Chapter Nine Violet #3
“General. I couldn’t settle on anything specific, and this one seemed to cover all the bases.”
It gets easier every time I tell it.
“I bet your work hours are just as crazy as mine.” She laughs, and I nod, wishing for a quick change of topic. “Do you get to talk to your mom often?”
I nod again. “I actually was facetiming her as I got ready to meet you for dinner.” I lower my chin as I stare into my glass of wine.
“Everything okay?”
I force a smile as I meet her gaze. “Yeah. Sort of. I don’t know.” I sigh, hating that I’m stumbling over my words.
Skye saw the messy part of me the first night we met when I was unloading onto the bartender. I don’t want to add more onto that heap of crazy, but she's making it so easy to open up.
“She still doesn’t know what my ex, Theo, did, and I don’t know how to tell her. So I keep saying that he’s good when she asks about him, and then I change the subject.”
She stares at me, and I can practically see her reliving the memory of me pouring my feelings into a glass of straight vodka.
Skye grabs the bottle of wine that Cupid left on our table and pours the last bit into my glass.
I lift it in a silent thank you, telling myself I don’t need to chug it. “So, any topics that don’t leave a dark cloud hanging over the two of us?”
She raises her brows in agreement and chuckles.
Thankfully, a new server with a normal name comes to take our orders, and I realize neither of us has even looked at a menu. We give him an apologetic smile and quickly glance over the options.
“Feeling adventurous?”
Skye looks at me and lowers her menu enough that she can see over the top of it. “You want to try ordering your meal in Italian?”
I cackle and shake my head. “Not that adventurous.”
Tossing my hair over my shoulders, I lean into the table so I’m not yelling across the restaurant when I suggest a fun little game to lighten the mood.
“The suspense is killing me.” Her playful smile has heat rising in my cheeks.
“You order for me, and I’ll order for you?” The vibe in the room goes from tense to playful, and I almost feel giddy as her eyes dance at my suggestion.
Competition is in an athlete's blood.
She leans back in her chair, her eyes narrowing as though I’ve just started a dangerous game. “Do you have any food allergies?”
I shake my head. “Nope. You?”
“Nope.”
“Game on.”
I don’t even make it to the light switch before the emotions take over.
The hotel door clicks shut behind me, and I just stand for a second. Staring at nothing. Processing. Rebooting.
Then, I kick off my heels mid-stride. RIP my ankles. I drop my clutch on the small table that falls to the floor and becomes future Violet’s problem, and dramatically flop onto the bed.
“Heels were invented by a man,” I groan as I stretch my toes.
I stare up at the ceiling, arms spread, my heart still racing like I’m late for something important.
The rest of the night was perfect. And I don’t mean “I got the last piece of bread,” perfect.
Or “we didn’t run out of things to talk about,” perfect.
I mean perfectly perfect. Easy laughter, no awkward silences.
Eye contact that lasted just seconds longer than necessary, the kind where you can feel it in your spine.
She ordered the Milanese-style risotto with saffron pistils for me, which is perfect because I never would have ordered something that I didn’t understand what it was.
And I ordered the lobster tagliatelle for her, which she had cleared in practically two bites. She even FED ME A BITE OFF HER PLATE.
We talked about movies, and I decided to look past the fact that she’s never watched The Little Mermaid. She told me about her goal of becoming the first female to play on an NHL team. She doubts it will happen, but it’s always been her dream to play for the Boston Bruins.
I need to learn more about hockey. Even when Theo played, I never paid attention. He wasn’t ever keen on me tagging along to games or events. Now I’m wondering if it’s because he was dipping his hockey stick in anything that fawned over him.
My face aches from smiling, my sides hurt from laughing, and the rest of me is just totally comfortable with the idea of spending more time with Skye.
Is it because it was my first date with a female?
Possibly.
Am I spiraling because she leaned in real close to tell me the story about her rookie season?
Also possible.
Did I black out for a second when our knees touched under the table?
No comment.
I roll over and groan into the pillow. This is different. Like something has just quietly fallen into place, and now my mind is scrambling to keep up with my emotions.
Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? Because if so, I need to formally apologize to my past self, who thought “meh, this is fine” was the standard.
I am smiling like an idiot.
I drag my hand down my face, unable to erase my smile.
Yep. I’m in trouble.
Picking up my phone, I take a few deep breaths before sending off a quick text to Cassie.
Violet: I think I need to learn how to eat the taco.