20. Chord
twenty
Chord
This has got to be the longest night of my life. I was an idiot to let Violet walk out of here looking like that, smelling like that, feeling like that. So freaking stupid to let her walk out of my house and not beg her to let me follow.
Now I can’t shake the jealousy thinking about her dancing with another man. Touching another man. Letting another man touch her. Fuck .
Four hours after she left with Daisy—after a dinner I didn’t taste, a workout I don’t remember, and a movie I didn’t understand—I’m in the living room again. Watching the clock. Remembering Violet’s long, smooth legs in those shorts and boots. Ignoring the way my dick has been hard since I saw her mouth painted red. Reliving the feel of her warmth on my lips when she was close enough to share the same air. Kicking myself that I didn’t kiss her when I had the chance.
I check the time. It’s twenty minutes past midnight—only three minutes later than when I last looked. I turn on the television and surf mindlessly through the channels. At twenty-three minutes past twelve, I hit the remote to switch it off, drag a hand down my face, and drop my head back on the sofa. I don’t remember ever being this way about a woman—agitated and needy. I should hate the way this feels. I should have the self-control to ignore it. But that would mean either ignoring Violet or categorizing her as one of those distractions I didn’t want to deal with this year, and I can’t do either of those things.
Another hour passes, and I’m half-asleep on the sofa, my arms crossed and bare feet propped up on the coffee table when a shrill ping from my phone startles me awake. I grope for it and rub my eyes at the notification lighting up the screen. It’s a text from Violet.
Wallflower
I can’t believe you saw me naked.
I jerk upright, heart thumping in my ears, and read the text again. It takes only a second for me to understand.
She’s drunk.
And she’s talking about the night I walked in on her wearing nothing but her panties.
I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t think about that moment every night with my cock in my hand. Now I know Violet’s been thinking about it too, and my dick pulses against my sweats.
Me
You weren’t naked, Wallflower.
You okay? Having a good time?
I stare at the screen long after the backlight dims and pray there’s more to this conversation than one random text. She’s out with Daisy, who certainly knows how to have a good time, and Violet’s got the whole bar to entertain her, but she texted me. She wants to talk to me . It feels like winning the fucking lottery.
Wallflower
I’m having a fantastic time, but my feet hurt soooooo much… *sad face*
And I *was* naked! You saw my boobs! CHORD DAVENPORT SAW MY BOOBS!
I laugh in the darkness. Inebriated Violet is even more adorable than sober Violet.
Me
Too much dancing, eh? I guess there was nothing to worry about after all. You’re a natural.
Wallflower
Don’t change the subject, mister. Admit you saw me naked.
I hesitate, wondering how to play this. Fuck it .
Me
I’ll admit I saw you in a sexy blue thong.
The three dots of her reply fade in and out, and I tap out another message while I wait.
Me
And I’ll admit I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.
The dots disappear, and so does my hard-on as I worry that I’ve gone too far, but then the phone vibrates with an incoming text, and her reply pops up on the screen.
Wallflower
I think about it too.
Can you come get me? Daisy is having fun, but I’ve had enough for one night.
I nearly break my stupid neck tripping out of my sweats, but in ninety seconds flat, I’m in jeans and a shirt and climbing behind the wheel of my truck.
I make it to The Slippery Tipple in less time than it should take me and throw the truck into one of the last available parking spaces. I rush through the overpacked lot, push open the bar’s wide timber door, and scour the crowd for Violet like I didn’t set eyes on her just six hours earlier.
She’s perched on a stool at the bar, alone and stunning, her long legs crossed at the knees, her dark curls wilder than when she left the house and a hundred times sexier. So damn sexy I stop where I am just to drink in the sight of her.
