Chapter 2
Two
VIOLET
“Motherf—" I quickly cut myself off when an older lady whips her head around to glare at me. To be fair, it looks like she's having a pastry with her grandchild. Oops.
Although I don't say anything because I've made that mistake before, and that woman was not happy with my insinuation that she was old enough to be a grandma. Even though, spoiler alert, she actually was a grandma.
I wiggle my fingers at the crabby lady and turn back to the scone that decided to ruin my day. Honestly, I was seconds away from taking the perfect shot when it just...crumbled.
It may, may, have been my fault for rearranging it for the ten thousandth time, but really? The shape was all wrong anyway. Maybe I can convince the barista to give me a stack of cookies to take a photo of instead.
I chose the scone because the blueberries peaking through the carbs would really pop in the early morning sunlight.
Sometimes I have no idea why I do these random jobs. I love taking photos and have a knack for knowing what sells on social media, but the coffee shop and hair salon don't excite me.
The nightclub is fun. I'd just rather be on my hikes and take pictures when it feels right. This is forced even if it's artsy and offers me some income.
"Hey, Sweets."
"Really?" I grumble under my breath. When I woke up this morning I had a plan, and that plan did not include fumbling around with a scone. And it definitely didn't involve Jamie freaking Murphy helping himself to the seat across from me.
"That nickname can go right in the garbage with my prop," I sass, leaning back in my chair.
He looks even better in the daylight. His dark brown hair is pulled back from his face in a man bun.
A few wavy wisps have escaped their entrapment and tickle his lightly scruffed cheeks.
The black gauges in his ears shine in the sunlight, and I notice he's replaced his cartilage hoop with a silver one while I was gone.
I hate myself a little more when sadness rips through me at not being able to see his dragon tattoo that climbs up his neck. Jamie is a work of art, and it drives me crazy.
In his bedroom, that's great. Out in the real world where we aren't meant to see each other, it's infuriating.
"Come on now," he rumbles while eating said prop. "We can't waste free food."
"Who said it was free?" I snap even though it was free. Of course, he just raises an eyebrow and smirks at me.
My clit pulses. I really, truly, hate seeing Jamie around Detroit. It makes the boundaries I've set very hard to maintain, especially when he's feeling particularly pushy.
I'd rather continue talking about the half-eaten scone, but Jamie has other ideas. "What are you doing tonight?"
My body heats at the underlying question, but I have plans that don't involve his hands on my body. "Going to Club Surreal."
"Work or pleasure?"
It's a fair question considering I help take images for their socials too. I narrow my eyes even as my tummy swoops. While I answer his question, I'm trying to figure out how to get him to leave. "Girls’ night."
He nods and reaches for my iced latte. Before his fingers can wrap around the cup, I bat his hand away. Only, Jamie has a bit of a dominant streak. Moving fast, he snatches my wrist in a firm grip that makes my breath catch.
"Sharing is caring, Violet," he scolds and grabs my drink with his other hand. He takes a sip, and that simple act of wrapping his lips around my straw heats my blood. Right up until he sucks a third of my fucking drink down.
"You asshole!" I snap and yank my hand free.
A scoff comes from beside us, and this time I don't give the old woman a smile. My mood is effectively ruined, so everyone gets a glare today.
Jamie releases my straw, licks his plump lips, and slides the dewy cup back to me. "Feisty this morning," he murmurs.
I sigh and slump into my chair. Being called out for my crappy attitude always makes me feel worse. I never used to be like this—so quick to anger. Pushing Jamie away is for the best. How do I get him to see that?
"What do you want, Jamie? I'm trying to work." Even I can hear the defeat in my voice.
He frowns at me and leans forward. "I came in for a cold brew, saw your beautiful face, and remembered that my messages asking how your trip was went ignored. So, thought I'd ask face to face."
Why does he care? I keep that question to myself though because the last time I said something along those lines, Jamie went off on an angry rant. For some reason, he can't come to terms with the fact that we're nothing more than a good time.
"It was great," I respond, giving him only a smidgen of what he wants. "That all?"
"Jesus, Violet," he says, leaning away from the table with a hurt look. "That's all you have to say to me after being gone for two weeks?"
I'm honestly confused now. "What do you mean? I've been doing this traveling job for years, Jamie. Why are you so upset?"
He just stares at me. My heart thunders away in my chest as my discomfort skyrockets in response to his rising disappointment.
"Right," he grunts, shuttering his expression. Jamie stands and tells me to have a good day.
I watch him with my heart in my throat as he orders at the counter. My eyes follow his every move as he pays, receives his coffee, and leaves the cafe.
Swallowing multiple times, I try really freaking hard to shake off that encounter. I miss when Jamie would just flirt with me. His sexual innuendos are always off the charts spicy. Why does he have to push me like this?
Sure, I play the dense asshat to his face and whenever Cassidy questions what I'm doing. The truth is that I do have feelings, and most of them are really awful to deal with.
I'm not stupid, but I am a little confused.
Hurting Jamie isn't something I want to do, but we both agreed on what we are. I hate that he's changing our dynamic. Even if I decline and avoid, he's still ruining everything.
I'm afraid it's time for me to put a complete stop to what we're doing. Seeing him so upset and disappointed in me all the time is taking its toll. I don't have more to give him.
This is me. Detached, aloof, a little rude, and incredibly sad. He doesn't need this shit. I should end it with him.
So, if that's the best option for both of us, why does it hurt so much to even imagine?