The Destiny of Violet & Luke (The Coincidence, #3)(78)

Jonah grins as he sets his cards down on the table. “So I know you said you weren’t up to the usual, but could you please, pretty please make an exception for your favorite guy in the whole world. I need it badly, baby.”

Violet holds the bottle in her hand, her green eyes darting to mine before she says to Jonah, “Follow me.”

Jonah looks like he just struck gold and pushes the chair back from the table. “Sorry guys, but I think I’m going to sit the next hand out.” He scoops up his beer and circles around the table, trailing behind Violet as she breezes past me with Jonah following her like a puppy dog. They disappear into her room—our room. I stare at the door, my chest burning as I fight the desire to go after her. She’s not mine. I don’t want her to be mine. Just let her be. It’s not like she’s having sex.

“What a slut,” Seth says under his breath as he reaches for a red plastic cup full of vodka and orange juice.

“She’s not a slut,” I snap a little harsher than I mean to, throwing my cards onto the table. “You don’t know anything about her.”

Seth moves the rim of the cup to his mouth. “Neither do you,” he reminds me. “So how do you know she’s not?”

“Because I do.” But I don’t. Violet lies a lot and it’s hard to tell if what leaves her mouth is real—if anything. Maybe she’s not a virgin. Maybe she sleeps around as much as I do. Maybe she deals drugs, sleeps around, and then does crazy shit like jump out the window.

“God damn it,” I curse because this shouldn’t be bothering me. No girl ever has. Yet Violet is. I shove Kenzie off my lap and she lands on her feet but stumbles forward in her heels. She barely catches herself on the countertop.

“Rude much?” she huffs, standing up.

I rise to my feet as rage blasts through me. I have no idea what to do, but if I don’t do something soon, I’m going to burst.

Violet

Drunk, evil Violet is coming out and she’s bored. This is not a good combination. It more than likely means I’m going to go looking for trouble. And trouble for me usually means doing stuff like jumping out of two-story windows. As much as I love tasting death, the last time I got drunk when I was feeling like this, I ended up actually getting hit by a car. I broke my leg, too, and Preston was not happy about it. I tried to do my best to explain to him why I did it and he told me I was going to be one of those people who wouldn’t be able to drink, not without severe consequences. I hate that I’m thinking about Preston and that I kind of, sort of, maybe miss him a little and the life I’d built for myself with him, because before the whole drama/groping thing it was somewhat comfortable. And I’ve never had comfortable before.

“Hey, do you mind if I light up right here?” Jonah the Dipshit asks as he settles on my bed, crossing his legs. He’s one of my regulars who’s slightly annoying and gets on my nerves, but I’m bored and need a distraction. And I’m fairly certain Luke thinks I came back here to do something with him, by the jealous look on his face. I don’t like how pleased I am at the idea that he might be jealous. But he has no right to be, considering he had that skank on his lap who has so many curves her skirt and shirt couldn’t even conceal them.

“Do whatever you want.” I shrug, sifting through the songs on my laptop. The song titles are hard to read though and the longer I squint at them, the more bored and restless I get. Finally, I randomly click on one and “Make Damn Sure” by Taking Back Sunday starts playing. Then I decide to search out Stan Walice, see if I can get any information on him. Go kick his ass. It’d make me feel better. I run a search on him and add Channel 8, then squint at the screen. It’s hard to tell which one is him… they all look blurry.

“God, this shit smells good.” Jonah grins as he slips his pipe out of his pocket. He’s fairly good-looking for a pothead, and not rich like most of my regular clients. He has a beanie on his head, a fraying leather band on his wrist, and a few holes in his jeans. I have the lamp on and I can see his pupils are dilated. He takes the remainder of the weed out of my prescription bottle and packs it into his pipe. I was sort of surprised when Greyson gave it back to me, only taking a little for his pot brownies. Most people would have taken it all.

Jonah says something to me as he frees the smoke from his chest, but I only crank the music up and continue my search for information on Stan Walice. But after a while I give up because the blurriness and brightness of the screen is stinging my eyes. I move the computer aside, then dig for some gum in the nightstand drawer, but all I have is a bag of suckers. I take one out and pop it into my mouth to get rid of the nasty taste of alcohol embedded in my taste buds. Then I lie down on the bed and gaze up at the ceiling. I can’t stop thinking about that reporter and his questions. What if he shows up again? What if I can’t handle it? Am I handling it right now? There’s a calm-before-the-storm feeling inside my chest, waves ripping, white tipped, ready to rise higher as they soar for the shore. The question is where is the shore? Me? Someone else? I need to do something. I’m too unsettled.

I crank the music down and sit up as Jonah takes another hit from his pipe and smoke fills the room. I pull my knees up and watch him toke over and over again as I suck on the sucker. He says nothing, but keeps eyeing the sucker in my mouth, or my mouth—I can’t tell for certain. I bounce back and forth on whether I want to kick him out so I can get my adrenaline rush solo or do I want him around? Could I use him for anything? When I kissed Luke it’d felt good and distracting. I wonder if Jonah could give me the same effect. I could try it, because I kind of need it tonight. Need to forget about my life. About my job. About Stan, the stupid reporter.