There’s an appealing flush in her cheeks, but it’s a warm, damp kind of glow—the kind that comes from too much booze, too much dancing, and too many bodies in one room. It’s the kind that comes from exertion and depletion and gratification, and a vision of Violet swims through my head—she’s naked, sprawled in my sheets, hair mussed and wild, and looking exactly like this. It’s enough to keep my feet rooted to the floor in some kind of stupor, and I’m mesmerized when she brings a tumbler to her mouth, her lips softly greeting the rim of the cup, until…
Oh, Jesus. She’s got a glass of Mona’s notorious white wine sangria, and that stuff is strong enough to strip paint. Violet’s texts suddenly make a lot more sense.
I’m already making my way over when a guy drops onto the stool next to her. He’s in dirty jeans and a dusty t-shirt, boots caked with mud and looking like he drove here directly from the farm.
He tilts sloppily in Violet’s direction. She leans away with a tight shake of her head, and it’s clear to anyone watching that she’s trying to rebuff the advances of some drunk asshole who can’t take a fucking hint. But when he takes it as an invitation to move closer, I see red.
I shove my way through the crowd, my anger rising, and insert myself between Violet and the dickhead. Her face lights up when she sees the broad chest in her way belongs to me.
“You came,” she says with a happy sigh and heavy eyelids that float closed before opening again.
I resist the urge to grin like a goofball—just. It’s getting harder and harder not to smile for this woman. “I did.”
The guy behind me pokes my shoulder—hard. “Hey! We was talking here.”
I ignore the jab and the comment because that’s infinitely smarter than turning and decking him, which is what I want to do.
“You said you’ve had enough?” I ask her. “Did you want me to take you home now, or can I tempt you into one more dance?”
“I—”
“I said, fuck off!”
The drunk falls against my back in what I assume is supposed to be a shove. I barely stumble, but I’m jostled enough to knock Violet’s cocktail out of her hand. She squeals as the sticky drink pours down her chest, soaking the purple fabric of her top and coaxing her nipples to stiff peaks. I spare a moment to imagine licking the sweet liquid from her skin before I spin around and kick the legs of the farmer’s stool out from under him. He drops to the floor with a string of curses, and I lean down to grab him by the shirt, accidentally tearing the fabric when I do.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay the fuck down there until I tell you it’s okay to get up. Understood?”
“Hey, man.” He’s suddenly looking a lot more sober. “It’s cool. I didn’t know she was with you.”
“Shouldn’t matter that she’s with me, asshole. When a woman tells you no, it means no. Now shut the fuck up and stay down on the floor where you belong.”
I release his shirt with a warning shove that drives him to the peanut shell-strewn boards, then straighten. My gaze goes straight to Violet, my eyes running over her body to make sure every inch of her is safe. “You okay?”
She dabs at her wet skin with a soggy napkin, and her chestnut eyes are wide as she stares at me. “That was… That was…”
I pull a lock of her hair from where it’s stuck to the moisture on her collarbone and tuck it behind her ear. “That was… what?”
Stupid? Overkill? A disgusting display of male ego that belongs on the ice?
“Hot,” she answers with another breathy sigh.
My eyebrows shoot up, and fuck, there’s a half-smile on my mouth and nothing I can do about it.
A loud, short cackle sounds from behind the bar, startling us both. It’s Mona, and she spares me a wry smile before handing Violet a damp towel—and a fresh cup of sangria.
“You’re not supposed to say that sort of thing out loud, honey. Sets us women back decades and gives idiot men ideas that only get ’em into trouble.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Violet shrugs a little but doesn’t seem all that contrite, especially when she downs another long swallow of her drink.
I’ve known Mona all my life, and in those thirty-four years, she’s always had hair so red it could only come from a bottle. Her heart-shaped face grows more attractive with every line, and her no-bullshit attitude makes her the perfect proprietor of The Slippery Tipple.
She rounds the counter to take a look at who I just dropped, then gives me an approving nod before she opens her arms and waves me in.
“Didn’t know you were back in town, sweetheart. Come give me a little affection.”
I scoop her into a hug. “Hey, Mona. You’re looking good.”
“You’re a hot liar, is what you are.” She chuckles. “But I’ll take it.”
