Chapter Nine Violet
Chapter Nine
Violet
“I’m so proud that you didn’t shout ‘Go sportsball’ when she called to tell you she won her game.” Cassie’s yawn funnels through the car speakers.
I use one hand to fidget with my necklace while my other hand steers the rental vehicle. “Oh my God, imagine. She’d think I was crazy.”
“Correction. She’d know you were crazy.”
I roll my eyes and pull up to the valet parking at the hotel.
I spent the morning at the recording studio and found myself ignoring the song about Theo cheating and focusing on a song about deciphering my own intentions.
I can’t blame Skye for the inspiration, but she definitely sparked some thoughts that I poured into a few lines of the lyrics.
I hand the keys over to the valet and make my way through the front doors of the hotel.
“I’m not that bad. I managed to catch the eye of an Olympic hockey player.”
“So, you’re a lesbian now?”
I growl. “Would you stop saying that?” My reply is a little louder than I intend as I walk through the main lobby. My voice echoes, and I realize it’s the second time I’ve yelled in the lobby since I checked in.
“What are you going to do now?” The playfulness of her tone dissolves, and I get the feeling she’s falling asleep in the hospital parking lot. Must not be any meat grinder hands coming into the ER today.
“Shower and change.”
“You mean shower and shave?”
“Fuck you,” I snap, once again catching the attention of the people around me.
“Anyone staring at you now?” she chuckles.
I remain quiet until I reach my hotel room, and then I drop my stuff onto the table. My defenses rise.
“We’re just friends. I’m not a lesbian, and I’m not interested in dating anyone.” I pace the sitting area of my room. “I’m still getting over the fact that my boyfriend cheated on me with my cousin. And I have the biggest day of my singing career coming up in two weeks.”
My breathing is rapid, and I almost feel bad for unloading all of it.
“I’m sorry.” Her genuine apology has me feeling even worse for snapping. “I didn’t mean to get you all frazzled. I was just curious because it wouldn’t be the craziest thing on the planet for you to date a woman.”
I digest her words and sit on the couch to avoid wearing a path on the tiled floor. “Say more words.”
She takes a deep, Ace Ventura-sized breath before she starts. I know she’s about to lay it on me because when she breathes like that, she is choosing words that won’t send me into a frenzy but will still hit where they need to.
It’s not always the same thing as what I want to hear.
“Theo was trash. Caleb before that? Trash. And don’t even get me started on Joey.”
“What was wrong with Joey?”
I hear rustling on her end of the phone, and I know she’s adjusting in her seat.
“Are you kidding me!” she screeches. “He was named after a kangaroo. And he was a mama’s boy.”
There’s a slurping noise followed by a THUMP, which means her water is empty and she’s mad about it. I’ll get a text from her tomorrow telling me she lost her water bottle.
“Okay, so what does all this have to do with Skye?”
“Guys suck,” she announces, plain and simple. “Women know women. Women can please women.”
I nod slowly and hate that it’s making sense. But that still doesn’t fix the feeling in my gut. The nerves, the unknown territory, the chance it’ll all fall apart.
“I don’t know how to eat the taco, Cassie!”
This makes her burst into laughter, and I can’t help joining her.
She eventually sighs and sniffles, and I can practically see her wiping a tear from her eye. “Listen, I don’t have time to teach you, especially since I’ve never been into that nether region myself, but I’m sure you can figure it out.”
“Mmhmm,” is all I manage to say. “And if I don’t?”
“Then you’ll be needing a third alias because I’d go into hiding if I fucked that up.”
I barely recognize myself at first.
The dress is tight with a capital T. The kind of tight that leaves no room for secrets, snacks, or poor posture. It’s black, sleek, and doing a lot of work in the confidence department.
The heels I chose tilt me forward just enough to remind me that if I trip tonight, it will be both memorable and deeply humiliating.
My hair is cooperating for the first time since my senior prom. It looks intentional, which honestly feels suspicious. The jewelry is simple, fine silver that catches the light just enough against my pale skin. Delicate lines that don’t compete with anything.
I stare at myself like I’m waiting for my reflection to ask me what I’m doing.
I look confident. Alarmingly so.
Inside, my brain is spinning.
Is this too much?
Is this not enough?
Is this a date?
Do women on dates expect this level of shine, or am I about to show up looking like I misunderstood the assignment completely?
Because this isn’t just a date, if it is a date.
It’s a date with a woman. My first woman. And I can’t deny that I do get excited when she texts me. Not to mention the fact that I almost broke the phone trying to answer it when Skye called me for the first time.
