Point of No Return

by Olivia Luck

  She rewards me with a bark of laughter. “What was I thinking? Of course, you won. No one can get a puck past the great Cameron Stone.”

  It’s my turn to laugh wryly. “Something like that. Let’s knock another movie off your list.” I can’t believe I’m suggesting that we watch another movie together, but I would do just about anything to prolong the time we spend together. Maybe I can get to her open up to me if she relaxes.

  “You—you wouldn’t mind?” Her vulnerability kills me. She puts up this strong front around anyone else, but with me, she lowers that wall. That counts for something.

  “Yeah. We’re going to watch Pulp Fiction. Put your seatbelt on. This one’s a rocky ride.”

  There. I’ve got her. Her lips stretch wider. Violet rolls the bottle of beer between her hands, then tips it back for a long swallow. “I’m ready. Hit me.” We share a look then. I don’t hold myself back. My gaze roves over every inch of her gorgeous features. She knows what I’m doing too because she glances down bashfully.

  Adorable.

  Vulnerable.

  Irresistible.

  Enough for now.

  Two and a half hours drag by slower than a day of press interviews. I can’t stop myself from wanting to tuck her against my side, curl my arm around her shoulder, and inhale her strawberry scented hair. This movie has enraptured Violet. Halfway through, I need to cool off, so I go to get us each another beer. I do it without asking because her next to me is natural. Instinctively, I know she wants another drink by the way she hasn’t dropped the bottle but taps her fingers on the glass like it’s a keyboard.

  “Another winner. I can see why so many people like this one. Pretty revolutionary stuff,” she says at the end of the film. Her navy eyes are glassy. “You have good taste.”

  “I know.” But I’m not talking about movies. Not in the slightest. Any idiot can rent a Tarantino movie. It takes true understanding of beautiful things to find a limitless treasure like Violet in the throng of gilded gemstones.

  “How’d you get here?” I ask roughly.

  “Oh. I drove. Probably should be getting home.”

  “No. You’ve been drinking,” I say with finality.

  “Oh. Yeah.” She gives me a dopey smile and sways a little when she moves to her feet. Reaching out to grasp her shoulder, I study Violet.

  “Stay here. There are a few guest bedrooms to choose from.”

  “I—what?”

  Determined to keep her under my roof, safe and near me, I put an arm around her shoulders and steer her toward the staircase. “It’s no big deal. Come on.”

  “Um . . .” The fight dwindles as she leans against my side heavily.

  “Let me carry your burden for a little while,” I murmur.

  She doesn’t respond. But I know she heard me because she presses her cheek against my ribs and in turn, my heart rate picks up. I show her to the bedroom next to mine (I guess I’m a masochist tonight) then pause in the doorway.

  “Where are your car keys? I’ll move it into the driveway.”

  She sits on the corner of the white bedspread with a sigh. “In my bag. I left it on the front table. But you know, I need my contacts case. It’s in my purse.”

  “I didn’t know you were a four eyes,” I tease to erase some of her tension.

  She shrugs. “You don’t know a lot about me.” The retort pisses me off. No, she won’t let me in, even as a friend.

  “That’s right, you’re pretty tight-lipped,” my tone bites. I have to turn around to fight my aggravation. I’m angry at the situation, not at Violet. “There are old t-shirts and sweats in the dresser.” I jog down the staircase, rifle through her bag, and yank out the key ring. A shock of frigid air rocks some sense into me. I need to calm the fuck down. Getting annoyed won’t make Violet any more comfortable around me.

  I’m not sure how much more I can take of this push and pull. One moment Violet’s staring at me with stars in her eyes, and then the next, she’s closed off and uncomfortable. This can’t be an easy situation for her. I snort at my own idiocy when I climb into the driver’s seat of her truck, slamming the door harder than necessary.

  Hard? That’s the understatement of the century. Yes, I want her. Yes, I will have her. But I’m smart enough to know that we can’t have any sort of relationship until she’s ready. No matter how much it fucking sucks for me to wait.