She returns to the other side of the bar and picks up a dish towel to mop up the splashes of Violet’s spilled cocktail. “Now, what brings you down here?” she asks before her eyes slide knowingly to Violet. “Let me guess. This sweet girl here, am I right?”
The jerk on the floor tries to crawl away slowly so I don’t notice, so I do him a favor and pretend I don’t. Violet watches my exchange with Mona with glassy eyes, and she probably won’t remember a minute of this conversation.
Still, I clear my throat, tuck my chin, and lower my voice. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Glad to hear it. I get the impression this one isn’t used to the breakneck pace your sister likes to run at.” Mona nods toward the dance floor, then shakes her head. “And she’s not alone tonight, so it’s even worse. No woman with half a brain would try and keep up with those two.”
I follow her line of sight to where Daisy dances in the center of a pulsing crowd, not understanding what Mona means until I spy the woman next to her, similarly small and similarly gyrating, with a shock of red hair I’d recognize anywhere. Penelope. Mona’s only daughter and Daisy’s childhood best friend.
“Poppy’s back?” I ask.
“Mm-hm.” Mona shakes her head. “She strolled in here tonight like it hasn’t been six years since she’s been home, and I’m not convinced the girls didn’t plan it this way, but they swear black and blue it was all a coincidence or fate or what-have-you. They’ve been drinking and dancing and flirting up a storm. Just like the old days.” Mona sighs. “There’ll be a fight or two before I close tonight. Mark my words.”
My mouth twitches. “I’ll give Dylan a call. Give him the heads up.”
Mona flicks the towel at me. “You leave that poor boy alone. He did enough running around after those two when they were teenagers. Those girls are big enough now to figure it out for themselves.”
I huff out a dry laugh as Mona rolls her eyes, an affectionate been-there-done-that twist to her lips. She moves along the bar to tend to her customers just as Violet moans and reaches down to tug at her boot.
My eyes travel the never-ending distance of smooth skin that is Violet’s legs, from the hem on her shorts riding high on her thighs to the dainty ankle bones peeking out the top of her low-cut boots, and my cock twitches.
“Too much dancing, huh?”
She nods slowly and groans again. “Uh-huh.”
I slip my hands under Violet’s arms and hoist her onto the bar. She squeaks and steadies herself by flattening her hands to either side of her bare thighs as I lift one leg and slide off her boot, then do the same on the other. With the shoes clutched in one fist, I slide an arm around Violet’s waist, the other under her knees, and swing her up against my chest.
She throws her arms around my neck, and when people start to look, she hides her face against my shoulder. Her hair smells so sweet, like peaches, and her warm breath against my skin, the soft hint of her tits against my chest, the way her fingers dig into the muscles… It’s like freaking electricity zipping through my veins.
I pause to check the dance floor and spare a frown for my sister. She spots me and yanks Poppy’s arm to get her attention, and they wave at me like drunk teenagers. Daisy goes so far as to give me two goofy thumbs up before Poppy points my way and yells something in her ear, making Daisy nod like a bobblehead.
Daisy and Poppy were hellcats as kids, and it doesn’t look like much has changed. With the two of them back in town at the same time? God help Aster Springs.
Mona slides up beside me, one hand on her hip as she shakes her head at the girls.
“Can you take care of Daisy tonight, Mona?” I ask. “I need to know she’s safe, and I don’t want her disappearing with some loser.”
Mona flaps her hands, her dish towel still gripped in one of them. “I was already planning on taking the three of them home after I closed the place. Don’t worry about Daisy. She’s safe with me, honey.”
Satisfied that my sister will be all right with Mona, I stride through the bar with Violet cradled in my arms, her boots hanging from my fingers, and my eyes forward so I can’t count how many cameras are pointed in our direction.
When I get to my truck, I juggle a little to open the passenger door. After tossing in Violet’s boots, I ease her into the seat, then reach around to get her seatbelt.
My breath and hands are a little unsteady as I slip the strap across her body and snap the buckle into place, but then she stuns me by dancing her fingers into the edges of my hair. I freeze, still leaning over her, our faces so close.
