the risk. That option surprisingly makes me sick to my stomach too.

  “So where you heading now you sexy, beautiful thing?” Catterson asks, the sound of his voice forcing me back to reality. I realized I’ve lost a little bit of time while I zoned out. Everyone has already started clearing out and Catterson is looking at me expectedly, like I’m about to fuck him right here in the open. “You gotta head back or do you want to come back to the back room with me? Because I’d love to see that fine ass of yours in my hands.”

  There are so many things I want to say to this guy. Like for starters, asking him if that ridiculous line has ever worked. But I know I have to keep my mouth shut and say the right thing, otherwise I’ll be busted.

  I don’t know what the back room is, but I have some ideas. Back during my time living on the streets, I ended up sneaking into a strip club with this dude who said we could score some beer from the backroom because it was easily accessible without anyone seeing us. Turned out the backroom didn’t hold beer, but naked women giving out blowjobs and lap dances. Yep, way to awaken me to my sexuality.

  She’s actually got to hitch a ride with us. Ryler appears by my side and causally puts and arm around me, all night in shiny armor, signing. Gotta make sure she gets home safe.

  Catterson glances from Ryler to me and I give him my best I’m-so-sorry-but-not-this-time smile. “What’s he saying?” he asks confusedly.

  “He says he needs to get me home safe,” I tell him, giving him my best I’m-so-sorry-but-we-can’t-hook-up look.

  “She’s family?” he asks Ryler with a doubtful look, like he can’t possibly make out the family resemblance.

  Cousins, Ryler mouths, giving me this weird side hug thing before he steers me along with him across the room, past the tables, and toward the exit doors, waving at Catterson before opening the door and then we step outside.

  “Awe, thanks cuz,” I say with a sarcastic grin as I step out into the dark parking lot and overheated desert air. The street is a little ways away, but pretty vacant, the city in the distance, a cluster of sparkling lights that dance against the night.

  Ryler smiles as he lets the door shut behind him, then his hands move in front of him as he signs, Hey, it was better than letting you come up with an explanation as to why you flirted the fuck out of him the entire night, but aren’t going to let him bang you in the backroom.

  “Hey maybe I wanted him to bang me in the backroom,” I state, elevating my eyebrows as I walk backwards, facing him. I’m getting feistier by the second and the need for Luke to get out here soon grows, otherwise I’m going to end up doing something stupid probably.

  Ryler pauses in the middle parking lot, confusion masking his face as he messes around with his eyebrow piercing. Aren’t you with Luke, though?

  I stop walking and put my hands on my hips. “Does it look like I’m with Luke?” I’m all talk though because all I want to do right now is be with Luke.

  I have no idea. He massages the back of his neck easily. He kind of reminds me of Luke in a way, a little squirmy when I’m blunt, but not enough to drop the subject. He’s also rough looking like Luke, especially in the eyes, and the piercing and tats add to the intensity. But whether that’s for show or not who knows. But it looks that way. He pauses, waiting for my answer, but I don’t have one to give him because I’m still trying to figure that out for myself.

  “Where is Luke?” I scan the parking lot, my eyes landing on the dark purple Dodge Challenger we drove over in, parked toward the back, completely vacant at the moment. The situation could be dangerous, a girl and a very strong looking guy all alone with no one to hear her scream. My sick obsession to walk on the line between life and death pulls me forward, though, instead of back toward the light coming from The Warehouse.

  Ryler starts for the car with me, swinging the car keys around on his finger. He had to go cash out. He unlocks the door, opens it, then flips the seat forward so I can get into the back. My dad went with him just to make sure there aren’t any problems.

  I point a finger at him as I lower my head to duck into the car. “Again, sounds very mobsterish.” I hop into the backseat, very ungracefully and unlady like, probably flashing Luke’s cousin my lady part since I forgot to pack underwear so I’m commando right now. I’d care, but I’m too drunk to give a crap and if Ryler saw, he’s enough of a gentleman that he doesn’t say anything, quietly putting the driver’s seat into place, before sitting down in it with the door open, his feet planted outside on the ground.

  He pops a cigarette into his mouth and lights up, sucking in a long inhale as he turns the ignition on. The stereo clicks on and “Red Light Pledge” by Silverstein flows from the speakers. You seem like a very interesting girl. He grazes his thumb along the end of the cigarette and little pieces of ash dance through the air.

  “Interesting?” I rest my arms on the bac
k of the seat as he sits back and leans against the steering wheel to look at me. “That’s a nice way of saying I’m a weirdo. But that’s okay. I’ve been called worse.”

  And better a weirdo than ordinary, right?

  “Exactly.” I tilt my head to the side and assess him over. He seems like the kind of guy I could potentially hook up with and in the past with as drunk and bored as I am, I might give it a go. It might be easier than screwing around with Luke, which is going to happen if I have it my way, but even through the vodka and jager, the emotions I’ve been attempting not to acknowledge the entire night, I can feel this pull toward Luke. And it’s terrifying, thinking about what that could possibly mean.