The Probability of Violet & Luke (The Coincidence #4)(45)

He shakes his head, closing the book. “It is… was…” He touches the leather band on his wrist that he always wears, tracing his fingers over the word Redemption. “My sister, Amy’s journal… my… mother sent it to me a few weeks ago.” He sets the book aside, shaking his head. “I have no idea why she did it. I think it was another one of her games to try and get me to come home, like remembering Amy would tear me up enough that I would need to be with my mom or something.” He rolls his eyes. “She’s stupid, though. She had to of not read it because there’s a lot of discriminating thing in there about her that makes me want to never see her again.” He pauses, conflicted, fiddling with a small whole in his jeans. “Although she could have read it and was just too crazy to see how bad it made her look.”

I’m about to say… well, something, because it feels like I need to, but then he abruptly changes the subject. “I’m glad you woke up before I left for the game. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

I frown, bringing my knees up so there under me, then smooth my untamed locks out of my face. “Why did you say it like that—like I’m not going?”

“Because you’re not.” He offers me this sexy lopsided grin, as if dazzling me with his charm is going to make this easier on him. “I want—no need—to make sure you’re safe for the night.”

“Don’t try to smile you’re way out of this, Mr. Stoically Aloof,” I say, elevating my brows at him. “I want to go. Be useful. Not just sit around here and feel like I’m going to go crazy from the quietness.” Something shifts in his expression, unravels, his tongue slipping out of his mouth to wet his lips. “What is it?” I ask, not sure if he looks upset or painfully relieved—perhaps both.

“It’s nothing.” He shakes his head, gaze glued on mine. “It’s just that you used my nickname.”

“So…” I’m so confused.

“So, I didn’t think I’d ever hear it come out of your mouth again since you only use it when you’re being flirty.” He’s right. I only used it when I was teasing him or trying to make him irritated because he looks sexy when he’s frustrated, on the verge of losing it with me. “I’ve missed it,” he adds, looking as though he’s going to kiss me. And I want him to desperately, not just because with each kiss it feels like he’s erasing more and more of Preston’s kisses, but because when his lips are on mine, they’re the only thing I can feel, my very own replacement to my adrenaline addiction.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?” I finally ask after a minute passes with him eyeing my mouth. I wince at the desperation in my voice, almost panting.

He cracks a smile, his eyebrows elevating. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

I remain indifferent. “Are you playing a game with me, Mr. Stoically Aloof?”

“If I was, I’d be winning.” His lips quirk, amused, and for an amazing moment, it feels like we’re in the past again, challenging the crap out of each other. I don’t want to lose and admit how much I want to kiss him and neither does he.

Stubborn *. “You want to know what?” I ask cockily, then lean in, my lips hovering over his. “I’ll win this one.” With that, I press my lips to his and give him a passionate kiss, my tongue enticing his lips open and meeting his as my arms encircle him and my fingers wander through his hair.

“How do you figure that was you winning?” he asks between kisses, his hand tangling through my hair.

I internally smile, almost laughing aloud at my brilliance. “Because I took the kiss from you.”

He lets out this raspy chuckle then suddenly the kiss turns much more heated as he leans in toward me and he forces me back on my back, covering my body with his. “If that’s the case then,” his fingers slide up beneath the slip I still have on from last night, making their way up my leg, ready to enter me. Not wanting to give him the upper hand, though, I move my hand down and shove his fingers away, despite how much my body protests.

He lets out this growl, but before he can come at me again, I put my hand down his jeans and start rubbing him, making him pant, his body going rigid as I grip onto him and move my hand up and down.

“Dammit, Violet,” he moans in my ear, nipping at my skin, teeth piercing the skin and making those butterflies flutter in my stomach again. Huh? I guess it wasn’t the jager and vodka.

With his body over mine, his arms struggling to hold up his weight, I stroke him, not even sure what the hell I’m doing, but just going with it. No disgust. No shame. Just want. So much want.

I think he’s about to reach the edge and I’m smiling to myself because technically I sort of won, at least in my head. But then someone knocks on the door and my hand instinctively pauses and Luke lets out a groan in protest.

“Luke we gotta go!” His uncle hollers, pounding on the door again. “Or else we’re going to be late and they won’t let us in tonight.”

“Just a second!” Luke shouts back, sounding pissed. His eyes shut and he presses his face to the crook of my neck as he grips onto the blanket, trying to calm himself down.

“Not just a second!” His uncle bangs on the door repeatedly. “We’re already pushing our luck!”

Shaking his head, Luke grinds his hips against my hand one more time. “I’m going to f*cking hurt him for this,” he mutters. Then with another grunt of protest, he pushes away from me. My hand leaves his jeans and he adjusts himself as he sits up, looking like he’s in pain.