There is no rulebook. No autopilot. I can’t fall back on old habits that worked with men because I know women’s brains are way more advanced than those of an ape.
Do I wave? Hug? High-five?
I plop down on the bed. “Do not high-five Skye,” I tell myself.
Checking my watch, I see I have fifteen minutes until five o’clock.
Do I need to be early?
My phone vibrates, and I see a text from Skye.
Skye: I’m heading down. See you in a few.
It’s like she can read my mind.
Do Cassie and her surf the same brain wave?
I take one last look at myself before grabbing my bag. I hope Skye doesn’t notice that the confidence I’m feeling is borrowed, because on the inside, I’m completely terrified.
The restaurant is dim without being dark. Golden light is pouring over the white tablecloths, and low music is humming beneath the hushed conversations.
I pause in the entrance, letting my eyes adjust, giving my heartbeat a minute to slow down so I don’t look like I sprinted here.
Don’t look nervous.
Don’t look like this is your first time.
As I scan the room, I smooth my dress and square my shoulders with the borrowed confidence I’m holding onto.
It doesn’t take me long to spot Skye already seated at a table. I’ve only seen her once, but she’s the only person who makes my stomach flip in a way that’s both thrilling and deeply inconvenient.
She’s impossible to miss, even in the dim light.
She’s not just sitting; she’s occupying space with a quiet, gravitational pull, like the perfect storm cloud holding its shape.
Her skin is a deep, warm brown, like rich earth, crisp against the black of her button-up shirt.
Her hair is a cascade of black waves, so dark it has blue highlights where the light catches it.
But it’s her eyes that truly undo me. From across the room, they are a shock of bright, piercing green. Vivid. Scanning the room with a detached coolness and missing nothing.
Skye spots me almost immediately, even though she doesn’t appear to be waiting for me. I suppose she’s smooth like that.
She doesn’t wave or make a big gesture; she simply lifts her chin slightly in my direction. I can’t tell if I’m imagining it, but I swear her expression softens when our eyes meet. Barely, but enough for my pulse to notice as it takes off like a damn racehorse.
I start to walk toward her, trying not to overthink my arms, my stride, or my facial expressions.
Do normal people think about how they’re blinking? Probably not. Knock it off.
When I reach the table, Skye offers me a smile. Warm, but not overwhelming.
“Hi.” I try not to stutter or say anything too crazy.
Don’t word vomit about The Little Mermaid. Cassie’s voice is ringing in my ears.
Skye stands, but her movements aren’t rushed. It seems more like a gesture of respect than anything.
“Hi.”
We stare at each other, and I’m not even uncomfortable about it. I feel like I’m more in shock that this is happening. What is this? I have no idea, but I’m nervous just the same.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d like to drink,” she begins as I take my seat and the waiter pushes in my chair, his hand lingering a little too long on my shoulder. I’d almost forgotten that he’d escorted me to the table because the second I found Skye, my feet had a mind of their own.
“Thank you,” I tell the waiter, whom I notice can’t stop staring at my chest. Blaming the culture here isn’t an excuse because he’s obviously American with his lack of accent and the name Cupid on his shirt.
I ignore him and turn to Skye. “Whatever you’re drinking is fine with me. I’m an equal opportunity alcoholic.”
My eyes go wide, and Skye barks a laugh that she covers with her hand.
“I’m so sorry.” I put my hand over my face. “I’m not actually an alcoholic. I don’t know why I said that.” I grab the menu and start fanning myself like the room just went up twenty degrees.
“You’re okay.” She reaches across the table to grab the menu from me and sets it down. Her fingertips brush my arm, and a shock wave dances up my spine.
Hot damn, I need to pull myself together.
“So, what have you been doing with your time here in Milan?” Skye takes a sip of the clear liquid in her glass. It smells fruity. Like the first night I met her, though most of that is hazy, there’s something about smells that jog the memory.
I prepare my reply, this time without lying, and wow, does that feel good.
Tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear, I slide into the easy conversation.
“So, um… I did manage to leave the hotel a few times, which felt like an accomplishment in itself.” I glance at Skye but try not to overthink my words as I continue. “I went to see the Duomo again. Obviously, because it felt illegal to come to Milan and not experience it as many times as possible.”
“I can’t argue with that.” Skye leans her elbows on the table. “I still haven’t had a chance to really venture out and see anything.”
“Duomo,” I tell her, my hands in the air in front of me. “Highly recommend it. It’s aggressively perfect. Almost like it’s showing off.”