Her Secret

by Bloom, Penelope

  Even though he’d harassed me about needing two bags, he had neglected to mention that his bag was a giant duffel bag that could’ve been stuffed with a few small children given how much it was bulging. He tried to slide it under our seats and had to grip the overhead compartments and use leverage to jam it underneath because it was so big.

  “What’s in there, a portable lamination machine?” I asked once he’d taken off his coat and sat down. It was like his hot guy scent was trapped inside the coat, because I was blasted with the nasal equivalent of a sexy, candle-lit oil massage. Somehow, the smell of him alone was enough to wake up hormones in me that had been lying dormant since my ill-advised middle school crushes on just about every male teacher I’d had.

  I wasn’t surprised to see he was glaring at me.

  “It’s just called a laminator. And no, I wouldn’t bring one for a two-day trip.”

  “Then what’s in the bag?”

  He crossed his arms, leaned back, and had the nerve to close his eyes.

  “Seriously?” I asked.

  I shook my head and stared straight ahead. That was fine. If he wanted to pretend to sleep, it might mean I could relax on the bus instead of enduring his sour mood.

  It couldn’t have been five minutes before I heard a soft snoring sound. I thought it was the engine of the bus at first, but when I looked at Peter, his head was tilted back, and he was either a very good faker, or he had really fallen asleep.

  I watched the city roll by out the window and let my mind wander. Of course, it wandered straight to the man who was dozing beside me. I stole more looks at his sleeping face than I would ever care to admit. When he wasn’t conscious and glaring at everything within sight, I could almost imagine what he’d be like if he was nicer. He’d barely given me any reason to think so, but I stubbornly believed he was hiding his real self—that everything he’s said and done since he met me had been part of an elaborate act.

  Or, more likely, Dawson had broken something in me and now I was cursed to secretly fantasize about only the shittiest men who were the most likely to hurt me, just like he had. Instead of dig into that possibility, I made a mental effort to bottle it back up and shove it in a dark corner of my brain, where it belonged.

  I had enough to worry about in the here and now, like the solid chunk of man snoring softly beside me.

  8

  Peter

  My forehead collided with something solid. I jerked my head back and groaned. Once I’d blinked away the sleepiness, I remembered where I was. A Greyhound bus on the way to Annapolis. The bus had just screeched to a stop, and everyone was murmuring or standing to look toward the front.

  “Something popped,” Violet explained. “I’m not a mechanic—or a meteorologist—but it didn’t sound good.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I got out of my seat and pushed my way to the front, where the bus driver was already outside opening the hood. I regretted not grabbing my coat. We’d apparently driven far enough to get out of the snow, but it was still cold as hell outside. It was the wet kind of cold that seemed to bite straight through the skin in search of bone. “What’s going on?” I asked the driver.

  He was maybe in his forties with a slight pudge around the middle and a thick mustache. He looked up at me with a no-bullshit kind of expression. “Cracked piston. That’s my guess. Already called road service. Just gotta wait.”

  I looked around, but couldn’t spot anything except for an exit sign maybe a few hundred feet down the highway. “Where are we?”

  “Half hour north of Philly. Bridgetown, I think it was.”

  I got back on the bus and found Violet, who hastily put her phone away when she saw me coming. I wondered what she had to look at on her phone that she’d be so secretive about, considering everybody else was standing up and could’ve seen over her shoulder if they cared to look. Whatever it was, she hadn’t wanted me to see.

  Had I been less irritated, I might’ve stopped to think harder about that, but I just wanted to get this nightmare of a weekend over with.

  “Come on,” I said. “We’re going to walk to that exit down the road and rent a car. We don’t have time for this.”

  Violet laughed. “That’s funny. I didn’t really dress for hiking down the highway.”

  “I’m serious. Come on. The exit is only a minute or two from here on foot. You can lean on me as much as you need to and we’ll stop when you need a rest.”

  “Peter. Come on. They’ll send someone to fix the bus and we’ll be on our way. No big deal.”

