by Sara Ney
“So. Violet.” Coach catches my eye, taking a long sip from his water glass, his wife Linda smiling warmly from across the table. Blonde, tan, and younger than I would have expected, she’s been nothing but kind since we sat down. “That was interesting.”
My blonde brows rise but I don’t trust myself to speak and not stutter. Oh? My brows do the talking for me.
“He’s one stubborn son of a bitch.” Another drink of water. “I’m surprised he offered that kid tickets.”
I nod. “I was surprised myself.” Tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. “He, um, didn’t want to come alone tonight.”
I don’t know why I’m telling these people this.
Coach barks out a laugh. “He didn’t want to come at all.” He studies me like he’s been studying his wrestler all night, long and hard and critically, eyes blazing as intensely as Zeke’s always are. “I doubt the only reason he invited you was so he didn’t have to come alone. I doubt that very much.”
Linda elbows him in the ribcage.
He takes that opportunity to purse his lips, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the white linen tablecloth. “He’s complicated.”
I nod. Yes he is.
“But, I suspect, so are you.”
I nod. Yes I am.
Coach nods slowly, glancing up behind me.
Zeke has returned to the table, his massive frame yanking out a chair and plopping down in his seat, repositioning himself several times to get comfortable.
“Kennedy Williams High,” he begrudgingly tells us. “He’s a junior. There are eight kids on the team and not enough money for anything.” His arms cross, grumbling. Always grumbling. “We should be having this fundraiser for his team, not—”
He stops himself.
“What were you about to say, Mr. Daniels?” his coach asks. “First you want to give the kid free tickets to one of our meets and now you want to fundraise for him? My, my, a bleeding heart now, are we?”
He’s determined to raise Zeke’s ire.
It works.
Obviously.
I mean, it’s not hard to do. All a person has to do is sniff in his general direction and it pisses him off.
Poor thing; he’s so high-strung.
“Tell you what,” Coach says after a few awkwardly silent moments. “I’ll get your kid tickets for two home matches for his entire team.” He pauses. “Then I want you to give them a tour of the locker rooms afterward, introduce them to our team. Can you do that?”
“I’m not babysitting a group of teenagers.”
Coach squints. Leans back. Nods.
“All right. Suit yourself.”
He goes back to eating from the vegetable tray on our table, crunching loudly on a carrot and smiling. Knowing there is no way Zeke is going to—
“Fine,” Zeke spits out, taking the bait. “Jesus.”
I nibble my bottom lip, biting back a secret smile.
“So, I’m curious, do you have a boyfriend, Violet?” Linda asks. She’s cutting up a tomato and bent on making small talk. Setting down her knife, she rests her chin in her hands, a pleasant expression on her face, like she genuinely wants to know if I have a boyfriend.
“No, she doesn’t,” Zeke answers for me, adjusting in his seat, wide shoulders brushing my slight ones.
I scowl, shifting my weight away. “H-How do you know?”
I’m capable of answering for myself.
For a moment, I wonder if he’s embarrassed that I stutter.
What if he doesn’t want me talking at all? I stare at the polished silverware and the water glass dripping with condensation.
Raise my head.
Coach, Linda, and the rest of our table watch me, expectantly.
I force a smile and shrug. “He’s right. I don’t.”
“Well, no loss there,” Linda jokes. “You’re probably better off without one—the older they get, the harder they are to train.”
“Hey!” Coach bellows jovially. “What’s that supposed to mean? Can’t a man catch a break?” He laughs, the rest of the table laughing along with him.
Linda gives him a tap on the arm. “You know I’m just teasing.” Turns her attention back to me. “I should have had you sit over here with me so we could talk more. We have a nephew your age who’s single, and gorgeous as he is funny.”
Oh god, could this get any worse.
“She doesn’t really have time for dating,” Zeke responds.
“Yes I do.”
“You do?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Of course I-I have time to date.”
