The Destiny of Violet & Luke (The Coincidence, #3)(69)

I wake up to someone tapping my shoulder. At first I think it’s Seth because it seems like something he would do, but then I feel the soft touch of hair tickling my cheek.

“Luke, wake up,” Violet whispers, her breath hot against my cheek.

I roll my eyes open to her hovering over me, her wavy hair hanging over her shoulders and down into my face. Her eyes are lined with black, her lips glossy, and she has a necklace on. She smells incredible, too, like soap and something fruity I’d seriously like to eat right now.

“I need a ride,” she says, leaning back a little and sitting down on the edge of the sofa. There’s this look in her eyes, like she’s hating to ask me for help.

I gradually sit up, the blanket slipping off, but I quickly pull it back up around my waist. I sleep in my boxers and my cock is hard from the dream I was having about her. “Where?”

She bites her lip, her face twisting with animosity. “To the police station downtown.”

I rub the tiredness from my eyes. “Why?”

“Because.”

“Are we really going to go back to the one-word responses?”

She works not to smile, smashing her lips tightly together. “What? You think just because you kissed me that I’ll be more responsive to your questions?”

“You seemed pretty responsive yesterday,” I say, mentally cursing myself for starting it up again so quickly.

She fidgets with a leather watch on her wrist, but her eyes light up. “Well, maybe I’m feeling a little differently today.”

“Are you?”

“Maybe.”

God damn it, I need her to tell me more, but I can’t just ask her. That would be giving her way too much control over me. “You’re not going to even give me a little bit of a hint?”

“No.”

I let out a breath, shaking my head. “All right, I can give you a ride to the police station just as long as you promise to eventually tell me why you have to go down there.”

She nods once and then gets to her feet. She has a pair of black shorts on that cup her f*cking firm ass and a black-and-white tube top that hugs her lean body and pushes up her cleavage. “Eventually,” she says.

Damn her and her one-word sentences. It’s frustrating beyond comprehension. I toss the blanket aside and get off the couch, my cock still a little hard, but I decide oh well. Her eyes drift down to my cock, then to my chest as I head to the bathroom to get dressed, feeling pretty good about myself at the moment, like I might have gotten the upper hand again.

“Give me like ten and I’ll be out,” I say and shut the bathroom door. I brush my teeth, tug on a black shirt and a pair of jeans, then douse myself in cologne. It’s the first morning in a long time where I haven’t run straight to a series of shots of Jack Daniel’s, but the fact that I have to drive her somewhere makes me not want to go there just yet. I’ll wait until I get home and then let myself sink into the blissful contentment of alcohol and hopefully it’ll clear Violet out of my head for a while.

I run a hand through my hair then go out to the living room where she’s waiting for me on the sofa, staring down at her boots. She looks exhausted and tense and it makes me want to kiss her again and try to take away whatever is making her look that way. Yes, I definitely need shots and a f*cking blowjob or something.

I scoop up my keys and wallet from the kitchen counter and wind a path through the remaining unpacked boxes around the room. “Ready?”

She glances up at me, startled, but quickly gathers herself and gets to her feet. “Yeah.” She trudges for the door without looking over her shoulder, her head tipped down, looking like someone just killed her dog.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I follow her out the front door and into the sunlight, resisting the overwhelming urge to put my hand up to the small of her back and guide her down to my car.

“Yep, I’m perfect,” she says, waving me off, then she trots down the stairs to the carport, keeping distance between us like she knows what I’m considering doing with my hands.

She barely speaks to me the entire drive and I hate how we’ve gone back to the place we pretty much started at. I ask her a few questions, push for a conversation, but she continues to give me her one-word responses. So I give up and ten minutes later we’re pulling up to the police station, an older brick building located in the heart of the town between stoplights, parking lots, and shops. I wait a moment, deciding what I’m supposed to do. Say, see you later. Tell her I’ll pick her up. Kiss her good-bye.

“What time do you want me to pick you up?” I finally ask, putting the truck in park.

She cracks the door open. “I’ll call you.”

I snag her elbow and stop her from climbing out. “Wait. You don’t have my number.”

She pauses, then she reaches into her pocket and takes out her phone. “What is it?” she asks.

I tell her and she punches it into her phone, her fingers trembling as she locks the screen and puts the phone into her back pocket.

“Give me yours, too, just in case,” I say and she tells me her number, looking a little more confused with each digit.

“I’ll call you when I’m done,” she tells me quickly then hops out and slams the door, then winds around the front of the truck. When she reaches the sidewalk in front of the police station, she stops and stares at the sign for what seems like forever. Finally, she takes a step forward and then backward and I start to roll my window down to ask her what’s wrong. But then she dashes off toward the stairs leading for the glass entrance doors. It makes me wonder why she’s here. Maybe she’s on probation for dealing? But she seemed too upset for it to be that.