“You look so cute in the backward baseball cap,” she mumbles.
I choke out a laugh. “What?”
She gives me a silly smile and rubs the ends of my hair between her fingers. “Yeah. When you’re all hot and sweaty, these little bits curl against your neck and around your ears, and it’s so ridiculous how good-looking you are. And the hat just…” She closes her eyes and hums happily like she’s thinking about it.
She likes the hat, huh? I tuck that piece of information away for another day, close the door and walk around to the driver’s side, then get in, and start the engine.
Violet’s eyes are closed, and I’ve decided she’s fallen asleep when she asks, “Do you like me, Chord?”
My eyes slide from the dark road to her and back again. “I do.”
“Like, really like me?”
There’s nobody here except the two of us, and Violet’s eyes are closed, so I let myself smile for real. “Yeah. Like, really like you.”
“Oh.”
Another long silence, and then, “But why?”
“Why… what?”
“ Why do you like me? I don’t understand.” Her eyes ping open, and she pins me with a wild but glassy stare. “Is it because you saw my boobs?”
I laugh. “No, that’s not it. You’re smart. And strong. And thoughtful. You don’t ask for anything, and you give so much. You put your family first. And you don’t know how beautiful you are.”
Her face screws up like she’s trying to understand and failing, so I go a step further with a confession that’s been teasing the edges of my mind, something I haven’t had the guts to look at head-on yet.
“And I don’t think you care that I’m a hockey player, or that I’ve got money. You don’t care that I’m Chord Davenport, the star athlete.” I risk another glance at her, and she appears to be deep in thought. “In fact, I think maybe this thing between you and me would be easier if I wasn’t any of those things. Maybe you’d like me, too, if I was just an ordinary guy.”
“Yeah. You’re right.”
She nods the sluggish nod of a drunk person, and the fact that she agrees with me sends pain lancing through my chest. But then she goes on.
“I don’t like Chord Davenport the hockey player,” she mumbles with her eyes closed, head lolling against the headrest. “Or the rich man. Or the guy with the big house and the big attitude, and the cars and the pool and the gym and blah blah blah…”
She drags her eyes open, reaches over and pokes my cheek, pushing until my lips curl into a smile. “I like the Chord Davenport who wears jeans and boots covered in dirt. The one who makes his niece giggle and gives her great hugs. The Chord Davenport who scarfs down Pretzel M&M’s when he thinks I’m not looking, fixes broken fences with his hands, saves me from scary mice, and is such a gentleman he’s spent the last week pretending he didn’t see me naked .”
She whispers the last words, and I laugh again.
“And I like the way you make me feel ,” she adds with a cute little shiver.
“Oh, yeah?” I watch her from the corner of my eye. “And how’s that?”
She closes her eyes again, slumps in her seat with a happy sigh, and replies like she’s halfway to sleep. “Warm. Excited. Like my body is filled with butterflies and light.”
I blink at the road and try not to let the whir of my heart distract me from the task of driving us safely home.
“I like the way you see me,” I say, not quite loud enough for her to hear. “I think I like that Chord Davenport too.”
I pull the truck into the garage, get out, and walk around to open the door for Violet. She sits with her head rolled back, belt still on, and toes wiggling inside the sheer ankle socks she had on under her boots.
I wait for her to step out, but she stretches her arms toward me and twitches her fingers.
I give her an amused frown. “What?”
She thrusts her bottom lip into a pout as her perfect dark brows crinkle over brown puppy-dog eyes, and she makes grabby motions with her hands.
I dip my chin. “You want me to carry you?”
She nods pathetically. “My feet still hurt.”
I shake my head with a smile and reach around to unbuckle her seatbelt. She throws her arms around my neck immediately and sticks like a barnacle as I straighten out of the car. It’s so fucking cute that I hold her close and never want to let her go.
“I wonder what you’re going to think about all this tomorrow,” I mumble, breathing in the scent of her hair again as she nuzzles her cheek against my chest.
She sighs and relaxes in my arms. “I’m going to think this was the best night of my life.”