  “Maybe they’ll be able to. Maybe they won’t. I’m not waiting around to find out. Let’s go. We can be on the road in half an hour if we walk into town and get a rental, I’m sure of it.” I surprised myself a little with how insistent I was being. After all, I’d never been a huge fan of conventions. Signing autographs until my hand cramped for days was hardly worth the hassle of leaving the bus and wandering down the side of the highway. I wondered if Kristen being at the convention had anything to do with how dead-set I was on making it, but that wouldn’t have made sense. No part of me wanted anything to do with her.

  Either way, Violet seemed to realize I really wasn’t kidding and finally got up to get her bags from the overhead compartment. I kept my hand just behind her back, partly to make sure she didn’t fall and partly to keep the college kid standing in the aisle from “accidentally” bumping into her ass and copping a feel.

  Once she had her bag, I struggled and cursed at mine until it finally slid free of the seats.

  The college kid, who I now realized was in a group with two other guys his age put his hand on my shoulder as we were passing. He had the all-too-familiar cocksure troublemaker look on his face as he made a show of sweeping his eyes between Violet and me.

  “You okay?” he asked Violet.

  She laughed. “Yes. I’m fine. He’s my boss.”

  “Well,” the guy said. “Is your boss bothering you? Because it looks like you don’t want to go where he’s taking you.”

  “Mind your own business,” I said.

  “Maybe I’m making the girl my business?” he said. Even though he was a few inches shorter than me, he took a step closer, which made him have to tilt his head up to glare at me.

  “Come on, Violet,” I said. I reached to take her hand, which to my slight surprise, she took. As tempting as it was to hit the kid, I figured he’d take the hint when she came with me.

  He reached out and grabbed my coat, which was when I finally lost my temper. I gripped his wrist and met his eyes again, leaning close so I was sure he caught every word. “We’re leaving. Together. You can watch it happen on your feet or on your ass. It’s all the same to me.”

  At that point, I honestly wanted him to give me a reason. Instead, he lowered his eyes and made a dismissive sound.

  “Whatever, man,” he said quietly.

  When Violet and I got off the bus, I let go of her hand, but one look at her boot made me feel the need to pull her arm around my back all the same. I knew dragging her out here to walk on an injured ankle, even if she claimed it was only a minor sprain, was irresponsible. I fully planned to carry her if she complained it hurt, though I suspected she wouldn’t appreciate that, either.

  To her credit, Violet didn’t complain about using me as a human crutch. She let me take her under my arm and half-carry her down the side of the road. I also slung her bags over my shoulder to join my duffel bag.

  “Is your ankle feeling okay?” I asked.

  “It’s fine,” she said.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Why, because you think a little hypothermia on top of the workplace abuse will make my court case stronger?”

  I grinned. “I think you might actually have a slight case against me after this.”

  To my surprise, she gave me the hint of a smile in return. “Good. Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll lose a few toes, too. Or we could stick out our thumbs and hitchhike our way there.”

 
“I’d rather not get us murdered by some psychopath with an axe, if that’s fine with you.”

  “Oh, sure. I’ll just let the psychopath with a duffel bag murder me via exposure, instead.”

  “Exposure might be a little dramatic. It can’t be colder than twenty-five. Besides, I’ve got plenty of warmth to go around if it came to that.” I puzzled over my choice of words for a few seconds. What was I implying, exactly? My warmth wasn’t going to do her any good unless I let her get very close, and I doubted that would help my clouded feelings for her in the slightest.

  She raised an eyebrow. “For some reason, I kind of imagined you’d rather let me freeze to death than hold me close enough to save me from freezing.”

  I couldn’t fault her for thinking so little of me, but it stung to realize I’d come off as that much of an asshole. “Employees dying means a lot of paperwork. If it came to it, I’d help warm you up before I let that happen.” Inwardly, I cringed at myself. Why couldn’t I stop from being a dick every time it seemed like Violet was starting to hate me less?

