There's Wild, Then There's You
Page 9
He glances around the grounds and bobbles his head back and forth. “Ehhh, how about two hours?”
“Is that all? This is an awful lot of yard, Dad.”
“It’s in good shape, though. I think I can get everything done by then.”
“Do you want me to stay and help? I mean, that’s not very long. It would probably be easier for me to help than to go all the way back to Greenfield.”
“Dressed like that?”
I glance down at my clothes from last night. My black jeans and boots, and my white, off-the-shoulder shirt. “Okay, so it’s not ideal, but I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”
Dad shakes his head. “No, sweetheart, you go on home. I don’t want you out here working in the dirt and ruining your clothes. I’ll have this done in no time. I appreciate you chauffeuring me around.”
“I’m not chauffeuring you, Dad. I’m always happy to help. You know that.”
His smile is sweet and loving. “I know that, Vi. You’re a jewel.”
“Or a flower,” I tease, backing toward my car.
“Violet?” a different voice calls.
My heart stops. I don’t have to turn around to know who’s behind me, who just spoke my name. It’s likely I’ll never forget the sound of that voice.
I turn to find Jet sitting at the end of the driveway, in what looks like the little black car he followed me to Tia’s in last night. My brain is firing off in a hundred different directions—the way I look, the fact that I’m wearing last night’s clothes, the fact that my father is standing right behind me, why Jet is here, the way I look, the way I look, the way I look.
“Jet. What are you doing here?”
One side of his mouth pulls up into an unhappy smirk. “My, uh, my father lives here.”
My mouth drops open. I snap it shut as quickly as I can, but I’m certain Jet saw it.
“Your father? Lives here?”
“Yep, ’fraid so.”
“Who’s your friend?” my dad asks, moving in behind me.
My heart starts to race as I think of all the ways this simple interaction could go so terribly wrong. For one thing, Dad can never know where I met Jet. Explaining that to my father would be the most humiliating nightmare known to man. Secondly, there’s the fact that the most important thing Jet knows about me is nothing but a lie.
Yeah, there’s that . . .
My heart races for a whole different reason when Jet puts his car in park and gets out and comes around to where my father and I are standing. His dark, shaggy hair is still damp from his shower, and his black tank top under a leather jacket makes him look more dangerous than ever. All he needs is a motorcycle to round out the picture of the quintessential bad boy.
“Jet Blevins,” he says when he reaches us, nodding to my father and extending his hand.
My father returns the gesture. “Royce Wilson, Violet’s father.”
“Nice to meet you, sir.”
After a few seconds of unnerving silence, my father speaks again, letting me off the hook. “Well, I’d better get to work, hon. Two hours?”
I smile, my body flooded with relief. “Two hours.”
Dad kisses me on the cheek, grabs his pruners, and walks away, leaving me and Jet standing side by side, watching him go.
“So, what’s two hours?”
“He had some car trouble this morning. I’m gonna give him a ride back home in two hours.”
“What will you be doing in the meantime?”
I shrug. “Heading back to Greenfield, I guess.”
“Big plans for the day?”
I shrug a second time. “Not really.”
“Why don’t you save yourself some gas, then, and let me buy you a cup of coffee?”
I want to say yes. I can’t think of anything I’d like better than to spend the morning with Jet. But my biggest concern is that I shouldn’t want to, but even that’s not as compelling a reason as the one that brings a burst of heat to my cheeks.
“Um, I’d love to, but . . . ummm, I uh . . .”
“Yesss . . .” Jet prompts.
“Well, it’s just that I . . . I mean, I didn’t have time to . . .” I feel my face get hotter.
How embarrassing.
Jet smiles. “Wow, this must be really good.” He crosses his arms like he’s settling in for a great story.
“What do you mean?”
“It must be a really good excuse in the making.”
“Oh, it’s nothing like that. I assure you. It’ll be very . . . obvious that it’s true.”
“If you tell me, that is.”
I give him a sassy grin. “You want it? Fine. I haven’t showered yet this morning. Dad called and woke me up at Tia’s and I had to leave straightaway and get him. This is last night’s hair and makeup, and I’m sure you’ve already recognized the clothes.”
Jet’s smile widens. “Is that what you’re worried about?” He waves me off, reaching for my hand. “Come on. You look better in day-old makeup than most women do after a day at the salon.”
I resist, tugging on his hand. “Seriously, I’m a mess. I can’t go out in public like this!”
Jet doesn’t even pause; he just keeps dragging me toward the curb, toward my car. “We’ll hide in a corner then.”