Crook my finger to draw him in close—close enough that no one can overhear. Close enough that I can smell his aftershave…see the blue flecks in the corner of his stormy eyes…the new growth of five o’clock shadow at his jawline.
His nearness unnerves me. Jeez he smells heavenly. “You’re being kind of overbearing.”
He opens his mouth. “I am?”
“Can you dial it d-down?”
He pulls away to look at me. Draws himself back in to murmur, “I didn’t realize I was being a dick.”
I shrug, bare shoulders catching a chill from the AC unit above us, then shiver. His gray eyes track the movement, landing on my gooseflesh-covered collarbone. Stare at the column of my neck below my ear.
I lick my lips. “I thought I’d mention it as a courtesy.”
“A courtesy?”
“Mmhmm.” His eyes find my mouth when I hum. Hold there.
“Is this where I apologize?”
“Do you want to?”
His sculpted lips move so close to my ear I shiver—and this time, it’s not from the air conditioning. It’s from his warm breath on my neck, his nose brushing against my cheek.
My eyes slide shut when he whispers, “I’m wasn’t trying to be a dick.”
I nod, lids lifting, my gaze meeting Coach’s stern eyes. He raises his brows and I give him a shaky, crooked smile as Zeke continues whispering in my ear.
“What do you suppose he thinks we’re talking about?” Zeke asks.
“He probably thinks you’re apologizing.”
“No, he probably thinks we’re flirting.”
My neck tilts the slightest degree when I feel his lips graze my earlobe. “Would he be wrong?”
Zeke pulls away, slightly. Reclines back in his seat.
Slowly his head shakes back and forth. “No.”
Maybe there is hope for him yet.
“Did I tell you you looked nice tonight?”
“Sort of.” No, he hadn’t told me I looked nice—he’d told me I looked good.
No mention of me looking nice. No mention of me looking pretty. He’d gone with ‘good’.
“Did I at least tell you you looked pretty?” He’s clutching the steering wheel, staring straight at the road, hanging a right at the stop sign, then left on my road.
“No.” I laugh.
“I didn’t?” He sounds puzzled. “What did I say?”
“Y-You said, ‘You look good.’”
“Good?” He sounds disgusted. “Jesus fuck, I was kind of being an asshole tonight, wasn’t I?”
“I think we muddled through it okay.”
“Well, you did,” he continues, almost to himself, as he pulls into my driveway. Puts the car in park and turns toward me. “You look nice. Pretty, I mean.”
He turns his head toward the driver’s side window, and I swear I catch him rolling his eyes in the mirrored reflection. At himself.
My mouth curves. “Thank you.”
“Did you have fun tonight? I never did thank you for coming with me.”
“I had a lot of fun. Thank you for the invitation.” Oh god, I sound so formal. This is getting so awkward.
“Good, because… So anyway,” he begins. “I got something for you.”
He what? Did I hear that right? Did Zeke Daniels just say he got me something? Like what kind of something? What does that even mean?
“You did?” I
’m shocked. “For what?”
“For you.”
“You did?”
“Yes.” His lip curls into what’s probably supposed to be a grin, but in the dark, looks more like a sneer. “You suck at receiving gifts, do you know that?”
“A gift?”
“Are you going to repeat everything I say like I’ve just given you the shock of your life?”
I can see he’s getting frustrated. Know it when he runs a hand through his thick black hair.
“I’m sorry I keep asking questions.” I sit up straighter in my seat, interested. Curious. “What is it?”
Oops, there I go again.
In the dimly lit cab of his truck, with his face shrouded in shadows, Zeke lifts the center console, fishing out a small box. He holds it up in the palm of his hand, and I can see that it’s a black and silver jewelry box.
“Just take it.”
I falter when reaching for it.
“I-I can’t b-believe you actually got me a gift.” The wonder in my voice fills the cab of the truck. “I thought you were joking.”
I’m not trying to be deliberately obtuse, but Zeke Daniels has truly stunned me.
“No.”
“No, it’s not a gift?”