  “Wow.” She laughed humorlessly. “It’s a little ironic that someone so cold thinks they could warm anyone up. Unless you’re planning to light me on fire. Is that the real reason we’re out here? It was just the best way to off me?”

  “No. Believe it or not, I have no plans to light you on fire. Yet. It’s like I said back at the office. You’re here so we can talk marketing.”

  Violet flashed a smug little smirk. “Oh, I’d forgotten, since, you know, we haven’t talked about marketing once yet.”

  I decided to stop talking before I made it worse. She wasn’t wrong. Maybe that was what provoked me so much around Violet. More than anyone else, she seemed to get me—the real me. She never completely bought it when I pushed her away. It was like I could see her narrowing her eyes and looking through the smokescreens I put up, catching glimpses of the guy I hid behind it all.

  Despite being in such a rush to get to Annapolis that I’d forced us to abandon our bus and hike in the freezing cold, even my cruelty had its limits. I took us into the first breakfast diner we found once we were off the highway. They had the heat on, and I could tell Violet was cold, even if she’d tried to joke it off every time I asked her how she was doing.

  Violet sipped her coffee and sighed with delight. “I’m not a huge coffee person, but I’d drink anything warm after that.”

  “Horse piss?” I asked.

  She nearly spit her coffee out. “Was that a joke? From the man with a redwood tree up his ass?”

  I frowned down at the table. "I think I could give you ‘a stick up his ass,' but a redwood is just a gross exaggeration. But I also have no idea what that was with the horse piss comment. I must've lost some brain cells in the cold, sorry, I—”

  “And an apology? Did Peter Barnidge die during our frigid cross-country hike and you’re just a ghost doing a poor impression?”

  “I do deserve that. I’ve been hard on you.”

  She leaned forward. "And… This is the part where you're supposed to explain why you've been such an ass. You know, like your supervillain origin story? Did someone spill a barrel of radioactive pricklejuice on you?"

  I couldn't stop myself from smirking. I liked her humor. It was unapologetically goofy. It didn’t try to be sophisticated or high-brow. It was fun. Like her. “Pricklejuice?”

  She gave me a small shrug that was adorable, whether I wanted to acknowledge that fact or not. “It was a toss-up between the pricklejuice barrel and a mad scientist who accidentally gave you two dicks—one between your legs and one for a personality.”

  I let out a surprised chuckle. “How long did you spend thinking about this, exactly?”

  “Most of the bus ride. At least the parts where you weren’t snoring too loud to concentrate.”

  “I don’t snore.”

  The waitress set down our plates—waffles for me and pancakes for Violet. “Nobody thinks they do, honey,” the waitress said in a raspy voice. “I never thought I snored until I moved to an apartment. My upstairs neighbor complained to the landlord about the ‘late night construction projects’ I kept working on.”

  I waited with raised eyebrows, not sure where she was going with the story.

  “They were talking about your snoring?” Violet asked.

  “You bet your hiney,” she said. Then she patted me on the shoulder. “Anything else I can get for you two lovebirds?”

  “Oh, we’re not—” Violet started.

  She made a dismissive sound. “Maybe you don’t think you are. But you wait tables long enough, and you can spot the signs. He’s looking at you like he’d like to take a bite, and you’re looking at him like you’d enjoy letting him. Hell, I bet he’d like to grab that syrup and give you a good, long drizzle before he cleaned you up. Nice and slow.”

  I cleared my throat. “I was actually thinking I should’ve ordered the pancakes. Sorry to break it to you.”

  The waitress didn’t look convinced, but she finally walked away and left us in peace.

  “She was interesting,” Violet said.

  “Yeah,” I grunted. I didn’t want to look up at Violet. I hadn’t actually been thinking about biting her. And pouring syrup all over her? It sounded like a mess, even if the image of Violet’s soft body and the brown, sticky liquid drizzling down her curves was playing on repeat in my mind. That was a dangerous image—it was the kind that could lead to bad decisions. I snagged the syrup and Violet’s eyes widened in surprise. Somehow, the look on her face told me I hadn’t been the only one imagining right along with our waitress. Awkwardly, I poured the syrup on my waffles as un-sensually as I could.

