He lets my tongue explore his fingers, the edge of his nails. The texture of his knuckles. When I’ve done what he wants, he pulls them from my mouth. I lick my lips and lift my head to glare at him, but he’s uninterested in my reaction.
It isn’t the aftermath that he cares about—it’s the act. And since he got what he wanted, he’s ready to focus on the movie.
I let out a sigh and put my head back down on his shoulder.
I’m so fucking tired. I don’t give a shit that my eyes close. That anyone could’ve seen what just happened. Instead, I fall asleep.
15
VIOLET
Willow and I follow Knox, Jacob, and Greyson into our apartment. Jacob has a metal baseball bat in his grip, just in case there’s someone still lingering. Knox and Greyson walk in empty-handed.
They split up and search our apartment, checking over every square inch. Willow and I ignore their orders to wait outside and go with them. I follow Greyson down the hall to my room. He finds it with unerring accuracy, which makes me wonder if he was behind that first time it was destroyed.
“See anything familiar?” I lean against the doorjamb.
He moves in a small circle, taking everything in like I did to him.
This morning, I woke up alone in Greyson’s bed. I don’t think anything happened, but I don’t remember the rest of the night. One minute, I was coming on his fingers and then falling asleep… and the next, I woke up in his bed, with sunlight streaming in through the window.
He sees things I don’t want him to, of course. The things I swept off my desk. The glass stand for the globe on the floor. He goes to that and lifts it, hefting it in his palm before setting it on my dresser. He rights the papers, flipping through them before shuffling them into a neat stack and leaving them on the edge of my desk.
“I don’t think your burglar did this.” He continues straightening, so much so that I wonder if he has a compulsion to do so. He puts my texts in a pile from largest to smallest and adds it to my desk. Then he gets on his knees and reaches under my bed.
When he rises, he tosses me the ball of glass that rolled away last night.
The miniature globe.
I catch it and look down. More blue has come off, revealing murky, raised lines meant to be valleys and peaks. The world in three dimensions. She used to spin it idly at night. She said she didn’t think she’d ever get the opportunity to see the world, and this was as good as it was going to get for her.
“Something important to you?”
I shake my head and set it down beside the stand. I intentionally step away from it—and, in fact, him. No need to give him any more ideas about me.
What I do want to do is ask him where he slept. Why he didn’t push the issue.
My throat is sore, and my body aches. Too much excitement, too much strain. My leg hurts worse today, too. The temperature has dropped further, necessitating jackets and hats and gloves. More snow is in our near future.
I find Knox, Jacob, and Willow in the living room.
Knox looks at me and shrugs. “We didn’t see anything of use,” he says apologetically. “I’m sorry.”
“What should we do?” Willow asks. “Is it too late to call the police?”
Jacob shifts. “I mean… Violet should’ve called them last night.”
I wince.
“My dad’s a police chief. It’s just, the sort of after-the-fact thing is hard, because leads go cold. We’ve already trampled over most of the house, you know?”
“He wore gloves.” I sigh. “But I get what you mean.”
“Next time,” he says helpfully.
Greyson strides out and shakes his head. “Nothing unusual in her room.”
Willow makes the decision for us. “We’re fine,” she says to them. Mainly Knox.
I don’t think he was gallant enough to sleep on the couch… just saying. She’s got the same just-fucked look that I sported last night. Part of me is proud of her. She deserves to have a fling. Some fun. She’s never been that type. She’s always wanted commitment.
And most guys in college are hesitant to, in their words, tie themselves down.
She used to say I got lucky with Jack, but now I’m not so sure luck had anything to do with it. We both got comfortable.
“Okay,” he acquiesces. “But if you need anything, you call the police and us.”
Greyson grunts his agreement.
And then they leave, and Willow locks the door behind them.
I go into my room and flop on the bed. I’m tired and vaguely hungry and in desperate need of another shower, but I just want to sleep for a million years.
Willow joins me. She crawls up next to me and lies on her side, facing me.
“Spill,” she says.
I open my mouth to deny everything, but I end up telling her the whole story. Even the most embarrassing parts about Steele and Greyson in the locker room. I leave out the gritty details, like them both coming on my face…
“Jeez,” Willow whispers. “No wonder you’re tired.”
“Yep,” I agree.
We both doze after that and wake up when her phone goes off. She blindly reaches for it behind her, finally finding it and bringing it in front of her face. She swipes it open, reads something, then tosses it facedown between us.
“Now you’ve got me curious.” I snag it before she can stop me.
I scan the text from Madison—she’s on the dance team, the one who was playing tonsil hockey with Jacob last night. She’s also the best friend of Paris.
Madison
Paris is rioting. She says she’s pissed at Violet because she called dibs on Greyson first. I’m not sure what to do. She’s normally on pretty good terms with Violet, but I guess she feels insulted since Greyson and Paris have been a thing for the last few weeks.
I drop the phone, and Willow cringes.
“I didn’t know,” she says. “I just saw them together that one time, the first night you got back.”
“It’s fine. It’s not like I’m on the dance team anymore.” Oh, fuck. I bolt upright and grab at Willow’s hand. “My mother texted me last night. She said Mia Germain, the director of the Crown Point Ballet, contacted her.”
“Bitch!” Willow squeals. She sits up, too. “What the hell? You waited until right now to tell me?”
“I’m sorry, I forgot! A lot went on last night.” I laugh and grab my phone, scooting back to sit against my headboard.
Willow sits up, too, and hunches toward me.
I dial Mia’s number, and I hold my breath. I put it on speaker to put Willow out of her misery. Otherwise, I’d just have to repeat the whole conversation back to her.
It rings twice, then clicks as it’s picked up. “Ms. Germain’s line, this is Sylvie. Can I help you?”
“Hi, Sylvie,” I say. God, my palms are sweating. “This is Violet Reece. My mother contacted me saying Mia reached out…”
“Oh, hi, Violet.” Sylvie’s voice turns cheerful. “Let me patch you through. One moment.”
There’s a dial tone, and then it rings again. Willow grips my hand hard.
She knows how much this could mean. I don’t have any hope of them taking me back—I mean, not like I am. But maybe there’s a chance. Or… an opportunity to work with her in another manner. Or something.