The Destiny of Violet & Luke

by Jessica Sorensen

  “A virgin.” The word itself seems to make him uneasy, which only makes me want to say it more. “Why don’t you get how? Not everyone wants to have sex.”

  “Yeah, but…” He trails off assessing me with his intense brown eyes and now I’m the one that has to work to not fidget. “You dress the way you dress and act the way you act… you fool around with guys… it doesn’t make sense.”

  “I dress the way that I want to,” I tell him, tucking my hands under my legs to try to hold still. “And I act how I need to, but I don’t get why that would make you think I’m a slut… Is it because of Callie? I think she might have thought I was a whore or something.”

  “Why would she think that?”

  I shrug. “Probably for the same reasons you think I am.”

  “I didn’t think you were a slut,” he insists. “I just thought…” His eyes enlarge and then he clears his throat. “Anyway, so if I can’t drink or get laid tonight, then what else is there to do?”

  “You can do whatever you want.” I put my hands on my lap. “I just said that I don’t drink or get laid.”

  He seeks the bottle again and tips his head back, pouring the last few drops down his throat. He gets up and tosses the bottle into the trash by the foot of the bed. I bite my lip watching his muscles ripple like they did when he was fighting with Preston.

  “We could play cards,” he suggests, opening the closet door. He bends down to pick a shirt up from off the floor and the towel slides lower and lower on his hips. I’m not sure if I’m so much as fascinated with his body as how my body is reacting to the sight of him. Invigorated. Excited. I’ve never been excited over a guy before. I’ve either been disinterested or afraid. With people in general.

  Regardless, I want to feel it more, let it shower over me. “Cards?”

  He has a tattoo on his shoulder blade, a dragon. I touch the back of my neck where my own dragon tattoo is as he stands back up and turns around with a deck of cards in his hand. “But the deal is that we can’t play for money.”

  “Good, because I don’t have enough to play with,” I say, still assessing his body, but more discreetly.

  “Neither do I.” He sits down on the bed with his legs over the edge, so he’s not flashing me, and puts the cards on his lap. “However, I never just play Texas Hold ’Em for nothing.”

  “Why not?”

  He clears his throat. “Because it was how I was taught to play.”

  “By who?” I was taught to play by someone, too, and for money. A couple I lived with for about six months used to throw these Texas Hold ’Em parties and I would sit beside the table while Mr. Stronton explained the rules to me. I got pretty good at it too, but it’s been a while since I played.

  He cuts the deck in half and shuffles them. “By my dad.” The way he says it, his voice stressed, makes me speculate if something happened to his dad.

  “Where’s your dad now?” I rise to my feet, adjusting my skirt.

  He aligns the cards on the bed, looking up at me. “He lives in California.”

  I cross the room to the bed he’s sitting on, the navy blue sheet balling up beneath me as I sit down and get comfortable. “Then why don’t you just go live with him?”

  He grips the shuffled deck of cards in his hand. “It’s complicated.”

  “What about your mom?” I ask.

  “Even more complicated.” His knuckles whiten as he tightens his hold on the cards. “What about your parents? What happened to them?”

  “They left me on the doorstep of the neighbors when I was six months old,” I lie breezily. I’ve been doing it for years, making up elaborate stories to avoid the painful truth of what happened when strangers ask me. “I guess they didn’t want me or something.”

  He cuts the deck evenly in half. “Is that the truth? Or are you making up a story?”

  “Why would I make up a story about that?” I ask innocently, tucking my leg underneath me. Again his eyes go to my legs, gradually drifting up to my thighs.

  He studies me unnervingly as heat caresses my skin and coils in my stomach. “To avoid the real truth.”

  “So are we going to play Texas Hold ’Em or what?” I aim to change the subject.

  “Yeah… but there’s a stipulation,” he says. “For every hand you lose you have to tell me one thing that’s true about you.”

  “I don’t like that rule,” I tell him. “And I don’t like telling the truth.”

