The Failing Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #2)(86)

“I do not want to hear you having sex,” her roommate makes a hmph sound. “Make him beg, Vi.”

“I will.”

Violet takes my hand, leading me through the living room to the hallway. To her bedroom door.

Leads me over the threshold.

I pause in the doorway, hesitating.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m just…looking.” The room isn’t what I pictured in my mind; I’d imagined something more flowery and froofy. Fussy with knickknacks and posters and shit. Like, unicorns and crap.

This room is nothing like that. One double bed with no headboard, there’s a light gray comforter pulled over the top. Three white pillows stacked, one on top of the other. White blinds on the windows for privacy, no curtains. A wooden desk that probably came off the curb at the end of the spring semester. Small desk lamp. Chair. School supplies neat and methodically arranged into rows. Above that, a corkboard with small, instant camera film. Several movie tickets stubs. A red ribbon—from what victory, I can’t tell from here.

On the far wall is a narrow rack with some shirts I recognize, pants folded neatly and stacked on top. I make a quick count of the four pair of shoes lining the bottom. One pair of boots.

It’s plain and simple, and bare.

Confused, my brow wrinkles. “Where’s all your stuff?”

Her face turns pink, but she laughs. “I don’t have any stuff. I’m an orphan, remember?”

Oh fuck. Shit.

“It’s okay, don’t feel bad.” She pats my arm, and I tense up from the contact. “It works because I drew the short straw; no closet, no clothes. I borrow a lot from Mel and Winnie.”

She bumps my hip, shooing me from the door so she can close us in. Locks the door.

I shrug out of my jacket, hanging it on the chair. “Where do you want me to sit?”

“On the chair I guess. I’ll take the bed.”

I straddle it, throwing a leg over each side. Rest my hands on the back, leaning forward. Violet is sitting cross-legged in the center of her bed, positive and pretty radiating off of her like sunlight.

“Winnie is a good little guard dog,” I begin, chagrined.

“I-Is she?” Violet demurs, studying her fingernails, peeking at me from under her lashes. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Smartass.

“Yeah. I was outside freezing my ass off for almost fifteen minutes before you came outside.”

If Violet is surprised by this news, she doesn’t show it. “She’s my people.”

My people. My friend. My family.

“You won big today. I can’t believe you picked that guy up from a standstill—I was scared to death. How did it feel?”

“Heavy.” I roll my shoulders, listing my head from side to side, knots burning from the inside out. “I’m the last wrestler on the roster. The sooner I win, the sooner we can leave, and honestly, I wanted to get it over with so I could come home.”

“What was the rush?”

I meet her eyes; they sparkle na?vely into mine.

“You know what the rush was.” She can’t be that oblivious.

“You picked a guy up off the ground, slung him on your shoulder, dumped him onto the mat, and pinned him in under a minute so you could get home sooner?”

“Home to you,” I clarify.

“To me?”

A nonchalant shrug. “Basically.”

She considers this quietly, biting down on her bottom lip in concentration. Then, “Do you think you could you lift me onto your shoulder?”

My eyes start at the top of her pale white hair, trail down her chest. Stomach. Waist. Thighs, legs, and feet, weighing her in at one twenty-five soaking wet.

“Easily.”

“Hmmm,” she hums, all twinkling and mischievous, like she suddenly wants to play and get sweaty with me.

My dick twitches.

We haven’t had sex in days, and I’m getting turned on by the mere sight of her. By the smell of her clean room and the exposed skin of her stomach whenever she moves around on the bed.

“Do you want me to pick you up and lift you over my shoulder?”

Naked.

Just the thought turns my twitching dick into a semi-boner.

Violet leans back, foot dangling off the bed. She jiggles it up and down, drawing attention to her cute little toenails. Light purple.

“I don’t know; maybe. We’ll see after we’ve had our talk, won’t we?”

Fair enough.

I sit up straight, arching my spine, stretching. Put my hands on the small of my back, press down, and groan.

Her smile is slight. Soft and sweet.

“Here, come sit on the bed; it’s probably more comfortable than that chair I found at a garage sale. I trust you’ll keep your hands to yourself.”

She pats the spot next to her, scooting over to provide more space.

I stand. Kick off my shoes. Crawl across her bed.

Seat myself in the center.

Instead of sitting next to me, Violet lies down on the bed, curls her body, and rests her head in my lap. For a second I just sit there, frozen, unsure of what to do—I’ve never had anyone curled up on me before. Never had anyone’s head in my lap.

My hands poise above her relaxing figure, suspended in midair. Gradually I lower them to her face, touching tentatively, my rough, calloused hand seeking the silk of her hairline with a caress.