by Olivia Luck
“Excuse me while I get a drink,” I tell them a few minutes later. I track Violet from the corner of my eye even as I cross the room. Her back’s to me and my, what a fine backside she has. The dress cuts away like a tank top, revealing her toned arms. A gold zipper trails down the length of her spine, taunting me with what lies beneath the fabric.
Felix gestures for me to join him at the makeshift bar erected by the caterers. It’s then I notice that vases of flowers spread over the empty surfaces. White delicate petals, bunched together in low vases and high vases emanating a light floral scent wafting through the room.
“Stella’s favorite flower,” Felix tells me as I observe the décor. “Blake buys them for her all the time. He insisted Violet decorate with them tonight.”
“Violet did all this?”
“She’s talented, that one,” Stella joins our conversation, appearing at Felix’s elbow. “Will you make me two champagne cocktails, please?” Unknowingly, she bats her dark eyelashes at the bartender who nods stupidly at her innocent beauty.
“Give me a proper hello,” I say stooping down to brush a chaste kiss across her cheek.
“Get your hands off my woman,” Blake growls. He’s all bite, and my closest friend, but I don’t think for one second that he wouldn’t clock me if he thought I was coming on to Stella.
“Relax, man. She’s all yours.”
After all, Blake has been giving me shit for eyeing Violet for ages.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” Stella curses swiftly in a whisper.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Blake cups her upper arms in his palms, looking for visible signs of distress. A stab of jealousy presses between my shoulder blades. Then I see where Stella’s looking.
The blonde Tucker brought as his date and Paige surround Violet near the fireplace. Paige studies a cluster of framed photographs on the hearth, brows furrowed.
“There’s a picture from Violet’s . . . I forgot to take it down,” Stella’s dangerously near tears.
“Don’t worry. I got this.”
I don’t wait for permission when I swipe one of the champagne flutes from the makeshift bar. Loose strides eat up the space separating me from Violet. I arrive in enough time to hear Paige say (and to her credit, without an ounce of malice), “Oh, I didn’t know you were married.”
The picture she’s referring to only captures Stella and Violet on the wedding day. There’s no groom in the image, but the auburn beauty is most obviously a bride. In the simple white dress and happiness radiating off her, she’s a beacon of bliss. Selfishly, I wonder if I could ever make her shine that way.
“Special delivery. Stella ordered me to bring this to you.” I smoothly interject myself into the conversation without giving any obvious signs of hearing Paige’s statement. Only Violet’s eyes betray a glimmer of sadness. She fights through it, lips twitching upward.
“Thanks, Cameron,” she murmurs.
“What can I get you ladies from the bar?”
As they roll off their requests, I can’t help but drink in Violet. What would she do if I put my hand on the small of her back? Dragged her close to me in a silent show of support. There’s no chance to find out, as I have to get those drinks.
As I’m walking away, I hear Violet. “My husband passed away.”
“Oh. Oh. I’m so sorry,” Paige says, sounding sincere. Tucker’s date murmurs something similar.
“You didn’t know. It’s all right,” Violet says clearly. It’s then I realize she didn’t need me to rescue her.
That fight, that bravery, makes me want her all the more.
Violet
I’m not proud to admit that I hid next to Felix for much of the night. The whole evening has been a twisty road of heightened emotions.
At one bend, my entire body feels like it is boiling over from the smoldering looks Cameron keeps shooting my way. When he touched my waist and whispered in my ear, I nearly fell apart.
On another bend, I stumbled over the reminder that I was married and my husband is no longer here. When Paige asked about the wedding photo, it was a truly innocent question, but it still ripped through me like a sharp blade.
All that confusion leaves me uneasy. So I’m doing what I do best, holing up next to my gay armor, Felix, wearing a painted smile. There was a seated dinner and, admittedly, the conversation was fun and lighthearted, but I couldn’t muster the brainpower to be a major player. I’m at war with myself.