  When I’ve parked her truck in my driveway and walk back through the front door, I’m noticeably less heated. I climb the stairs with her purse in hand. The door’s halfway closed, but I can make out her shape on the bed. My dick doesn’t get the message that she’s not for entertainment purposes. Sitting cross-legged in the center of the mattress with Rocky stretched out in front of her, Violet looks very comfortable in my home. She’s wearing one of my shirts. It’s more like a baggy dress on her. It crumples over an old pair of athletic shorts I haven’t seen in a while. The clothes conceal almost all of her skin, yet she makes me more aroused than any other woman. Ever.

  “Here’s your bag.” My voice is husky, betraying how much I want her.

  “Cameron, I’m sorry,” she blurts. “You come home from your game wanting to do . . . whatever it was that you wanted to do and I threw a wrench in your plans. Not to mention taking up residence on your couch and acting all weird. I promise I’ll be out of your hair first thing in the morning and it won’t happen again.”

  I stride across the room and set her purse next to her. “It’s no hardship, Violet. We’re friends, yeah? I just want to know why you look like you’ve been crying. I want to help.”

  “Let me take my contacts out. They’re really itchy.” She shoots me a hopeful look. “Then we can talk?”

  “Yeah.” She collects her bag and disappears into the bathroom. While she’s gone, I go into my own bedroom and strip off the dress pants and dress shirt I’m wearing by league ordinance for post-game attire. I change into similar clothes to Violet, although she wears them much better than I ever will.

  Back in the guest room, Violet’s underneath the blanket, pillows propping her into a seated position. Without any hesitation, I move on the bed next to her. I’m not a complete moron; I don’t pull back the sheets, scoot next to her, and yank her body against mine. I wait.

  “Dominic and I got into a fight tonight,” she finally says with a grimace.

  “What did that asshole do this time? He doesn’t know when to stop. You know, I thought his ruthlessness was good for our team, but he won’t turn it off.” I erupt. Furious. Someone pushing Violet around raises my body temperature and makes me want to punch something or someone. In this case, Dominic.

  To my shock, she giggles then. Slaps a hand over her eyes and laughs like what I just said wasn’t fraught with malice.

  “Did I miss something funny?”

  “Twenty-seven years without a curse word and I dropped my first one on Dominic tonight.”

  “Oh. Don’t tell me you wasted your first on him. Damn, I’m sorry I missed that. How did it feel?”

  The smile dies and she shakes her head slowly. “Not as good as I imagined. I can safely say that I don’t need to incorporate swearing into my vocabulary.”

  “What did he do to make you that mad?”

  “How do you know it wasn’t my fault?”

  “Violet, you would never get angry with someone unless you were provoked. You are the sweetest woman I know. And I’m well acquainted with Stella Baccino so that should tell you that I know what I’m talking about.”

  She rolls her eyes at that. I scoot closer to her and nudge her with my shoulder. “Go on.”

  “I needed some legal help. Blake has a friend who is a lawyer and he agreed to meet with me. The short story is . . . I want to give up any rights I have to Baccino’s. I don’t even know if I have any from my marriage, but I want to make it official. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal.

  “When I walked out of the office, Dominic was there and I guess he just snapped. He accused me o
f going after the restaurant and said some other nasty things . . . The whole exchange couldn’t have lasted more than a couple of minutes, but it was so ugly.”

  Needing to touch her, I reach out and tangle our fingers together. I exert enough pressure to make her look up at me. “That’s completely out of line.”

  “Perhaps. Yes. It was overkill, but what I said after that.” She pauses, refusing to meet my gaze again.

  “What did you say?”

  “I admitted I knew he told Max not to marry me. In front of Blake, Stella, and the lawyer, Harris. Dominic probably doesn’t want that broadcasted to everyone.” She sighs. “There’s more. I told him that before Max died, he made Blake promise to look after me if anything were to ever happen to him. He didn’t need to know that. Why hurt him that way? It wasn’t worth it. Make him feel like his twin didn’t trust him. It wasn’t right. I’m ashamed I said anything.”