“No, I—Jesus Violet, can’t you just open the damn thing?”
I’m not purposely pressing him, but the questions just keep slipping past my lips before I can stop them.
It’s a black, square box—one I’m very familiar with—and I hold my breath when I go to pry open the top, revealing the velvet jewelry pouch inside. I glance to find Zeke staring at me out of the darkness, expression unreadable.
Mouth in a firm line. Eyes hooded but impassive.
“Can you just fucking open it,” he grunts, moody. “You’re taking forever.”
My heart beats a million miles an hour inside my chest, so hard I can almost hear it. I can see how impatient he’s becoming by the way his eyes intently trail the movement my fingers make over the black bag.
“You’re being really obnoxious, do you realize that?”
So antsy, this guy. Like a child.
“I think it’s c-cute that you’re excited.”
Oh my god, did I actually just call him cute—and stutter while I did it? How freaking embarrassing.
“I meant to say it’s cute when you’re excited—not you’re cute.”
Stop talking, Violet!
But I don’t. Can’t. “I wish it wasn’t so dark it here; I want to remember this moment.” Oh my god, why am I saying these things out loud?
“Turn the damn light on then.”
So I do. I reach up and flick the overhead lamp on, then stare down at the black velvet pouch, concentrating on the size and texture of it.
Of this gift from him.
I glance up at Zeke, and I think he’s…
Blushing.
Honest-to-god blushing.
Shakes his head and turns away, staring out the window into my dark neighborhood.
Biting down on my lower lip, I return to the task at hand, drawing at the gold strings on the black velvet bag. Pluck it open with nimble fingers. Dip inside, index finger and thumb hooking the delicate gold bangle I know will be inside. Slide it gently out until it’s lying flat on my palm.
Lift it to my face to study it in the dim light.
It’s a bracelet from tonight’s silent auction.
Together, Linda and I had strolled the room, considering each auction item one at a time like we were actually considering buying them: “That would be fun!” Linda declared about a weekend waterpark getaway. “I’ll wear my new suit!”
“Now what on earth would I do with all of that?” she’d asked when we walked past a barbequing set. “Guess I’ll have to get a fancy new apron!”
Then, we’d come to the beauty and apparel items. Spa retreats. Nail salon vouchers. Scarves and handcrafted necklaces.
The bracelet.
My fingers go to the charm dangling from the thin band of gold, the stamped icon precisely as I knew it would be.
Two-sided disk, gold and silver, a sunflower bursting open on one side. The words Everything happens for a reason on the other.
I remember exactly what the auction description of the bracelet said, because Linda and I had studied it closely.
A surprising strength, this optimistic flower rises up from the ground, turning its petals toward the sun. It breathes life into all in its presence. Bright. Radiates happiness. Colorful petals and resilient roots. The sunflower gives others the encouragement to seek joy, even on the gloomiest days. Celebrate your power; it grows from that ever-positive light within you.
I remember what I said when I straightened after reading the blurb: “I wish I had the money to bid on it.”
She must have told Zeke I’d fallen in love with it.
“I love it, Zeke.” I breathe deeply. “I love it.”
And I do.
Not only because I’ve never received a gift for absolutely no reason, but because it’s so beautiful. It represents a part of my life I hope to embody: shiny, new, and full of symbolism. Like the rest of the bangles lining my wrist, this one too tells a piece of my story. Positive is how I live. Take the wheel. Zodiac. Guardian angel.
My eyes squeeze shut as I clasp the charm in a clenched fist, the metal warming to my touch; I saw the bids for this imitation gold trinket, saw how expensive it was.
It’s not even real precious metal and it was going for an outrageous amount of money.
Before I can stop it from escaping, a single wet tear glides out the corner of my eye and down my cheek.
I wipe it away.
“Thank you.”
Zeke grumbles in reply, the sound rumbling from his chest as he reaches up and flips off the overhead light.