I can’t stop staring at the curve of Cameron’s lips. His scruffy but styled facial hair frames them expertly. When he smiles, two dimples dent his cheeks. The strong lines of his jaw ease and I wonder what it would be like to trace his face with my fingers and run them over his playful lips.
And then I force my gaze away, staring at the table and reminding myself that it’s not the time for me to date. Max is hardly gone, and I’m mentally rubbing up against Cameron like I’m a cat and he’s a scratching post. What’s even more tormenting, too, is that this is only the second guy ever I’ve been attracted to in this way. Max, being the first.
“V, I’m going to roll out.” Felix interrupts my musing from his seat next to me. He’s leaving the party before midnight to spend it with Dex where he’s working.
“Tell Dex I said hi. And be safe, okay? There are crazies out tonight.” Felix stands and straightens his suit jacket. He bends down to squeeze my shoulders and press a quick kiss to the crown of my head.
Normally, Felix would tease me. It’s his way. But when it comes to his safety, or anyone I love for that matter, my anxiety becomes obvious. My fear of losing someone else like I lost Max is no joke. “Of course. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Felix filters through the party, giving his farewells.
I stay seated with Zoe, Dominic, and some of Blake’s other friends. The conversation floats around me, and my responses are robotic. I smile when I’m supposed to smile and laugh when I’m supposed to laugh.
“Oh, I love this song!” Zoe says, drawing the group’s attention to the music.
It’s REO Speedwagon, Keep on Loving You. Of course, I made this playlist, but still the lyrics are a stark reminder of my tortured heart.
“Excuse me,” I murmur to the circle, pushing back from my seat and rising.
I know the house well. Including the fastest route to grab one of Stella’s jackets from the mudroom and then head out the sliding glass door that leads to the backyard. Stella convinced Blake (not that he needed much convincing) that they needed heat lamps for the patio in case anyone wanted to step outside. I’m thankful for her foresight because the air bites with cold.
Hugging Stella’s wool coat tight to my chest, I watch snowflakes lazily fall to the earth. Undisturbed white snow covers the backyard, glittering like thousands of sparkling diamonds. At another time in my life, I’d revel in the splendor.
Gazing up at the stars, I can’t help but succumb to melancholia. I thrust my hands deeper into the pockets of the jacket, unsuccessfully trying to ward off the cold that follows me wherever I go.
“What do you see up there?”
I nearly jump out of my skin when Cameron’s voice sounds from next to me.
“You scared me,” I say, my hand escaping from its warm cocoon and pressing to my chest.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see his lips lift in a semblance of a smile.
If I were a different girl, in a different frame of mind, in a different galaxy, I’d lift my lips flirtatiously back at him. But that’s not me.
“That wasn’t my intention.” His hands are also in his pockets. For an insane instant, I wish he would grab my hand in his. If I were going to seek comfort in anyone, Cameron is the person I’d want it to be. He exudes the three st’s: steady, strong, stable.
I’m hopelessly attracted to men who exude the three st’s. I had one once, and now he’s gone.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he observes calmly.
On the flipside, I don’t like being bossed around. By anyone. Except
when Cameron uses his commanding voice with me, it doesn’t raise my hackles and send me into an antagonistic mood. Quite the opposite, actually. I’m relieved. He takes on the burden of making decisions and being in control and I can let go. If only for a few minutes.
“I was thinking about how random life is,” I tell him softly.
“Oh?” He’s genuinely interested in my rambling.
“There’s no order to this life. A massive bang and then we were all left to fend for ourselves.”
“That’s a pretty bleak way of looking at the world,” Cameron observes. The normal humor in his tone is gone.
I turn my gaze to him, a sad smile flickering. “Maybe to you it’s bleak, but I find it comforting.”
His eyes narrow as he studies me. “Why’s that?”
“If there’s a grand plan, mine won’t end with a happily ever after. My father disowned me when I left for college. My sister was my best friend and now she’s no longer in my life because of the power my parents hold over her. Then I lost Max and . . . I have to believe I’m the master of my own destiny. Otherwise, I’ll think there’s nothing left for me.”