  “Why? Are you afraid you’ll lose?” he challenges me with haughtiness.

  “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  “That can’t be true. Everyone’s afraid of something.”

  “Fine,” I give in. “But if you lose, then you have to tell me something true about you—and something good.”

  He fans the edge of the cards with his finger, like he’s counting the cards. “What if I don’t have anything good to share?”

  “I’ll be the judge.” I stick out my hand toward him. “Now give me the cards so I can deal. I’m dealer.”

  He turns his hand over with the deck in them. “I usually like to deal.” He puts the cards in my hand, sighing, like he’s surrendering something very valuable.

  I wrap my fingers around the deck. “Do you play a lot?”

  “Occasionally when I need money.”

  I shuffle the deck, even though he already has. I was taught never to trust anyone else when it comes to playing cards. I toss the top one to the side and deal.

  I lift my cards up and peek under them. “If we were playing strip poker, you’d lose after one hand since you’re only wearing a towel.”

  He picks up his cards, pressing back a smile. “Yeah, but I won’t lose.”

  “That’s awfully arrogant of you.” I flip over three cards on the bed, lining them up between us.

  His mouth gradually expands to this know-it-all smile. “I know.”

  I turn over my cards and he gives me this strange look. “There’s no point in hiding what we have since we’re not actually raising the stakes.”

  He smiles. “I’m keeping mine hidden, so go ahead and deal another.”

  I do what he says and the next card I deal is an ace. I have one, but I don’t get excited just yet. Even though the odds are in my favor, doesn’t mean they’ll end up that way. First rule of cards. And of life.

  Luke’s expression is a mixture of inquisitiveness and boredom, which makes no sense since the two don’t really go together. “Deal the last card,” he says.

  I turn it over and lay it down. None of the cards are suits and there’s nothing close to a flush or run. I have a good chance of winning or at least tying if he’s lucky enough to have an ace.

  “What are you smiling about?” Luke wonders, rearranging his cards. “Maybe I have an ace, too.”

  “I didn’t know I was smiling,” I say, biting my lip to stop. “What do you got?”

  He places his cards down and my elation instantly sinks. “What can I say?” He rubs his jawline thoughtfully. “I must be lucky.”

  I scrunch my nose at his cards. “How is it even possible for you to get pocket aces?”

  “Any hand’s possible.” He relaxes back on the mattress on his elbows and the towel slips open just enough that I can see his thighs. “Now I get to ask a question.”

  “Go head.” It doesn’t mean I’ll tell the truth. “Ask away.”

  His legs spread apart a little and I swear I can see his balls. “Tell me why you jumped out the window that night.”

  I don’t miss a beat. “I was tripping on acid and I wanted to see if I could fly.”

  He rolls his eyes. “I’ve seen people tripping on acid before and you definitely weren’t.” He tosses his cards aside and overlaps his hands on his lap. “Come on, Violet. Tell me the truth.”

  I frown. “I really don’t want to.”

  “Well, you have to. It’s part of the game.”

  I waver, biting my fingernails. He’s taking all the fun out of the moment and repla
cing it with pressure. “Would you believe me if I told you I was trying to fly?”

  “Were you?” His body goes rigid. “Were you trying… Did you do it on purpose?”

  I drop my hand to my lap. “You think I’m suicidal?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” he says, swallowing hard. “That’s why I’m asking you.” His voice comes out off pitch, troubling, and I wonder why.

  “I’m not. I promise.” I pause, trying to shake the emerging feelings out of my body. “What about you? Why were you looking for a fight that night?”

  He shakes his head. “You haven’t won a hand yet, so I don’t have to answer.”

  I lower my gaze to his cards on the bed. “How the hell did you end up with two aces?”

  “I guess I’m just lucky.”

  “Luck doesn’t exist.”

  We stare at each other stubbornly and then reluctantly I give up, which might be a first for me. But I’m still determined to win the next hand and get an answer from him to level the playing field.