  “Violet . . .” I’m not sure what to say. I want to growl at the injustice of her sympathy for Dominic. The guy hasn’t given her a break at any turn. The remorse in her behavior attracts me more to Violet, her humongous heart.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I don’t mean to unload on you. It’s just that I’m trying to move forward. That’s why I asked Blake to set up a meeting with a lawyer. And I let myself be dragged backward. I should have just walked out and let it go.”

  I stroke my thumb along the back of her hand, reveling in the sensation of touching her skin. “Give yourself a break.” She opens her mouth to argue. “Release yourself to the process of moving forward. It won’t happen overnight.”

  “How did you get so smart?” To my immense disappointment, she carefully untangles our fingers. Then she burrows down under the blankets, folds her hands into the prayer position, and slides them under her cheek. There’s no explicit invitation, but I slide down on the bed so we’re lying facing each other. Not touching, though all my nerves beg for her.

  “Lots of time reading on the road,” I say, half-joking, half-serious.

  “What do you like to read?” she asks dreamily.

  “Anything. Lots of history. Non-fiction. Some Bourne stuff. Mystery.” The more I talk, the heavier her eyelids become and then they’re closed. Her breathing evens out.

  There are two options ahead of me. One, turn out the lights and go into my bedroom to sleep. Or, two, turn off the lights and take up space next to my dream woman.

  Yeah, I may be an idiot sometimes, but I’m not that big of an idiot.

  I shut off the lights and crawl back into the bed next to her. But because I don’t want her to wake up and freak out, I stay on top of the sheets and Rocky lays at the foot of the bed.

  It’s the best night of sleep I’ve ever had.

  The scent of strawberries wakes me. It surrounds me, slithers through my body in a deliciously erotic way. Drowsily, I reach for the source of the smell. I want to capture it, bury my nose in the source. My hand hits a warm body, and my eyes shoot open.

  “Bottom of the ocean,” I say.

  “What?” Violet whispers, blinking slowly. She’s only a few inches away and with my hand on her hip, I could sweep her closer and show her just how fucking pleased I am to see her face first thing in the morning.

  “The color of your eyes reminds me of the bottom of the ocean. Mysterious. Never ending.”

  Dark blue eyes search my face. She doesn’t speak and neither do I. I don’t trust myself not to tell her that I’ve fallen so deeply into her ocean eyes that I’ll never break the surface for air again.

  “Thank you for letting me stay here,” she finally says.

  “Anytime.”

  She rolls away from me, climbs out of the bed, and goes into the bathroom. A few minutes later, she reemerges wearing the same clothes as yesterday. By then I’ve made the bed and moved out into the hallway. Rocky jumps around my feet, eager to be let out to do his business.

  I walk Violet to the front door. Her hand is on the knob, getting ready to turn it when I press a flat palm to the door to keep it shut. She looks up at me in a silent question.

  “Why did you stay here last night, Violet? You could have left after you walked Rocky. You have plenty of friends who would have been there for you.”

  “I . . .” She hesitates.

  “Tell me,” I press, looming closer for another whiff of her strawberry sweetness.

  “I don’t know, really. That’s the truth. It was automatic. Like I knew without knowing you’d be the right person to confide in.”

  My hand falls from the door and I take a step back to give her space.

  “Bye, Cameron. Thanks again for being there.” She runs out of the house like it’s on fire. With a decisive click, I lock the door then turn to my dog in triumph.

  “I’m in.”

  Violet

  “No snow, no snow, no snow.”

  With a nervous intake of breath, I peer out behind the blinds.

  Sunlight washes the earth in brightness. The cloudless blue sky is deceiving. The temperature probably hovers around twenty degrees. Everyone expects bitter cold in the thick of a Chicago winter. But snow is fickle, at times appearing in endless waves and other times not making an appearance for weeks at a time. Today, I’m very lucky. No snow in sight. Yes, I heard the weather reports predicting none of the white stuff, but I’m an event planner. We have an inherent distrust of weather forecasters.

  It’s the morning of the Scrapers fundraiser. The week flew by in a flurry of last-minute details while finalizing the spa opening with Lorelei. Being active, consumed by getting my own business off the ground, doesn’t feel like work. All my time revolves around networking and building a new life for myself.