A warm, steady, stable, strong hand settles at the base of my neck. The collar of my jacket dips when his fingers close around my skin. Cameron’s not wearing gloves; the rough calluses from years of playing hockey are oddly comforting. A sign that he’s a man, confident, sexy and . . .
All of a sudden my chest hurts.
I want to cry.
I want to burrow myself in his arms and soak up his strength.
I want to run away.
I want him to kiss me.
Somewhere in the distance, a firework explodes in the night sky.
“It must be midnight,” I say stupidly.
Slowly, as if not to spook me, Cameron raises his other hand. He cradles my head in his hands. His face drifts closer and I can’t help but gasp. Is he going to kiss me? That’s what I want. Isn’t it? I tremble in his grasp. The reaction has nothing to do with the temperature.
In the end, he does kiss me.
His lips are warm when they press against my forehead. His facial hair bristles against my cool skin. There, with his lips touching my skin, his words vibrate against me, sending sensations fluttering down low in my belly.
“Happy New Year, Violet.”
Then he kisses my forehead again. It’s not sexual, sensual, seductive, or any other one of those intimate words I can think of. No, this kiss is like a hot bubble bath after being caught in a rainstorm. It’s a bowl of chicken noodle soup to soothe the flu. Cameron’s kiss warms me from within and settles all of the craziness running rampant in my mind.
At this moment, there’s peace.
I find myself not wanting this moment to end. I lift my arms to settle around his waist, hugging him loosely.
It’s hard to say how long we stand there, joined by the gentle pressure of his chin atop my head, and my cheek lightly touching his heart.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
A bang from inside the house startles me, and I jump backward. Cameron remains maddeningly unflappable, shifting backward with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.
“How are you getting home?”
The abrupt change of topic helps me regain my footing. “Oh. Probably a cab.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“Okay.” I say it because I trust him and because he makes me feel safe.
Whatever else I feel for him is pushed aside because knowing, just knowing, there’s a tiny part of me that wants more than friendship from Cameron is too much to consider.
Violet
After whatever that was on New Year’s Eve, things went back to normal between Cameron and me. Well, as normal as they were. I kept watching Rocky, planning the Scrapers event, and working on the spa opening with Lorelei. Cameron watched another movie on my list with me but didn’t touch me once. Strictly platonic.
It got to the point where I wondered if the moment I shared with Cameron was a dream. Or, if not a dream, something that meant much more to me than him. I don’t know if I’m glad about this turn of events or disappointed. Perhaps a mix of the two.
“The whole team is going to be there?”
I glance across the car and flash Ben a reassuring smile.
“That’s right. The whole team and the coaches are going to be at this meeting. I’ve already met with the administrative staff and told them about the event. This is the last step up until the party.” I smoothly slip the car into a parallel spot. When the car’s in park, I turn to Ben to give him my full attention. “Listen, if you don’t want to do this, you absolutely don’t have to. I’m going to speak first and then open up the floor to you.”
Ben grins his toothy smile. Not an ounce of indecision is apparent. “No, I was just checking. I’m really excited.”
Impulsively, I reach over to his hand and give it a squeeze. “Thank you, Ben. I can’t say it enough. This really means a lot to me.”
We climb out of the car and hustle inside. January in Chicago is unforgiving. Ice crusts the sidewalk and makes it difficult to manage in the heels I’m wearing to pull off the professional attire. The blast of heat inside the training facility is welcome and I release the belt around my camel coat. Today I’m wearing black wide leg trousers and a white cashmere sweater. My face is mostly clear of make-up, and my hair is loose and straight around my shoulders.
Speaking in front of a crowd normally doesn’t make me nervous. Well-prepared and practiced, this shouldn’t be too challenging. Yet my palms are sweaty. I’m probably more anxious about this than Ben, who’s taking the training facility in through wide eyes. After so many trips here, I know now where I’m going and take him through the maze of hallways to the player’s meeting room. It’s a small lecture hall, with tiered seating, a projection screen, and podium at the front.
