The Certainty of Violet & Luke(52)

‘We actually really need to get going.’ I glance at my phone to check the time. ‘The doors open in an hour and we still need to go home and change.’

Luke nods, but is still tense. His father looks upset and Trevor appears to be as uneasy as I am. He flags down the waiter for the check, then we leave the restaurant and hopefully the tension behind. But the silence of the drive proves otherwise.

‘So tomorrow’s the game then?’ Trevor asks as we’re pulling up to the hotel to drop them off, the first words anyone has uttered since we got into the car.

‘Yeah, it starts at six,’ Luke mutters, shoving the car into park. He doesn’t look at his father, staring ahead. ‘But you guys don’t need to come if you don’t want to. We can meet up afterwards or beforehand.’

‘I already told you I want to come.’ His father scoots forward in the seat, dithering before reaching forward and placing a hand on Luke’s shoulder. ‘I know it’s not even a start, but I want to attempt to make up for all the things I missed while you were growing.’

I can tell Luke’s fighting to stay mad at his dad, the big softy that he is, despite the fact that he’ll never admit it. ‘Fine. Okay. See you there then.’

‘Do you want to ride with us?’ Trevor asks me as he opens the door to get out.

I’ve never actually been to a game before – not really my thing. ‘Oh, I …’ I trail off, not wanting to say that I don’t go, even though it’s the truth.

‘We’ll pick you up at, say, seven?’ Trevor says even though I didn’t even answer his question.

Not knowing what else to do, I nod. They get out and shut the doors and Luke pulls away and onto the road. He’s quiet as we drive toward our apartment, the streetlights reflecting in his brown eyes and giving them the similar glow the stars gold. I’m assuming his silence has to do with his father and what he said at dinner, so he startles me when he asks, ‘So are you really coming to my game?’

‘Um … yeah, I guess I’m going.’ I chew on my fingernail. ‘I’ve never really been to one. Not my thing, but I guess I can pop that cherry.’

The corners of his lips twitch, probably because he’s thinking about the first time we had sex, which was my first time ever. ‘Yeah, I guess it’s about time then.’ He gives me a sidelong glance. ‘But you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.’

But I can tell he wants me to. Not sure how, but I do.

‘No, I want to go, but I’m not going to dress up in the school collars and prance around clapping my hands and yelling ‘Go, team, go!’ I make this cheerleader motions with my arms and it gets him to laugh.

‘Fine by me,’ he says, with a smile threatening at his lips. ‘Not really into that shit anyway.’

I smile back. ‘Good, otherwise I’d wonder what the hell you were doing with me.’

He continues to perk up for the rest of the drive and his worries about his father fade into the night, and into costume and concert time. After we get back to the apartment, I go get dressed in the outfit I bought earlier today. I’d actually bought it at a gothic store that Callie knew about – not sure how. A leather dress, these stockings with black stripes on them, a lace-up arm warmer for my good wrist, and boots that have these gadgets on them, making them totally look steampunk. I’m not even calling myself anything, though, just basking in the fact that I get to dress up.

I put my hair up in this curly braid style then stain my lips with dark lipstick, trace my eyes with black liner, then look in the mirror and totally admire my handy work. ‘Okay, project Celebrating Holidays. I think I’m liking Halloween.’

‘Who are you talking to?’ Luke asks as he opens the door and enters into the bedroom. He makes it about two steps in when he actually sees me and stops dead in his tracks.

‘Pretty awesome, right?’ I ask, turning away from the mirror and to him with my hands on my hips.

His lazily scrolls my body, from my boots to my chest, finally residing on my eyes. ‘You look like a dominatrix.’

I glance down at my leather outfit and knee-high boots. ‘Well, that wasn’t what I was going for, or anything really – just having fun,’ I say. ‘But I guess you can call me that for the night of you want.’

‘Can I?’ He says it absentmindedly, severely preoccupied by my legs, half concealed by the lace-up boots I’m wearing. He scratches at the back of his neck, then jerks his attention off of my legs. ‘So what am I then?’