  It makes me believe I’m stronger than I gave myself credit for. And I’ve started having thoughts—wild, unlike Violet thoughts. I’m going to see my sister. No matter what the consequences are, I need to talk to Iris. Maybe she’ll want nothing to do with me, or maybe she’s missed me as much as I missed her. I’m ready to find out. I think.

  Over breakfast, I review my schedule for the evening as if I didn’t have it memorized. I need to be at the museum by ten to oversee vendor arrivals. But before I can get started there, I have to swing to the north side of town to get Felix. Thankfully, he was able to secure the night off to play assistant to me. It doesn’t hurt that his new boyfriend, Dex, is working the event. Felix needs the car to help Dex shuttle his equipment to the museum.

  It takes two trips to pack the car with my event planner emergency stuff, dress, heels, make-up, and event itineraries. For now, I’m in jeans, my most supportive tennis shoes, and a hoodie. Event planning isn’t pretty stuff until the end. Fifteen minutes later, I’m parked outside of Felix’s apartment building.

  “Someone’s chipper this morning,” I say at the way he jumps into the passenger seat.

  “Dex in a tuxedo. An event you’ve planned. Hot hockey players. What’s not to be excited about?”

  Chuckling, I begin navigating the car back south toward the museum. “Touché.”

  “More importantly, how are you feeling?”

  At the next red light, I toss my (messy) hair over my shoulder in a show of faux bravado. “It’s in the bag, darling.”

  “Ha. Ha. Really. Rate your anxiety on a scale of one to ten.”

  “What’s the scale? One is a day at the beach, ten is planning a party for the president?”

  “Obviously. Stop stalling,” Felix says.

  “Three. Check with me later though, we’re at the easy part. Once the guests start showing up, I’ll be in panic mode. If this goes well, it could really launch my business. There are going to be many high rollers who could refer me or might want to hire me in the future. The pressure to exceed expectations is pretty high,” I admit.

  “Any guests in particular making you nervous?” Felix asks coyly.

  “That’s a leading question if I’ve ever heard one,” I mutter.

  “Don’t make me ask.”

&n
bsp; “What’s there to be nervous about? Cameron and I are just friends,” I insist.

  “Ah-ha! You knew exactly who I was talking about with me saying a word. Admit it; you’ve got a thing going on in your things for the goalie.”

  “Thing going on in my things?” I splutter. “You did not just say that.” Thankfully, the museum loading dock driveway is only half a block away, so I can quickly park the car. “What does that even mean?”

  “Quit with the naïve act. The guy’s got a fever and the only cure is more Violet.”

  “You’re watching too many Saturday Night Live reruns,” I grumble. To avoid his pestering, I put the car into park and get out to walk to the trunk.

  Only to myself have I admitted that I’ve noticed that Cameron looks at me with heady eyes sometimes. And that night I spent in his guest room last week . . . It was the first night in over a year that I slept peacefully. It was the first time I laid in bed with a man (Felix doesn’t count) when sex wasn’t a possibility. True enough, the only man I’ve slept with is Max.

  At first, I didn’t want to be alone and he didn’t question me. When I was ready to talk, he listened to every word I said like he was starving and they were morsels of food. Under his tender care, I felt important and valued.

  “No matter what things I’ve got, nothing’s going to happen.” Determined to change the topic, I unlatch the trunk and grab my tote bag of supplies.

  “Denial isn’t a good color for you,” Felix teases.

  In plain view, I roll my eyes at him. “Could we discuss this after the biggest event of my burgeoning career? Right now, I have to haul all this gear inside and you need to get back to your boyfriend before he finds someone younger and better looking.”

  “Wash your mouth out with soap,” Felix grumbles under his breath while I giggle.

  Things are going well. Almost too well. The caterer and decorator both showed up early, a first for me. I find time to put my hair into curlers, despite how silly I look while running around the event space. I don’t have time to go to a salon to get professional hair and make-up. Needing to be on-site to manage the event timeline, I’m used to this type of scenario and don’t care how foolish I look with self-sticking rollers coiled in my hair like a funky afro.