Janet’s waiting for us when we arrive. She welcomes Ben very pleasantly, striking up a conversation with him about the team while I scurry around the room to set up the presentation on the projector. There’s nothing too new about what I’ll share with the team. Janet’s seen it all before, and Rick, Tomas, and Cameron know most of my presentation, too. Everyone who knows the details of the event has approved. Stella, my perpetual cheerleader, tells me it’s my best work yet. Still, I’m nervous.
The players file into the room, and I hear Ben gasp. Turning, I give him a more confident wink than reflects what I’m actually feeling.
A tall, thin man with a gray mustache and thick salt and pepper hair strides into the room and right over to Janet and me.
“Lucas,” he says crisply extending his hand. I shake it firmly.
“Coach Mason, thank you for freeing up some time with your team.”
“Yes, of course. No more than an hour, right?”
“Absolutely,” I confirm. “Please let me introduce you to Ben Baccino.” I slide my arm around Ben’s shoulders and bring him into our conversation. Ben stares in shock for a minute until he remembers his wide, uncomplicated grin. The coach’s rough exterior melts a few degrees when he shakes Ben’s hand and I release a breath of relief.
First hurdle crossed.
To my surprise, Cameron enters the room talking to Dominic. I didn’t think they were that friendly. Cameron’s wearing his standard workout gear, sweatpants, a t-shirt, and hoodie, but he moves like he’s in a tuxedo. My heart beats double time, and I know it has nothing to do with my presentation. As if he senses me watching him, Cameron lifts his gaze to me and offers me a lopsided grin. My cheeks warm in response, and I quickly focus my attention on Dominic, who’s walking over to where Ben and I are standing.
“I didn’t know you were coming to this,” I say by way of greeting.
“Wouldn’t miss the opportunity to see my favorite cousin speak to my team,” Dominic says before going in for a “bro” hug with Ben. Even though Dom’s words are said lightly, I can’t help but hear a warning in t
hem. Don’t let Ben get embarrassed in front of his heroes.
Got it. Loud and clear.
Briskly, I turn to Janet. “We’re ready whenever you are.”
There’s an introduction to the event first from Janet. She’s not doing much to sell it. In fact, I think one of the guys is sleeping in the back row of chairs. Dominic’s sitting in the front next to Ben. I refuse to let myself find Cameron because if I do, I’m afraid I’ll lose my concentration.
“Violet, I’ll let you take it away.”
Ah, my cue.
“I get it. At best, most of you are wondering who I am and why you’re forced to listen to me talk. At worst, you’re asleep.” I jerk my chin toward the highest tier of seats where a fiery ginger’s head is tilted back as he snores. A few of the guys laugh and I smile at them. “Let’s not take up more of your time than necessary. I’m going to tell you about this event and then you’re going to hear why it’s important we support the Hope House. If you have any questions, feel free to interrupt.”
I click on the first slide of my presentation and start with the words I know by heart. “You’ve had fundraisers in the past. From what I hear, they weren’t terribly successful. Throw all those preconceived notions in the garbage because this event will exceed your expectations.”
“How can we trust someone who was hired because of nepotism?” Rick, the guy I met and seemed to like my event ideas, calls out into the room.
Silence. All the eyes in the room are trained on me. The hairs on the back of my neck rise and a trickle of sweat slides down my spine, but I refuse to let this guy intimidate me. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice movement. Is that Cameron rising to his feet?
“Ah. I did say to interrupt me, didn’t I?” I smile smoothly at the heckler. “Great question, Rick. Yes, it is true that I am friends with some people in the Scrapers organizations. Luckily for all of you, I am darn good at my job. And this event will blow you away. Since you’re so good at speaking in front of a crowd, do you want to be MC for the night?”