  “Scared me for a second,” she said.

  “Hah.” I choked out. I couldn’t even look at her until I’d made it half-way through my food. Fuck. I wanted to stiff the waitress on her tip for the psychological damage she’d done, even though I never had it in me to leave a shitty tip, even when it was actually deserved.

  For a few minutes, the only sounds were the scrapes of our silverware as we ate.

  “So, what’s the plan?” Violet asked.

  “We find the nearest rental company and get on the road.”

  Violet sighed and pushed her plate back. “I’m stuffed. Did you still want some of my pancakes?”

  I shook my head. “I’ve always hated pancakes.”

  She stared at me like I’d said something wrong, and then I remembered the excuse I’d given when the waitress said I was looking at Violet like I wanted to bite her.

  I opened my mouth, but if there was a plausible explanation for why I’d contradicted myself, it wasn’t coming to me.

  Violet’s mouth spread into a mischievous little smile. “So if you weren’t looking hungrily at my pancakes, what was it that had you so ravenous, exactly?”

  Asshole.

  “We need to get moving. Come on.”

  She didn’t move. “You know you have to pay after you eat at a restaurant, right? She hasn’t even brought the check. Or are you just so desperate to avoid answering my question that you’re willing to dine and dash?”

  I dug a fifty dollar bill out of my pocket and dropped it on the table. “Now come on. Let’s go.”

  “Alright then, keep your secrets,” Violet said with that same, self-satisfied smile.

  I glared. “I don’t have secrets. I do have a short temper and a lack of patience, though.”

  She held up her palms. “Hey. It’s fine. You don’t want to talk about the fact that you’ve only been such an asshole to me because you don’t want to get emotionally attached before you eat me for dinner. I get it. It actually makes a lot more sense now. I even understand why you would’ve wanted to light me on fire. You just prefer your meat seared.”

  I kept my mouth shut as we headed back out into the cold, because I was afraid I’d laugh if I spoke. Worse, I was afraid I’d flirt. My thoughts were busy as I tried to figure myself out. Ever since Kristen, being an off-putting ass had
come naturally. It never felt like an act. People tried to get close and I pushed them away. It wasn’t complicated or mysterious. With Violet, though, it felt like an act. I was constantly having to control my face to stop from grinning along with her or smile at the way she’d snap back when I tested her.

  Why was I trying so hard to convince her I wanted nothing to do with her? I knew the answer I’d give if Harry asked me, but I didn’t know the truth.

  I looked at her, as if I’d find some kind of answer in her face. Looking at her was a mistake, because her hair was tucked behind those ears of hers that I’d found perfectly out of place on her otherwise flawless face. She even wore a look of happy contentment on her face as she looked around the small town like it was something beautiful instead of a run-of-the-mill strip off a highway. I’d dragged her along with me for the weekend against her will, then I’d dragged her out into the freezing cold out of pure stubbornness, and she still managed to find a way to enjoy herself.

  I didn’t think I’d ever be able to figure her out, especially when I couldn’t even understand myself.

  9

  Violet

  Peter and I ended up in the lobby of a comfortable little family owned "Inne." I wasn't sure if the silent "e" at the end on the sign outside was grammatically correct, or if you were allowed to use it without some kind of official "license to be fancy," but I felt duped. The armchair I sat in was probably red at one point in its life, but now it was much closer to brown or beige. Still, it was beside a crackling fire and I hadn't dressed for cross country snowstorm hiking, so I was grateful for the break all the same.

  Peter came back from the front counter, where he’d been speaking with the old man who ran the place. He sank down on the ground and leaned his back against the bricks on the fireplace.“The local rental companies aren’t open until Monday. Cab service is out because there’s a huge pileup on the highway.”