  “I was running from a couple of guys,” I say as I collect the cards from the bed. I can’t believe I just gave in to him like that. “That’s why I jumped out the window.”

  “Why were you running from them?” He hands me his discarded cards and I add them to the top of the deck.

  “No way.” I scoot the cards across the bed toward him. “That would be two questions and you only won one.”

  He picks up the cards with a smirk on his face. “That’s okay. I’ll just ask you after I win the next hand.” He shuffles the deck and deals out the cards, looking so pleased with himself.

  I end up losing that next hand and he asks me the same question I refused to answer earlier, and then waits patiently for me to respond.

  “I did something,” I answer, annoyed. How the hell did he win that hand? It’s bullshit. First two aces, then two queens.

  “What kind of something?” He has the deck of cards in his hand and is fanning them with his thumb.

  “I screwed someone over.”

  “That’s still not really an answer.”

  “Well, it’s the best I can give you,” I say, but he just keeps staring at me, fanning the cards, over and over again, his sexy brown eyes weaseling their way under my skin. “Fine.” I give in for some crazy reason, the bliss I felt earlier slipping farther and farther away and I know that soon I’m going to have to do something about it. “I screwed them over during a deal a month or so ago.”

  He processes what I said and then sits up, chucking the cards aside. “Wait? ‘Deal’ as in drugs?”

  I shrug with my hands out to my side. “Are you really that surprised?”

  His eyes scroll up and down me. “Yeah… I don’t know.” He scratches his head. “Why do you do it?”

  “Because it’s a job,” I tell him. “I also work as a waitress because I hate being in debt and school has made me get in debt a lot.”

  “But you could go to jail. Or worse stuff could happen.” He swallows hard. “Drugs are dangerous, Violet.”

  “So.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you? What could happen to you?”

  “Not really. Life is just life, whether I’m living in the streets, behind bars, or in a dorm.”

  He frowns at me. “I had a friend that went to jail once and things weren’t great for him for a while.”

  “Things are never great for me.” It slips out and the shocked look on his face makes me want to take it back. “It doesn’t really matter anyway,” I hurry and say, hoping to distract him. “I don’t have a supplier anymore so I won’t be dealing for a while.” I swallow hard at the truth.

  He frees a breath, his solid, tattooed chest puffing out. “Where do you get the drugs?”

  I hold up two fingers. “That’s two questions and again I only owe you one.”

  Shaking his head, he grabs the cards and quickly deals another hand. He wins again and my suspicion rises because he has an ace and a queen and the probability of him getting such good cards three times in a row is unlikely.

  “I’m not so sure these are legitimate wins,” I state, putting my cards on top of the deck. It’s not that I’m pissed, which is strange. I’m more intrigued than anything because usually I’m the one screwing someone over, but if he is cheating—if he’s fucked me over—that’d be a first in a long, long time. “I think you might be cheating, Mr. Stoically Aloof.”

  “Prove it then.” His lips quirk. “Now, for my next question. Where do you get the drugs?”

  “From a panda bear,” I say the first thing that pops into my head, not ready to fully accept he’s won this hand.

  His forehead creases and then he chuckles under his breath. “Oh my fucking God, you are seriously the strangest person I’ve ever met.”

  “Thanks.” I shake my head and shuffle the cards on the mattress in front of me.

  He puts his hand over mine, stopping me from shuffling. “No way. You still need to answer my question.”

  “What? ‘Panda bear’ wasn’t a good enough answer for you?”

  “Where do you get the drugs from?” He withdraws his hand from mine.

  I align the cards evenly against the mattress. “From the guy you beat up today.”

  His lips part in shock. “How do you even know him?”

  “He’s my foster parent, or was from the time I was fifteen to eighteen.”

  “Your foster parent?” He gapes at me. “Are you fucking serious?”

  “What do you think?” I remain as composed as I can, making him work to see if I’m telling the truth.

  He firmly maintains my gaze. “I think you are.”