I hate to admit, even to myself, how appealing that sounds. How appealing and how . . . intimate.
“Jet, I really don’t—”
He reaches in to cut off the engine and pull my keys from the ignition. He grabs my purse from the back floorboard, locks the door, and slams it shut.
He finally stops to look at me and give me his full attention as he hands me my purse. “I can tell by looking at you that the only thing you need right now is coffee.”
“And a shower,” I add.
Jet’s voice is low and his eyes are warm. “I’m trying not to think too much about you in the shower. Mind taking it easy on a guy?”
I feel hot and breathless at his insinuation, and it’s all I can do not to let it show on my face. “Sorry,” I mutter.
“God,” he whispers, taking my hand and turning away. “We gotta get out of here.”
I don’t argue anymore. There’s no point, and I don’t really want to anyway.
Jet opens the passenger side door for me, closing it snugly behind me once I’m inside. As I buckle up, I watch Jet through the windshield. I try not to pay attention to the smooth way he walks as he rounds the hood, or to the way his low-riding jeans sit on his lean hips, but it’s impossible not to notice.
When he slides in behind the steering wheel, he gives me a mischievous grin. “There’s no escaping me now,” he says, shifting into gear and easing out into the road. “For the next two hours, you’re all mine.”
As we speed off down the street, I can’t help thinking that I don’t mind the sound of that. Not one bit.
SIXTEEN: Jet
I know I made the right decision the instant I sit down across from Violet in the back corner booth of the little locally owned coffee shop I picked. It’s not nearly as busy as the bigger-name ones, and it’s twice as intimate. The coffee’s not bad either.
I watch Violet as she takes a hesitant sip of her frothy drink. She smacks her lips a few times, tasting the blend, and then looks up at me with wide, pleased eyes. “This is really good.”
I smile, feeling it all the way into my balls when she drags her tongue along her upper lip to lap up the sweet foam residue there.
“I’m glad you like it,” I finally say.
She taps the end of the tiny straw sticking up from the other side of her cup. “Wanna taste?”
I lean forward, narrowing my eyes on her. “Do you do that on purpose?”
She frowns. “Do what?”
“Ask me things like that? Knowing that I’d love nothing more than to have a taste?”
Nervously, Violet tucks her hair behind one ear and takes another sip of her coffee. “Sorry. That sounded bad.”
“I wouldn’t say that. At least not bad in a bad way. It sounded bad in a good way. A very good way.” Her cheeks turn pink, something I’m quickly becoming incredibly fond of. “There it is.”
“There what is?”
“That blush. I love it when you blush.”
“Why? I hate it.”
“It reminds me of other things I like about you. Things that are different from other women.”
“Like what? A crippling social ineptitude?”
“That might seem like the case, but I happen to know differently.”
“You do? And how is that?”
“You forget, I know your secret. I know what you’re hiding behind that blush.”
“Maybe I’m not hiding anything.”
“I doubt it. Everyone’s hiding something.”
“That’s an awfully jaded viewpoint, don’t you think?”
I shrug. “Maybe. But it’s true, jaded or not.”
“And just what are you hiding?”
I don’t respond. I just watch her. Obviously, I can’t tell her my biggest secret. She’d be out the door in two seconds flat. “Ask me anything,” I respond.
“I just did.”
I grin, nodding at her quick mind. “Ask me anything specific.”
She narrows her eyes on me like she’s debating how ruthless to be. I’m not sure what to think of where she starts. I don’t know what that says about her, but I like the fact that she seems to want to get to know me. Even though I shouldn’t, I like it a lot.
“What’s it like living in that big, beautiful house?”
“I wouldn’t know. My father lives there. I don’t.”
“You didn’t grow up there?”
“Hell no! My father and his new wife moved in there a few years ago.”
“Ohhh. You don’t sound too happy about that.”
“I’m not. He cheated on my mom at least a dozen times. But this last one had money, so he decided he’d keep her around. Instead of his real family, of course.”
Violet’s eyes are full of sympathy when she reaches across the table to wind her fingers around mine. “I’m sorry I brought it up. We can talk about something else.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m more mad about it than anything.”
“I don’t suppose I need to ask why.”
“Probably not. I’d say half the country can relate to the whole thing. He married the perfect woman, one who worshipped the ground he walked on, gave him three healthy kids, took care of his house, cooked his meals, and treated him like a king. But it was just never enough. He couldn’t seem to stop his wandering eye. Just couldn’t say no.”
“Do you blame him for your problem?” she asks.
At first, I’m confused. I want to ask her, What problem? But then I remember.
