Chapter 31 Violet #2
Hawke likes to…watch? Watch what? What is my best friend keeping from me?
In a flash, Hawke darts out his hand. He wraps it around her wrist with a subtle shake of his head while preventing her from continuing her hand’s journey along his chest. I can’t tell if he’s pissed or turned on.
Probably both, considering the circumstances.
It’s Lexie, for Pete’s sake, and if she’s a master at anything, it’s tapping into her sexuality and playing with men’s feelings like a damn conductor.
Even so, I can’t help but wonder if the feeling is…
is the feeling mutual? No, it can’t be. Lexie’s all talk when it comes to the opposite sex.
However, if it is fake, she’s one hell of an actress.
Yanking her hand free, Lexie rubs at her wrist as if erasing his touch while she wiggles her fingers back and forth. “See you around, stalker.” She turns to me, her body trembling just the slightest. “Let’s go check out some more cars until the race starts.”
“Okay,” June squeaks beside me. The same flush is in her cheeks, and her baby blue eyes are glued to the cracked pavement like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.
Poor girl. She probably feels like she just witnessed her first porno and they barely touched. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
Rocking back on my heels, I fold my arms and follow behind them, giving Hawke one more quick peek only to find him staring at my best friend’s backside like it’s a juicy piece of steak.
Welp. This just got interesting.
“See ya, Hawke,” I murmur.
Hawke’s tongue runs between his lips and his upper teeth before he finally graces me with his focus. “Be safe.”
As he strides away, I rush to catch up to my friends.
They’re already chatting with the owner of a sleek, black sports car.
Lexie laughs and grabs his bicep, flirting her little heart out.
I wonder if it’s a show. If she thinks Hawke is still watching.
And maybe he is. Honestly, I don’t know.
And to be fair, I don’t really care, either.
I’m too distracted by a certain someone who’s yet to make an appearance.
Why would Jagger ask me to come if he isn’t even here?
I mean, I know he mentioned keeping his distance until the haunted house becomes nothing but a blip on people’s radar, but…
I kind of thought we connected over text, not to mention the way I came on his fingers in the classroom. Besides, he asked me to be here.
I shove the thought aside, determined to enjoy my night even if I don’t run into the elusive Jagger Harden.
Clicking my tongue against the roof of my mouth, I mosey around one of the cars, peeking inside and finding a folded twenty on the dashboard.
Talk about a terrible place to keep money. It probably belongs to the owner.
Reaching forward, I grab the cash and open the glove compartment in search of a solid hiding place. At least it’ll keep the money hidden from plain view.
“Hey, Little Thief.”
I flinch and turn around, finding an amused Jagger with one hand on the hood of the car, and the other on the open door.
The combination cages me in, and I clutch at my chest. “Oh, hey—”
“What are you doing?”
The smirk playing at the edge of his lips toys with me, and I blindly toss the money inside, closing the compartment as fast as I can. I feel guilty. Like I was just caught doing something I shouldn’t, though I have no idea why. “I wasn’t stealing,” I rush out.
His smirk widens even more. “Oh?”
“I swear! I was actually preventing someone else from stealing,” I ramble. “It was out on the dashboard, and I didn’t want—”
“It’s a tip.”
My brows furrow. “Huh?”
“When people like a car, they’ll leave a tip on the dashboard as an incentive to come back for future events. It encourages racers to bring out their cars and participate, despite not having a solid chance of actually winning the race.”
“Oh.” I frown. “But what if someone takes it? I mean, anyone could’ve walked over and stolen—”
“This is Roman’s car,” Jagger explains. “No one’s stupid enough to steal from Roman.”
Roman races? How did I not know this? He must leave his car in Harden Heights.
Not that anyone would be stupid enough to break into Roman Stone’s car, even if he left it unlocked in the middle of The Body Shop’s parking lot.
But this airfield is packed with insanely expensive cars, and they can’t all belong to the Hardens.
“And if it belonged to someone else?” I ask.
His gaze shifts to the top of a close-by building.
There are a few of them scattered along the grounds.
One is a hangar, the other is an FBO, AKA a “fixed-base operator”, which basically functioned as a private terminal for people who used to fly in until The Drift went to shit and Harden Heights became the hoity-toity place to be.
“We have cameras everywhere,” Jagger explains.
“If someone takes something that doesn’t belong to them, we follow up with them. ”
“And?”
“And, it only took one or two incidents before word got around about the consequences of breaking our rules.” Moving closer, he blocks me in with his body even more.
His grip tightens on the top of the open car door and the frame on the opposite side.
The combination leaves me pinned and trapped and slightly turned on. “I like your hoodie.”
My hoodie? Oh. Right. Because I actually listened to his request and wore what he told me.
Who am I, and what have I done with Violet Reeves?
Clearing my throat, I look down at the thick fabric swallowing me whole before peeking up at him again. “Oh, you do, huh?”
“Mm-hmm.” His eyes dip to my mouth. “Fuck, this is even more difficult than I planned.”
“What’s difficult?”
“Keeping my hands to myself.”
Oh.
I lick my bottom lip, unsure what to say.
It’s not like I’ve found myself in a lot of these situations, especially with a guy who looks like Jagger Harden.
Is he only here because he likes the chase?
It wouldn’t surprise me, but even then. Is it so wrong?
I’m an adult. I’m allowed to make my own decisions, even if they might not technically be the smartest. “Well. Here I am,” I finally murmur.
“The question is, what are you going to do with me?”
Something ignites in his dark eyes, and I swear it’s directly connected to my core. “I have a few ideas.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Roman apologizes. My head snaps toward him, and I lean away from Jagger, trying to put as much distance as possible between us, no matter how impossible it really is considering our current position.
I don’t know why. It’s not like Roman doesn’t already know everything.
Or maybe he doesn’t? He has to, doesn’t he?
“What is it?” Jagger asks.
Without a word, Roman tilts his head toward the opposite side of the street.
That’s when I see him. My dad. I haven’t seen him since Halloween.
I haven’t needed to. It’s not like he comes into Harden Heights, and since I now live on campus, it’s been easy to keep a wide berth.
Until tonight. Something curdles in my stomach, and a tremble works its way through me.
Why? Why didn’t I piece together that he’d be here?
And why do I feel betrayed because he received an invite?
Because the Harden brothers extended one to him?
Of course, they did. These nights are about money as much as they are about socializing and drinking and hooking up.
And if there’s one thing my dad is good for, it’s a lousy bet to earn the house money.
To earn Jagger and Ford and Hawke and Roman money.
A sour taste floods my mouth as my sperm donor stumbles toward Ford with his hand outstretched.
And just like that, the buzzing anticipation in my veins from moments ago turns to sludge.
I want to go home.
Jagger’s body tenses in front of me. “Be right back.”
“Jagger,” I start.
But he’s already gone, marching toward Ford and my sperm donor across the street.
Shit.