  “Okay then. You have your answer.”

  “Okay then.” He repeats my words, his face contorting with perplexity as he takes the deck from me. “Next hand.”

  This time I watch him carefully, calculating every one of his movements. Everything seems flawless, until I go to pick up my dealt cards. I notice him shift his weight forward and scratch his leg. I swear to God it looks like he takes something out from underneath his ass.

  “Wait a minute.” I raise a finger, setting my cards down as I lean forward. “Did you just take a card out from under your ass?”

  “Now why would I do that?” He lifts the two cards he has as he presses his hand innocently to his chest. “Besides, where would I put the other cards I dealt?”

  “How the hell should I know,” I say. “Maybe up your ass.”

  He blinks at me, unimpressed and I get to my feet. Without any warning I push on his arm so I can look under his ass. He busts up laughing again and I make a mental note that I’ve involuntarily managed to get him to laugh twice in the last few minutes. I don’t know what it means, other than I must be on some comedian trip and he finds me amusing when no one really has before.

  As he tips to the side, and lets me look under his ass, I get a peek of his ass as the towel slouches lower on his hip and smell the scent of booze on his breath.

  There’s a card hidden under him, just like I thought and I snatch it up and hold it between my fingers. “You were cheating the whole time, weren’t you?”

  He grabs the card away from me, a trace of a smile at his lips. “I always cheat at cards. It was how I was taught to play.”

  “So you knew I’d lose every hand and you’d get to ask the questions.” I sink down on the bed, crossing my legs, unsure what to make of this. No one’s ever played me like that. “I’m not sure whether to be pissed off or impressed.”

  “I’d go with the latter,” he tells me, his smile growing and reaching his eyes.

  “I could do that…” What the hell is my problem? I should be getting upset with him. He played me. And I kind of like it, in a weird, playful way. “But I only think it’s fair that you answer some of my questions.”

  “Why’s that fair?” he asks, tightening the loosened towel on his waist. “I should get to ask more questions for being clever enough to trick you, which I’m guessing doesn’
t happen that often. I’m guessing you’re usually on the giving end instead of the receiving.”

  “I get to ask you three questions,” I say, cutting him off. “And the first one I want to know is why don’t you have anywhere to live?”

  He’s unenthusiastic about my question. “That’s really what you’re choosing to ask?” he asks and I nod. “Fine, but it’s nothing interesting like dealing drugs.” He blows out a loud breath, leaning back down on the bed, propping sideways on his hip. “I do have a place to live, but it means going back to live with my mom in my hometown and I don’t want to do that.”

  “Why not?” I ask. “You don’t like your mom?”

  “Not really.” He lifts up two fingers. “That’s two questions, for the record. You only get one more.” His voice quivers and so do his fingers. I feel bad for him because I can tell there’s more to it then what he says. As much as I loved my mother, I know from my time in foster care that not all mothers are sweet and loving like mine was. Mine would read me stories, sing with me. She even taught me how to play the piano, but there are some who don’t like children, who hurt them, not just physically, but emotionally, both of which I’ve experienced.

  I thrum my fingers on top of my leg, thinking how far I want to delve into his head and my own. “Why don’t you just rent a place here?”

  It wasn’t the question he was expecting and he’s startled by the easiness of it. “Because I have about two hundred bucks to my name.”

  “Me, too.” I lean back against the headboard and kick my feet up on the bed. “How coincidental is that?”

  “Not very coincidental,” he replies. “Considering we’re both two college kids who just had to fork out a shitload of money to pay for fall tuition.” He reorganizes the deck, moving top cards to the bottom. “You know, together we have about four hundred bucks. That’s enough to get an apartment in one of the Oak Section Apartments.” He winces as he says it and I’m not sure if it’s because he just offered to live with me or because the Oak Section Apartments are in the ghetto area of the city, where crackheads and prostitutes live. But they’re easy to get into and cheap because no one but crack heads and prostitutes want to live there.