I can’t keep the sneer out of my voice. “I’m nothing like him.”
Violet is perceptive enough to know when to stop, so she does. “Oh, okay.”
I wait several seconds before continuing. I don’t owe her any explanations, but I feel the need to give her one anyway. It bothers me that she’d even suggest such a thing—that I might resemble my father in any way.
“My father hurt people with his ways.”
“But you don’t.” It’s not a question, but it feels like one.
“No, I don’t.”
She’s tentative when she asks, like she knows I’m sensitive and she’s trying to be as gentle as possible, “What about your mother? Does it hurt her?”
Violet is tweaking the only real raw nerve that I have—my conscience. And, even though I’m trying not to let it bother me, it’s still pissing me off.
“What I do is none of her business,” I reply firmly.
“Then I’m sure she’s fine with it,” Violet replies.
She glances down at her coffee and leaves me to think. Her words say one thing, but her tone says something else.
“Why should she not be?”
Why can’t I let this go?
Violet shrugs. “Well, if she sees you following in his footsteps, I could see how it would bother her. Or hurt her.”
“For one thing, I’m not following in his footsteps, but even if I was, I’m not doing it to her.”
“But you’re her child. I’m sure she would want more for you. It might hurt her to think of you ending up like him. Or for your children to end up feeling like you do. It’s a vicious cycle, and I’m sure she knows that.”
My smile is tight when I say, “Damn. I didn’t realize I’d get coffee and therapy.”
She has the good grace to look sheepish. “Sorry. Occupational hazard.”
“And what occupation is that?” I ask, more eager at the moment to get the focus off me than anything.
“Social worker. Not that we do therapy. I just hear a lot and see a lot. A lot,” she finishes.
“I bet you do. So tell me about the background of a social worker. What was your perfect childhood like?”
To end up with a sexual addiction, it must have been a bitch.
Suddenly, Violet seems inordinately interested in her napkin. “I’ve been surrounded by addiction in one form or another my whole life. My mother is a rock band groupie. She has all the habits to go along with the lifestyle. She couldn’t even stop using drugs and drinking long enough to carry my younger sister to term. Marlene was born with a heart defect. She died at sixteen months. Mom just couldn’t make the transition to settled life. She’d disappear for months at a time then show back up like nothing happened. Until four years ago. She left and never came back.”
“Is that all? This is an awful lot of yard, Dad.”
“It’s in good shape, though. I think I can get everything done by then.”
“Do you want me to stay and help? I mean, that’s not very long. It would probably be easier for me to help than to go all the way back to Greenfield.”
“Dressed like that?”
I glance down at my clothes from last night. My black jeans and boots, and my white, off-the-shoulder shirt. “Okay, so it’s not ideal, but I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”
Dad shakes his head. “No, sweetheart, you go on home. I don’t want you out here working in the dirt and ruining your clothes. I’ll have this done in no time. I appreciate you chauffeuring me around.”
“I’m not chauffeuring you, Dad. I’m always happy to help. You know that.”
His smile is sweet and loving. “I know that, Vi. You’re a jewel.”
“Or a flower,” I tease, backing toward my car.
“Violet?” a different voice calls.
My heart stops. I don’t have to turn around to know who’s behind me, who just spoke my name. It’s likely I’ll never forget the sound of that voice.
I turn to find Jet sitting at the end of the driveway, in what looks like the little black car he followed me to Tia’s in last night. My brain is firing off in a hundred different directions—the way I look, the fact that I’m wearing last night’s clothes, the fact that my father is standing right behind me, why Jet is here, the way I look, the way I look, the way I look.
“Jet. What are you doing here?”
One side of his mouth pulls up into an unhappy smirk. “My, uh, my father lives here.”
My mouth drops open. I snap it shut as quickly as I can, but I’m certain Jet saw it.
“Your father? Lives here?”
“Yep, ’fraid so.”
“Who’s your friend?” my dad asks, moving in behind me.
My heart starts to race as I think of all the ways this simple interaction could go so terribly wrong. For one thing, Dad can never know where I met Jet. Explaining that to my father would be the most humiliating nightmare known to man. Secondly, there’s the fact that the most important thing Jet knows about me is nothing but a lie.
Yeah, there’s that . . .
My heart races for a whole different reason when Jet puts his car in park and gets out and comes around to where my father and I are standing. His dark, shaggy hair is still damp from his shower, and his black tank top under a leather jacket makes him look more dangerous than ever. All he needs is a motorcycle to round out the picture of the quintessential bad boy.
