It’s such an abnormal reaction for her, I don’t know what to do for a minute.
Then I get the fuck off her and flip her over, her body so stiff she moves like a board. There are tears leaking out from under her closed eyes, streaking down her cheeks.
What caused this?
“Violet. What just happened?”
“Nothing.” She covers her face.
I pull her hands away and sit her up. Her shirt falls back into place.
“Spit it out.”
She tips forward and presses her forehead to my shoulder. “I just don’t like… that. It brings up bad memories.”
I narrow my eyes. Someone else did that to her? Spanked her in a way that left a lasting, negative impression?
She takes my hand and sniffs, then sits up straighter. Her expression is granite when she looks me in the eye. “Is it so bad that I draw a line with that?”
“Yes,” I say. Simple. “You don’t draw lines with me.”
Violet narrows her eyes. I like making her mad—and this seems to be a touchy subject for her.
“Why?” I question, letting more of my weight down on top of her. “More reason for me to banish whatever is making you feel like this is bad.”
“It’s dirty.” She pushes at my shoulder. “Let me go.”
“Not until you tell me more.”
“My dance teacher used to spank us when we messed up.” Her face gets even redder, and she averts her eyes.
I quirk my lips. “Naked?”
“No!”
“Sexually?”
“Greyson.”
“Grey,” I automatically correct.
She narrows her eyes.
I shrug, going for nonchalance. “Violet and Grey? Makes sense to me.”
Luckily, she drops it. And with that, I slide off her. I’ll bring this back around another day, but I’m mollified by the few questions I asked. A monstrous dance teacher who spanked his students for punishment—not pleasure.
Shame. The two should always go hand in hand.
But definitely not when she was… “How old were you?”
She covers her face again. “Ten.”
I make a face. Definitely not for pleasure then. My mom had her own brand of punishment, but it came in varied, unexpected ways. It was meant to knock me off-kilter, I think, rather than hurt. Dad just went for the pain as a reminder not to fuck up.
After she has her Advil, she slips into the bathroom. She has a slight limp, but it’s barely noticeable. The only reason I notice it at all is because I watch her ass as she passes, and there’s an unevenness to the sway of her hips.
My phone chirps.
Rebecca （Publicist）
All set to publish. Roake approved it.
I swallow and cast a glance toward the closed bathroom door.
No going back now.
33
VIOLET
The trip organizers rented out one of the conference rooms for breakfast. There’s a congregation of CPU students in the room, spread out across tables, at the buffet line. I ignore them all, though, in my hunt for Willow.
I never ended up texting her last night, and I feel a pang of guilt. It eases slightly, though, when I see her sandwiched between Knox and Amanda.
Grey stops beside me. Hearing that I’ve used a nickname he likes—especially coming from me, I guess—does weird things to me. Good things. Strange things. It’s a step in a direction I wasn’t expecting. Like our truce. Like pretending not to hate each other.
I’m pretty sure I have frostbite on my ass, though.
“Hungry?”
I glance up at him. “A bit.”
He smiles. “Go sit. I’ll grab us something.”
“No, it’s okay.” I head toward the buffet.
He snags my wrist. “Vi.”
“Grey.” I narrow my eyes. “I have a weird relationship with food, okay? Don’t fight me on this.”
He appraises me, understanding lighting his expression. He finally nods and releases me, but he stalks close behind. I get the sense that he’s taking notes of what I take, what I waver over, and what I pass by without hesitation.
“Are you trying to dance again?”
I stiffen. “What?”
“If it’s off the table, you could theoretically eat whatever you want.” He looks pointedly at my plate. “Instead, you’re eating the breakfast equivalent of rabbit food.”
I grunt. Aquatic therapy is probably a shot in the dark, and it’ll put me in debt. But damn it, I’m still going to try. And I’m not going to let myself waste away—or slack. Sometime in the middle of the night, I came to that decision. That I’d rather open a few credit cards than not dance again. Screw the consequences.
“I’m not losing hope,” I tell him.
He makes a noise in the back of his throat.
I stop and look at him again. His dark-blond hair is still damp. It’s longer on top, short on the sides, and a few locks curl down over his forehead. Blue eyes. Full lips. Killer jaw. And right now, he gives off the vibe that he’s homing in on something.
What that is, I don’t know.
“You gonna tell me?” he asks again.
I shake my head. I meant what I said yesterday—I’m not going to tell someone my most intimate fear, and new discovery, when I know they won’t care. Deep down, I know Grey doesn’t. He’s incapable of it.
We’re enemies.
This truce is exactly what he called it yesterday: temporary. It’ll burst the moment we arrive back on campus.
So why should I get deep in the trenches with him now? When I know he can twist it around to hurt me later?
I finish filling my plate and head toward Willow. My headache is receding, but my muscles ache. I feel strangely awake, too. Like I’m buzzed without coffee.
That could be from Greyson making you come before you woke up.
He asked if I had a good dream. Sarcastic, sure, but I did. Come to find out my body’s very visceral reaction was from him.
Although I can’t say I hated to be woken up that way…
It’s a little invasive. But let’s be honest. Greyson is a little invasive.
As a human.
“Good morning!” Willow’s singsong voice precedes her shit-eating grin. “Sleep well?”
I grimace. “You abandoned me.”
She laughs and leans across the table. “I was dancing, and suddenly you were gone. I think you abandoned me.”
I squint at her. Huh. My memory of last night is foggy, so I’ll have to take her word for it. But anyway, that’s not what I was referring to—I was talking about the hotel room. I look across the room, to where Greyson is filling his plate. He was too focused on what I was grabbing to take care of his own.
He fishes his phone out of his pocket, sets the food aside, and strides out of the room.
“Earth to Violet,” Amanda says.
I jerk back around, my face heating. “Sorry. What?”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I’m good at suppressing pain. I’m good at minimizing my emotions. So I do just that, shoving everything down, and slowly eat my breakfast. My stomach roils.
Steele comes over and takes the seat beside me. He grins at me. “Hey, Violet.”
Oh, yeah. I’m mad at him for going along with Greyson’s stupid ploy to try and make things worse for me. If that was even a thing. Maybe Steele actually was apologizing, and Grey just decided to twist it.