Unsure, I eat in silence and ignore Steele. I ignore everyone, then dump my plate. I grab a coffee from the in-hotel café and return to the room. Greyson isn’t here, and my head still hurts.
I pop another painkiller and set my drink and phone on the nightstand, then flop onto the bed that we didn’t sleep on. My phone immediately buzzes, rattling in place. I reach for it and sigh. A blocked number.
Either a telemarketer or my mother, I’d be willing to bet.
“Hello?”
There’s a second of silence.
“Hello?” I repeat.
“Violet Reece?” A woman. I don’t recognize her voice, but she sounds rather professional. Not in a sell-you-something way or the trying to contact you about your car’s extended warranty way.
“This is her,” I say carefully. “Who am I speaking with?”
“Martha Sanders,” she says. “I’m Senator Devereux’s assistant.”
I sit up so abruptly, the room tilts. I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to lose my breakfast in my lap. What the hell does he want with me?
“Um… Okay,” I reply weakly. “How can I help you?”
“Greyson has informed us that you’re attending Crown Point University.”
I bite my lip, then force myself to release it. I can’t help my tone when I reply, “Yes. And I’ve been here since I was a freshman.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “You see, we didn’t expect to run into this… complication.”
I don’t answer. What the fuck am I supposed to say to that? How is it my fault that they sent Greyson to the same school I attend…？
“Here’s the thing, Violet. We believe that Greyson would do better without distractions. He’s working toward the NHL, did he tell you that?”
“No,” I whisper.
She tuts. “Well. There are rumors that the two of you are romantically involved. Now, I’m sure you know how damaging rumors are. Especially since things on the internet never disappear forever. Right, dear?”
I do know that things on the internet never disappear forever. I do know that there’s a video out there of me giving Jack a blow job. There’s an article smearing Greyson’s name, with mine attached. There’s another article, from six months ago, that didn’t come from me—but it could’ve. The media ran with that for a full twenty-four hours before it was locked down and brushed off. Senator’s son drives drunk, crashes, gets away with it. The paper released an apology shortly after, and I was silenced, but the internet is forever.
There was a lot going on in those days. A lot of trauma. I was half out of my mind on pain medication, my leg in a cast, my future over. Greyson was released from jail before I had even come out of surgery. How fucked up was that?
I was glad he was getting burned from it.
I was happy someone was paying attention to what happened to me.
But it bit me in the ass, and it seems to have left a continual sting.
“What do you want?” My voice is lead.
Martha clears her throat. “It’s come to our attention that you might be able to dance again. Is that true?”
I freeze. My hand, almost of its own accord, slides down my leg. I wrap my fingers around my calf, holding it tight.
“I don’t know,” I answer. “Maybe.”
“Insurance is fickle about these things,” she continues. “And if it’s more physical therapy, or surgery… we’re willing to help you out. Your mom isn’t made of money, is she?” She pauses. “Consider this a donation to your future.”
I stare at the wall. My eyes burn. They’d pay for what I need? To dance again. The MRI, the aquatic therapy. My nerve pain might go away. I might dance again.
Where is Grey?
“Help me out,” I repeat, my brain working to catch her subtle meaning. “Like…”
“Like we did before.”
Huh? “Wait—”
“Violet,” Martha interrupts. “Here’s the thing. You and Greyson just need to keep away from each other. We don’t care how you do it. He’s getting distracted. Even his coach thinks so. That fight yesterday wasn’t like him, and you’re the only new factor in his life. His future is important.”
I dared him to do it. A tear leaks out, rolling down my cheek. She’s right—I’m a distraction to him. And there’s my dreams, being dangled like a carrot on a stick in front of my face.
His future is important. It is—and so is mine.
“Fine.” I say it because if I don’t, I’ll never forgive myself. If I don’t chase ballet as far as I can go, I’ll combust. “I’ll send you the fucking bills.”
“Good choice.” The line goes dead.
And I’m left wondering what the hell kind of deal I just made with the devil.
I toss my phone aside.
A moment later, the door opens, and Greyson appears around the corner. He sees me on the bed and smirks. “Get naked.”
My lips part. “We’re leaving soon.”
“The bus leaves in an hour. That’s plenty of time.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Come on, Vi. Temporary truce and all… this is the nicest side of me you’re going to get.”
I swallow. That’s true. He just doesn’t know it yet. So it isn’t too much of a hassle to push my pants down and kick them off. He stands at the end of the bed and watches my little show. I sit up and strip off my shirt, then unclasp my bra and pull it down. The cool air touches my nipples, and they instantly pebble.
I lean back again, raising my arms above my head. My legs open.
His expression darkens, and he tears off his clothes. His cock is already hard, bobbing in front of him as he crawls toward me. He hovers above me, waiting for a moment, then sinks inside me with one hard thrust.
My back arches, my chest brushing his. He drops his weight on me and wraps his arms tight around me. He crushes us together.
I hook my legs around his hips, crossing my ankles, and hold on to his neck.
This feels like a goodbye.
From playful to serious in a fucking heartbeat.
Regret burns through me, but I shove it aside and catch Grey’s lips. I love the feel of him sliding in and out of me, his skin pressed to mine. The weight of him grounds me.
It shouldn’t, but here we are.
Our tongues touch, exploring our mouths. He tastes like orange juice.
I don’t expect to come like this. I’ve never come without stimulation on my clit. But suddenly it washes through me, and I tighten my grip on him. My muscles clench. He pumps twice more and stills inside me. He lets out a growl that reverberates through both of us.
My heart beats out of control.
He tears his lips from mine and tucks his head into my shoulder. Maybe it was the phone call, or today, or whatever happened yesterday, but it hurts. Everything hurts. My skin, my thoughts, my bones, my heart.
I hold on to him longer. Until our phones go off, alarms set to tell us that we have five minutes before the bus leaves. He releases me, climbs off the bed, and disappears into the bathroom. I lie still, wondering if I can still move after that.
It wasn’t intense physically, but emotionally?
How much can we convey without speaking?
He returns with a washcloth in his hand. He sits next to my hip, and I start when he runs the damp fabric across my core.