The Probability of Violet and Luke

by Jessica Sorensen

  “I know,” he replies. “And trust me, I’m not resting until it’s solved either. But I also need you to let me call you when something happens, instead of checking in.”

  “Sorry for bugging you,” I mutter, opening my eyes.

  “You’re not bugging me at all. I just want you to stop stressing about this and try to live a normal life,” he says. “And while we’re on the phone. How’s the texting from that reporter? Did he stop?”

  “Yeah, he did,” I say, standing up straight and collecting my bag from the floor. “Thanks for getting that restraining order put on him.”

  “Anytime.” There’s another pause and I know what’s coming before he says it. “What about Mira Price’s son? Have you talked to him at all since I brought him in for questioning?”

  “Not really.” My chest starts to tighten, my lungs constricting and sucking away the air. Stop it. Turn it off.

  “I think that’s for the better,” he says. “At least for now.”

  I get what he’s saying, but it feels so wrong. For the better? If this is for the better, then why does it hurt so badly? “I have to go,” I say. “It’s time for my next class.”

  “Okay,” he says. “And remember, call me if you need anything.”

  But clearly he means call me only if you need something that doesn’t have to do with checking in.

  After I hang up, I pull myself together and walk out of the bathroom confidently, ready to move on from the conversation and go fishing—a distraction. But the moment I step into the pond, I feel deflated, thinking about how much I’d rather be trying to drown myself instead of standing out in the campus yard, looking for a sucker. The longer I search the crowd, the more I just want to bail and deal with whatever punishment Preston’s going to give me. I’m not feeling it and I’m about to give up when my phone buzzes from inside my pocket.

  I take it out and unlock the screen. A text from an unknown number. Not surprising. It happens all the time anymore.

  Unknown: I know what happened to your parents.

  And let the games begin. I shake my head, thinking of Stan, and some of the other calls and texts I’ve gotten since the news went public. I consider what I should text back.

  Me: Yeah, I think everyone does anymore u moron. They were murdered. Thanks for reminding me though. That was super-duper nice of you.

  I move to put my phone away but it buzzes in my hand. Sighing, I open the incoming message.

  Unknown: But I know who did it.

  I stop breathing as I read it over and over and for a brief, very gullible moment on my part I actually wonder if this person might know something, like maybe about Mira or the other person that was there that night. But at the end of my analysis, I decide that it’s probably just some god damn asshole, like Stan the reporter, and a few other one’s I’ve sporadically met during my few trips to the police station. I even received one phone call with someone bribing me with their information in exchange for a few gory details of what I saw that night. I wasn’t stupid enough to believe that a reporter new more than the police and I do, so I told him where he could go fuck himself.

  I’m about to text back and call the person out on when I hear someone say, “Are you Violet?”

  There’s a guy standing in front of me and my entire body tenses as a million different thoughts race through my mind of who he could be. A reporter. The police. The other person who was there that night my parent’s where killed, although he looks too young for the latter.

  He’s wearing a fancy pinstripe shirt with the sleeves rolled up, along with a pair of name brand jeans, and shoes shinier than my lip-gloss. “You are Violet, right?”

  Despite my alarm, I don’t miss a beat, even though my heart does. “Why? What’s it to you?”

  His lips spread to a slow smile as he sticks out his hand for me to shake. “I’m Roy. Preston told me I could probably find you down here and that you could hook me and some of my colleagues up.”

  “He did, huh?” I say, relaxing. Preston knows my routine a little too well, I guess. Still I don’t appreciate the unannounced ambush. “Yeah, I’m her.”

  His smile broadens, but his brows furrow when I won’t shake his hand. “Good, come with me.”

  I don’t budge from my spot underneath the tree. “Yeah, I’m going to need to check with Preston before I go anywhere with some random dude who looks like he could be a lawyer and who could be setting me up.”

  His smile falters, but then he relaxes and bobs his head up and down. “Yeah. Totally. I understand.”

  “Give me a second.” I walk away from him, dialing Preston’s number when I reach out-of-hearing range.

  “Hey beautiful.” Preston sounds like he might be high and having a party with all the background noise. “I was expecting your call.”

  “Why? Because you sent some rich douche down here without telling me?” I say, glancing back at Roy who has his attention focused on a girl in a skirt bending over to pick up a paper she dropped and who’s totally flashing the entire campus yard.

  “I was testing you,” he says simply. “I want to make sure we don’t have anymore screw ups in our future.”

  I roll my eyes. “So did I pass or fail?”

  “You passed,” he says and I can hear the grin in his voice. “Which means only good punishments for you tonight.”

  My heart withers a little more—soon there won’t be anything left of it. “If it’s okay with you, and you’re test is over, I’ll get back to fishing.”

  “No, Violet, you need to go with Roy,” he says, talking loudly over the music.

  I press my finger to my ear so I can hear better. “Why? I thought it was a test?”

