Getting Real (Getting Some #3)(41)

He jabs a finger at me. “No—on second thought—I don’t give a shit who you are. If you ever talk to my sister like that—”

Cue the record scratch.

I’m sure whatever he continues to say is riveting and impressively threatening, but the entire universe of my existence stops at the word. “Sister?”

Violet steps between us, her mouth cinched into a tight, glossy bow, her eyes shooting sparks—and if I thought she was beautiful before—good God, when she’s pissed, she’s stunning.

“Yes, Connor—sister. Aka, the douchebag—”

“Hey!” Darren objects.

“—is my brother!”

I fold my arms across my chest.

“Oh.”

And I lift my chin, to at least try and give the appearance of dignity considering I’ve incinerated any shred of mine with a nuclear blast.

“Well . . . this is awkward.”

A hot, growly sound comes from Violet’s throat and she exhales violently out of her nose, like a pretty bull about to charge. She grabs my forearm and drags me a few steps over into the shadow of the hospital building.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Connor?”

“I thought you were dating him.”

“And so what if I was?! Why do you care?!”

Shame slithers down the back of my neck like cold KY. Because I have screwed this up so bad. Frustration makes my fists clench and my words brusque.

“I care because we used to be running partners—we were friends—and now we’re not. And it’s messed up that you just—”

I stop myself short. Because none of that is real. It’s just an excuse—just fear and defensiveness—and it’s not even close to all the things I want to tell her.

The things I need to tell her.

“No—actually, that’s bullshit. The truth is . . . I like you, Violet. I like you so fucking much. And I miss you.”

Vi peers at me, her voice dropping to a shocked whisper.

“You do?”

“Christ, yes. That night between us was incredible and perfect and I woke up next to you, and you were so damn beautiful, and I . . . completely freaked out.”

“You did?”

I nod. “Because it’s been forever since I’ve felt about anyone the way I feel about you. So I left. And I have regretted it every second since I walked out your door.”

Her head tilts and her eyes seem a little dazed.

“You have?”

“Yeah, Vi. I have.”

She shakes her head quickly.

“But . . . but it’s been weeks. Why didn’t you say anything?”

I toss the dating book info and the website guidance and every stupid piece of advice Tim has ever given me into the mental garbage dumpster of my mind.

Because this thing with Violet—it could crush me—I can already feel it. It could wreck me if it doesn’t work out. Hurt me in a way that not even my marriage ending ever did.

But . . . she’s really worth the risk.

“Because you’re all I think about. And if I asked you for a second chance and you said no, I didn’t know what I was going to do. But if I didn’t ask yet, then there was still hope that I could fix it. There was still a chance you would—”

I don’t get another word out.

Because Violet grabs the front of my shirt and pulls me to her, pressing her sweet, pillowy lips hard against mine. And any thought that’s not about how fucking good she tastes is gone from my mind.

I wrap my arms around her, pulling her closer, feeing her soft and supple body, finally, after so long. Our tongues slide and tangle in an almost frantic reunion, before I cup her jaw and kiss her more gently. Until we’re standing, with our foreheads pressed together and our lips still touching, slowly breathing each other in.

“You’re an idiot,” she whispers against my mouth.

“Yeah,” I agree. “It’s probably better that you realize that now—just get it out of the way. It’ll save us time later on.”

She laughs. “When does your shift end?”

“Ten a.m. tomorrow. Then I have the next two days off.”

“And I have the next three off.”

She glances around, seeming to remember where we are. One of us probably should.

“Okay, I’m going to go to dinner with my brother because I haven’t seen him in a year. And you really should—”

“Yes.” I jerk a thumb over my shoulder. “Doctor. Patients. Medicine. On it.”

“Right,” she laughs again. “You’re probably going to want to sleep when you get home, have something to eat, hang out with the boys . . .”

I fucking love that she thinks of them. That she automatically knows spending time with them is as essential to me as eating and sleeping. People who don’t have kids don’t always get that . . . but she does. Such a turn-on.

“ . . . so why don’t you swing by my house in the late afternoon or after dinner?”

“No. I want to take you out. Let’s go out for dinner. Together.”

Her dark eyes widen.

“Like . . . a date?”

My voice is firm, clear, and completely unambiguous.

“Totally, one hundred percent, a date.”