“Jet Blevins,” he says when he reaches us, nodding to my father and extending his hand.
My father returns the gesture. “Royce Wilson, Violet’s father.”
“Nice to meet you, sir.”
After a few seconds of unnerving silence, my father speaks again, letting me off the hook. “Well, I’d better get to work, hon. Two hours?”
I smile, my body flooded with relief. “Two hours.”
Dad kisses me on the cheek, grabs his pruners, and walks away, leaving me and Jet standing side by side, watching him go.
“So, what’s two hours?”
“He had some car trouble this morning. I’m gonna give him a ride back home in two hours.”
“What will you be doing in the meantime?”
I shrug. “Heading back to Greenfield, I guess.”
“Big plans for the day?”
I shrug a second time. “Not really.”
“Why don’t you save yourself some gas, then, and let me buy you a cup of coffee?”
I want to say yes. I can’t think of anything I’d like better than to spend the morning with Jet. But my biggest concern is that I shouldn’t want to, but even that’s not as compelling a reason as the one that brings a burst of heat to my cheeks.
“Um, I’d love to, but . . . ummm, I uh . . .”
“Yesss . . .” Jet prompts.
“Well, it’s just that I . . . I mean, I didn’t have time to . . .” I feel my face get hotter.
How embarrassing.
Jet smiles. “Wow, this must be really good.” He crosses his arms like he’s settling in for a great story.
“What do you mean?”
“It must be a really good excuse in the making.”
“Oh, it’s nothing like that. I assure you. It’ll be very . . . obvious that it’s true.”
“If you tell me, that is.”
I give him a sassy grin. “You want it? Fine. I haven’t showered yet this morning. Dad called and woke me up at Tia’s and I had to leave straightaway and get him. This is last night’s hair and makeup, and I’m sure you’ve already recognized the clothes.”
Jet’s smile widens. “Is that what you’re worried about?” He waves me off, reaching for my hand. “Come on. You look better in day-old makeup than most women do after a day at the salon.”
I resist, tugging on his hand. “Seriously, I’m a mess. I can’t go out in public like this!”
Jet doesn’t even pause; he just keeps dragging me toward the curb, toward my car. “We’ll hide in a corner then.”
I hate to admit, even to myself, how appealing that sounds. How appealing and how . . . intimate.
“Jet, I really don’t—”
He reaches in to cut off the engine and pull my keys from the ignition. He grabs my purse from the back floorboard, locks the door, and slams it shut.
He finally stops to look at me and give me his full attention as he hands me my purse. “I can tell by looking at you that the only thing you need right now is coffee.”
“And a shower,” I add.
Jet’s voice is low and his eyes are warm. “I’m trying not to think too much about you in the shower. Mind taking it easy on a guy?”
I feel hot and breathless at his insinuation, and it’s all I can do not to let it show on my face. “Sorry,” I mutter.
“God,” he whispers, taking my hand and turning away. “We gotta get out of here.”
I don’t argue anymore. There’s no point, and I don’t really want to anyway.
Jet opens the passenger side door for me, closing it snugly behind me once I’m inside. As I buckle up, I watch Jet through the windshield. I try not to pay attention to the smooth way he walks as he rounds the hood, or to the way his low-riding jeans sit on his lean hips, but it’s impossible not to notice.
When he slides in behind the steering wheel, he gives me a mischievous grin. “There’s no escaping me now,” he says, shifting into gear and easing out into the road. “For the next two hours, you’re all mine.”
As we speed off down the street, I can’t help thinking that I don’t mind the sound of that. Not one bit.
SIXTEEN: Jet
I know I made the right decision the instant I sit down across from Violet in the back corner booth of the little locally owned coffee shop I picked. It’s not nearly as busy as the bigger-name ones, and it’s twice as intimate. The coffee’s not bad either.
I watch Violet as she takes a hesitant sip of her frothy drink. She smacks her lips a few times, tasting the blend, and then looks up at me with wide, pleased eyes. “This is really good.”
I smile, feeling it all the way into my balls when she drags her tongue along her upper lip to lap up the sweet foam residue there.
“I’m glad you like it,” I finally say.
She taps the end of the tiny straw sticking up from the other side of her cup. “Wanna taste?”
I lean forward, narrowing my eyes on her. “Do you do that on purpose?”
She frowns. “Do what?”
“Ask me things like that? Knowing that I’d love nothing more than to have a taste?”
Nervously, Violet tucks her hair behind one ear and takes another sip of her coffee. “Sorry. That sounded bad.”