  “A test yeah, but Roy has a connection to this underground poker game place in one of the more upper ends of Laramie and if we can impress him he might just make us his permanent dealers. Which is a good thing. Trust me. We’re getting in with the big timers.”

  I try not to freeze up at the mention of underground poker, because I know Luke likes to hangout at those kinds of places and big timers are a lot different than dumbass college guys who think with their dicks. “I’m not sure I want to do this deal.”

  “Violet, don’t fuck this up for me,” he says, his anger rising through his voice. “This is a great opportunity and if you’ll just act like your normal self, I know you can dazzle the shit out of them. Just make sure to give them whatever they want.”

  “I’m not a whore,” I say, getting pissed. “I’m not going to fuck anyone.”

  “I never said you had to, but I think you have it in you, if you had to,” he says. I’m about to yell at him, right in front of Roy when he adds, “Look, I’m sure no one expects you to fuck them or give them a blow job or anything. Just smile and show them your cleavage and I’m sure my product will seal the deal. You can save the fucking and blow jobs for me later. In fact, I’d kind of prefer it if you did.”

  I squeeze my eyes closed and tell myself to shut it all down. Don’t feel a thing. “Fine, I’ll do it, but I swear to God if someone says something about you saying that I was going to take care of them, I’ll kick you in the balls when I get home.”

  “I like it when you talk kinky to me,” he says with a deep chuckle. “Now get out there and make me happy then come back to me. I’m starting to miss you.”

  I feel like I’m going to barf right here in front of everyone, all over the grass. I shake my head, annoyed, but still tell him okay, because I don’t really have a choice. Then I hang up and go back over to Roy, smiling as sweetly as I can. “All right Roy, where are we going?”

  “Up on Fifth and Grove,” he says with a grin as his gaze lazily takes me in.

  We start across the campus yard. It’s quiet between the two of us and I’m pretty content with it, but apparently Roy isn’t because he says, “So do you like playing Texas Hold’em?”

  I shrug, trying not to think about the last time I played Texas Hold’em with Luke while he was wearing a tow
el. “It’s okay, I guess.”

  He stops in front of a black Mercedes with tinted windows and shiny chrome trim. He aims the keys at it and it beeps, the lights flashing and the doors unlocking. “Well, if I were you, I’d pretend that you love it for tonight.”

  I nod, getting his meaning. “Got it.”

  We get into the car and he turns on the engine. Then he cranks the heat when he notices that I’m shivering a little from the chilly breeze outside. “You should have worn a jacket or something.” he remarks as he buckles the seatbelt.

  I glance down at the goosebumps on my legs. “A jacket isn’t part of my uniform,” I tell him, bouncing my knees up and down, trying to warm up.

  “Oh, gottcha,” he says as he pushes the shifter into reverse. “There’s some Vodka under the seat if you want a shot.” He backs up the car and straightens the wheel, then flashes me a grin. “It might warm you up.”

  I’m about to decline, because I’m not a fan of drinking—it makes me too crazy and emotional—but then I remember what I’m supposed to be. And that if I do mess this up, then I mess up the little life that I have. So instead I put on my dazzling smile, the fake one I haven’t worn in a while, then reach under the seat, to take a shot, pretending to be okay, pretending I’m not drowning in a sea of pain. Pretending that I’m okay with being here, when I’m not.

  It used to be so much easier to do this, float around in life, detached from everyone, including myself. But that was before I met Luke and discovered what it was like to be happy. And the worst part of it is knowing I’ll never have it again.

  Chapter 4

  Luke

  I’m in deep shit but I’m still trying to figure out if I care. Some pop song plays from the surround sound, empty glasses cover the table, and I’ve doubled my money, mainly because I’m cheating and very carelessly too. I should probably be more cautious, but I continue to ride high, drinking shot after shot with a curvy brunette on my lap. I’ve gotten everything I was looking for when I came here and I feel good for the most part, except for that goddamn spot in my heart that’s screaming at me to stop. That there’s something better than this out there for me. But what my fucking heart doesn’t get is that she doesn’t want me.

  There are three other guys sitting at the table—Geraldson, the owner of the house, a big bulky dude—and the other two about the same height and weight as me—Carson and I think Dougford, who doesn’t trust me. They’re older and rougher than the usual crowd I play with. I think I even saw a gun tucked into the back of Geraldson’s pants when I walked up to the table. Toverson is out on the back deck, talking to someone on the cellphone, but keeps glancing through the door in my direction, giving me a look of warning.

  “You in or out?” Carson asks, fanning through his chips as he tries to read my bluff.

  I glance down at the eight of hearts and queen of spades in my hand and then at the four cards on the table; a five, seven, nine, and a jack. I’m about to fold, but then the brunette slants forward and presses her tits against my chin, giving me a face full of cleavage.

  “Just go for it,” she whispers in my ear, tickling her finger up and down the back of my neck. “It’s so hot when guys are risky like that.”

  I’m about to tell her to fuck off, reach into my pocket and take out one of the cards I have hidden in there, but Dougford is watching my every move from across the table, so I toss the chips in, figuring I’ll lose one hand to make my wins look more legit. “I’m in.” I say, being cocky for no goddamn reason.

