The Probability of Violet & Luke (The Coincidence #4)(36)

“You should probably have Luke answer that,” Cole replies, glancing over his shoulder at me.

Violet faces me, chewing on her bottom lip, which is stained with red lipstick, tempting enough to bite. “How bad is this place? Worse or better than Geraldson’s?”

I gently cup the back of her neck. “Worse,” I say and her body goes rigid.

But she quickly shakes off her uneasiness, putting her hands on my shoulders and her mouth beside my ear. “You sure you want to do this?” she whispers in my ear. “I still have some of Preston’s weed on me. It’s not nine grand worth, but it could be a start.”

“No, no drug dealing.” My hand finds her waist and my fingers enfold around her as I pull her closer, nearly shutting my eyes at the feel of her warmth. Despite the shit with my mother, I’m still bad for her anyway. Having her here, ready to help with this, is stupid—I’m stupid. “God, I wish we’d been brought together again under different circumstances… I miss you but know I can’t have you...” I don’t mean to say the last part aloud, it sort of just slips out and there’s no taking it back.

I expect her to jerk away but surprisingly she doesn’t. Instead, she presses a soft kiss to the tip of my earlobe. “I’m going to help,” she says then she turns around in the seat, ready to put herself into harm’s way, all because of my dumbass. “So what should I know about this Catterson guy?”

Chapter 10
Violet

Let the f*cked up adrenaline addiction begin.

I could tell Luke didn’t want me to get involved, but after being with him like we were up in the room, I’m in desperate need of some unemotional time, the razors and prickles are coming in waves as I struggle to keep my emotions toward Luke obsolete. So I seize the opportunity to distract Catterson, who turns out to be a thirty something year old pervert who likes flannel and smells like pot. Jesus, what is it with me and this type? It’s like I draw them to me, like a flame draws a moth.

Still, like I pro, I get a few drinks in him and end up sitting beside him in The Warehouse, which turns out to be exactly what it sounds like—a warehouse full of boxes, but what they’re full of I have no idea. There are five tables that have five players at each, mostly men, although there are a couple of women playing. They have some classic rock playing lowly, money being thrown away left and right, smoke circling the air, drinks being passed around, a lot of them being consumed by me. I’m not even sure why I’m drinking. I just planned on having one but then I felt relaxed and one turned into another and another and well, you get the picture.

“So what do you think, sweetheart?” Catterson places a hand on my bare knee right on top of one of the bruises and I have to fight the compulsion to shove him away and slap his face. “Should I go big or play it safe.”

I dazzle him with my aren’t I so pretty and innocent smile. “What’s that saying… go big or go home?”

“I like your way of thinking.” He winks at me as he puts in his ridiculous bet and I force myself to giggle while I twirl a strand of my hair around my finger. As he waits for the rest to either fold, match, or raise, he leans into me and says in a hushed tone, “You are legal, aren’t you?”

Fucking dumbass. “Of course,” I say with another giggle. “Do I really look that young to you?”

He slants back and lets his pervert eyes lazily scroll over my body, taking an extra long time at where my dress starts to cover my legs. “You look fine as hell.” He says it as if it’s a compliment, as if hell’s a fine place and that being good looking will make me a silly girl who swoons into his arms—and who uses the word swoon.

“Thank you,” I say like an airhead. Jesus, all I need is some bubblegum and I’m one step away from being a ditz.

He nudges my half drank drink in my direction, a vodka and cranberry. “Drink up beautiful.”

I can tell he thinks I’m going to get good and wasted, go home with him, and get freaky. Honestly, I’m getting to the wasted part, so my cattiness is starting to come out, claws and everything… oh, claws… and Luke’s skin… I shake the fogginess in my head. Focus. Violet. And stop drinking so much.

Catterson is still grinning at me and I have to force myself to grin back. There’s no way I’m going home with this guy. I have my eyes set on the smoking hot guy sitting across the table, intense brown eyes, soft hair, smell like familiarity and everything I wish I could have, but am scared as hell to take, because of what it’ll mean—facing my emotions head on. But seriously, if there weren’t so many damn people around right now, I’d crawl across the table and attack him… rip his clothes off and bite him, lick him, do all kinds of naughty things to him…

That thought has me looking down at my glass, wondering just how much I’ve drank. It’s empty now. Crap, I can’t even remember finishing it off… and is it my fifth, sixth… eighth? Dammit, this is bad. Drunken Violet is reckless, wild, impulsive. She can easily get out of control, worse than sober Violet. I should get up and go sleep it off in the car… yeah, I’ll do that, just after I do another shot with what’s his face.

“Bottoms up,” he says as he hands me a shot glass full of black licorice scent booze—probably jager. Then he lifts his own glass and chugs the whole thing down in one swallow.