My palm opens and I push the shiny new bracelet over my knuckles, easing it onto my wrist; I admire it alongside the others. They cling and clang and shine in the dim light suspended above us.
Then, before I actually think about what I’m doing, my body leans toward his big body, propelled by the heart pounding wildly inside my chest, until my lips encounter the bristly side of his cheek.
“Thank you,” I whisper faintly into the shell of his ear, mouth stalling there. Brushing the skin of his lobe. Tip of my nose giving him a sniff, colliding with his temple.
Zeke stiffens from surprise—or because of the invasion of his personal space—but doesn’t shrug away when my lips press to meet his jaw for another brief, spontaneous kiss.
I simply cannot help myself. I simply cannot move away.
He lowers his hands from the steering column of his truck, letting them fall heavily to his lap. Runs the tips of his fingers up and down the black fabric seam of his dress pants, up and over his thighs.
Zeke turns his head the slightest fraction of an inch, just enough so that our faces are inches apart.
His habitually harsh gaze roams my face, settling on my plum-stained lips, gray eyes softening, wrinkling at the corners.
“You’re welcome, I guess,” his bottomless voice rumbles, vibrating, breath all pepperminty.
I don’t know who moves first, and I swear—this wasn’t my intention. I don’t mean to, but suddenly we’re—
“Violet.” He sighs the question of my name into my mouth as my eyelids slide closed, our lips touching. Briefly, hesitating. The barest whisper of contact sizzles in the space between the soft skin of his lower lip and mine. A long, charged quiver that lingers deep within my spine, compelling us both to fuse our mouths together.
Zeke Daniels shivers.
It’s positively electric.
Chaste kisses. Kisses that make sweet…kissing sounds.
Once, twice. Again.
But then…
Our mouths open and it’s not so chaste. Not so sweet. His tongue, my tongue. Tenderly. Hungrily. And oh god, his hands are in my hair, gently caressing and tugging at the silky strands lying in an artful blonde cascade over my sh
oulders. Rubbing them between the tips of his fingers.
He twists that strong torso at the waist so his giant palms are cupping my face, gentle thumbs stroking the tears of joy off of my flaming hot cheek as he kisses any sense I might have had left right out of me. So sweetly another tear escapes.
“The bracelet isn’t a big deal,” he whispers.
My eyes flutter open; his are squeezed closed, long lashes fanned flat against his skin, and I realize he’s not talking to me; he’s murmuring these things to himself.
“Violet.” He sighs.
He sighs.
Zeke is… He’s sighing my name.
I want so badly to kiss his handsome, broody face all over. Kiss his deep frown lines away. Run my smooth cheek against his coarse, stubbly one. I want so badly for him to remove his hands from my face and put one between my legs, slip them between my inner thighs to the aching wet spot that’s making me want to moan.
But he doesn’t.
His hands stay properly above my waist, above my shoulders. Our mouths still welded together, Zeke’s hands move from my hair to cradle my jawline.
Gray irises lower to meet hazel, foreheads pressed together, thumb pads slowly stroking the corner of my mouth.
No, not stroking. Memorizing. My mouth.
My lips.
The spell is broken when a light gets flipped on from the inside of my house.
The bathroom.
Which means at least one of my two roommates is awake.
Of course, he’s the first to pull back. Pull away. Broad shoulders hitting the black leather driver’s seat with a weighty thud. The massive palms that were just on my body are running up and over his face, first down, then up, and he tugs at his raven black hair ’til it’s tousled.
Stares out the windshield.
And then, “The bracelet wasn’t a big deal Violet.”
Why does he keep saying that? Why isn’t he looking at me? Not three minutes ago he was whispering my name…
I’m so confused.
“I-It isn’t?” My voice is so small, so small and disappointed. I finger the new bangle circling my pale wrist.
“No.”
No. No. He’s always saying no, isn’t he?
I slump in my seat, grasping for the forgotten jewelry box that’s fallen onto the floor. Root around with my fingers to retrieve it from the mats, gather my purse.