  Carson gives me an arrogant grin in return, but I think he’s pretending he’s got something when he doesn’t. I relax back in the chair and grope the brunette’s hips while the dealer flips over the river card. It’s a two. Shit. I have absolutely nothing. Normally, I’d fold or switch my cards, but I remind myself to lose a hand and match the bet.

  He grins like a prick as he lays his cards down and reveals that he has a pair of queens. I know the odds of that are pretty low, making me think that he might be cheating so I decide no more cautious playing—I’m cheating with every hand that I can from now on.

  It takes a lot not to shove the brunette off my lap and lean over and punch the grin off his face. To calm myself down, I pour myself another shot from the Tequila bottle on the table. I barely feel the burn anymore—barely feel anything at all.

  It’s Geraldson’s turn to deal so he collects the cards while Dougford takes out a couple of cigars from a wooden box that’s beside him. He smells one of them, then gives Geraldson and Carson each one.

  “You smoke?” he asks me in his raspy voice.

  I shrug and take the cigar he’s offering, figuring it might keep me content until I can step outside to have a smoke. People are so weird sometimes. No smoking cigarettes in the house, but cigars are perfectly okay.

  I light up and inhale, but it’s not enough to soothe the hunger inside me, so I end up putting it out in the ashtray after three puffs.

  “What? Not good enough for you?” Carson asks, separating his chips in to color coordinated piles.

  I reach for the cards Gerard dealt me. “No, it’s just not what I usually smoke.” My tension starts to unravel when I see the ace in my hand. I’ve been waiting for the damn ace to show up so I could use the one I have up my sleeve. Pocket aces.

  I’m trying not to grin as I get ready for the game to get going, when the front door swings open and a guy around my age wearing preppy clothes and a cocky smile walks into the room.

  “Roy, man. What’s up?” Geraldson says, setting his cards face down on the table as he gets up from his chair to give the guy a one-handed hug.

  “Not much,” Roy says as he steps aside to let someone else in that’s behind him and suddenly every single movement and noise around me fades.

  Violet, fucking, Hayes.

  She looks way too amazing, dressed in a short black dress that shows off her endless legs and the heels… god damn what I would do to fuck her with just those heels on. I’m seriously getting a hard on just thinking about it, which would be fine except the brunette on my lap must feel it pressing against her ass and she gets this look in her eyes like she thinks it’s from her and is considering acting on it. Suddenly I’m very aware that she’s on my lap. Through the fogginess in my mind, I debate whether I care or not. Violet and I are over. I shouldn’t care, but I do. I care so much that I hurry and push the brunette off of my lap, before Violet sees me.

  But I move to late and her eyes find me like magnets and I’m metal just as I’m shoving the woman off. There’s a flash of jealousy in Violet’s eyes as she glares at the woman who’s gripping my shoulders to get her balance, and as disturbing as it is, I fucking love the sight of it in her eyes. That she still cares enough to get jealous.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  Violet tears her gaze off me as Roy says something to her and the woman that was on my lap gives me a nasty look before heading into the kitchen to get a drink. Violet sticks out her hand to shake Geraldson’s hand, flashing him a fake smile—I know her well enough to know that’s not her real smile. Geraldson doesn’t stand a chance against whatever she’s got up her sleeve—whatever the reason is that she’s here. They say something to each other in low voices and I become very aware of why she’s here. Dealing. Motherfucking hell, this isn’t good. Not here with these guys. This isn’t the same as her little deals with college frat boys. These are hardcore bookies and I’m guessing hardcore dealers.

  “Sit. Have a drink and play with us,” Geraldson says to Roy, gesturing at the table. Then he turns to Violet and arches his brow. “You like watching men play Texas Hold’em, sweet thing?”

  She discretely glances at me from the corner of her eye with a look on her face that I can tell means she’s biting back a snide retort over Geraldson’s sexist remark. “Sure,” she says tightly.

  “Good, then sit down, have a drink, and we’ll chat.” Geraldson grins and motions for her to sit down in an empty seat, the one beside me of
all places. Violet looks tense, but still comes over and while she’s walking, Geraldson’s checking out her ass the entire way.

  I expect Violet to waver before sitting but being the pro that she is, she manages to take a seat without so much as a flash of hesitation. She doesn’t look at me though, even when her leg brushes against mine from under the table, but it causes my breath to catch in my throat. Guess I’m losing on the who wants who more hand.

  “Violet, this is Dougford, Carson,” Gerald starts with introductions as he sits down at the table and then each guy reaches across the table to shake Violet’s hand. Then he goes to me. “And this is Luke.”

  Violet turns her head in my direction, her eyes sparkling. If I didn’t know better, I’d guess she was enjoying this. But how could she be when she can barely look at me in class? “It’s nice to meet you, Luke.” She raises her eyebrows slightly then sticks out her hand for me to shake.