“I wouldn’t say that. At least not bad in a bad way. It sounded bad in a good way. A very good way.” Her cheeks turn pink, something I’m quickly becoming incredibly fond of. “There it is.”
“There what is?”
“That blush. I love it when you blush.”
“Why? I hate it.”
“It reminds me of other things I like about you. Things that are different from other women.”
“Like what? A crippling social ineptitude?”
“That might seem like the case, but I happen to know differently.”
“You do? And how is that?”
“You forget, I know your secret. I know what you’re hiding behind that blush.”
“Maybe I’m not hiding anything.”
“I doubt it. Everyone’s hiding something.”
“That’s an awfully jaded viewpoint, don’t you think?”
I shrug. “Maybe. But it’s true, jaded or not.”
“And just what are you hiding?”
I don’t respond. I just watch her. Obviously, I can’t tell her my biggest secret. She’d be out the door in two seconds flat. “Ask me anything,” I respond.
“I just did.”
I grin, nodding at her quick mind. “Ask me anything specific.”
She narrows her eyes on me like she’s debating how ruthless to be. I’m not sure what to think of where she starts. I don’t know what that says about her, but I like the fact that she seems to want to get to know me. Even though I shouldn’t, I like it a lot.
“What’s it like living in that big, beautiful house?”
“I wouldn’t know. My father lives there. I don’t.”
“You didn’t grow up there?”
“Hell no! My father and his new wife moved in there a few years ago.”
“Ohhh. You don’t sound too happy about that.”
“I’m not. He cheated on my mom at least a dozen times. But this last one had money, so he decided he’d keep her around. Instead of his real family, of course.”
Violet’s eyes are full of sympathy when she reaches across the table to wind her fingers around mine. “I’m sorry I brought it up. We can talk about something else.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m more mad about it than anything.”
“I don’t suppose I need to ask why.”
“Probably not. I’d say half the country can relate to the whole thing. He married the perfect woman, one who worshipped the ground he walked on, gave him three healthy kids, took care of his house, cooked his meals, and treated him like a king. But it was just never enough. He couldn’t seem to stop his wandering eye. Just couldn’t say no.”
“Do you blame him for your problem?” she asks.
At first, I’m confused. I want to ask her, What problem? But then I remember.
I can’t keep the sneer out of my voice. “I’m nothing like him.”
Violet is perceptive enough to know when to stop, so she does. “Oh, okay.”
I wait several seconds before continuing. I don’t owe her any explanations, but I feel the need to give her one anyway. It bothers me that she’d even suggest such a thing—that I might resemble my father in any way.
“My father hurt people with his ways.”
“But you don’t.” It’s not a question, but it feels like one.
“No, I don’t.”
She’s tentative when she asks, like she knows I’m sensitive and she’s trying to be as gentle as possible, “What about your mother? Does it hurt her?”
Violet is tweaking the only real raw nerve that I have—my conscience. And, even though I’m trying not to let it bother me, it’s still pissing me off.
“What I do is none of her business,” I reply firmly.
“Then I’m sure she’s fine with it,” Violet replies.
She glances down at her coffee and leaves me to think. Her words say one thing, but her tone says something else.
“Why should she not be?”
Why can’t I let this go?
Violet shrugs. “Well, if she sees you following in his footsteps, I could see how it would bother her. Or hurt her.”
“For one thing, I’m not following in his footsteps, but even if I was, I’m not doing it to her.”
“But you’re her child. I’m sure she would want more for you. It might hurt her to think of you ending up like him. Or for your children to end up feeling like you do. It’s a vicious cycle, and I’m sure she knows that.”
My smile is tight when I say, “Damn. I didn’t realize I’d get coffee and therapy.”
She has the good grace to look sheepish. “Sorry. Occupational hazard.”
“And what occupation is that?” I ask, more eager at the moment to get the focus off me than anything.
“Social worker. Not that we do therapy. I just hear a lot and see a lot. A lot,” she finishes.
“I bet you do. So tell me about the background of a social worker. What was your perfect childhood like?”
To end up with a sexual addiction, it must have been a bitch.
Suddenly, Violet seems inordinately interested in her napkin. “I’ve been surrounded by addiction in one form or another my whole life. My mother is a rock band groupie. She has all the habits to go along with the lifestyle. She couldn’t even stop using drugs and drinking long enough to carry my younger sister to term. Marlene was born with a heart defect. She died at sixteen months. Mom just couldn’t make the transition to settled life. She’d disappear for months at a time then show back up like nothing happened. Until four years ago. She left and never came back.”
