The Probability of Violet and Luke

Chapter 10

Violet

Let the fucked up adrenaline addiction begin.

I could tell Luke didn’t want me to get involved, but after being with him like we were up in the room, I’m in desperate need of some unemotional time, the razors and prickles are coming in waves as I struggle to keep my emotions toward Luke obsolete. So I seize the opportunity to distract Catterson, who turns out to be a thirty something year old pervert who likes flannel and smells like pot. Jesus, what is it with me and this type? It’s like I draw them to me, like a flame draws a moth.

Still, like I pro, I get a few drinks in him and end up sitting beside him in The Warehouse, which turns out to be exactly what it sounds like—a warehouse full of boxes, but what they’re full of I have no idea. There are five tables that have five players at each, mostly men, although there are a couple of women playing. They have some classic rock playing lowly, money being thrown away left and right, smoke circling the air, drinks being passed around, a lot of them being consumed by me. I’m not even sure why I’m drinking. I just planned on having one but then I felt relaxed and one turned into another and another and well, you get the picture.

“So what do you think, sweetheart?” Catterson places a hand on my bare knee right on top of one of the bruises and I have to fight the compulsion to shove him away and slap his face. “Should I go big or play it safe.”

I dazzle him with my aren’t I so pretty and innocent smile. “What’s that saying… go big or go home?”

“I like your way of thinking.” He winks at me as he puts in his ridiculous bet and I force myself to giggle while I twirl a strand of my hair around my finger. As he waits for the rest to either fold, match, or raise, he leans into me and says in a hushed tone, “You are legal, aren’t you?”

Fucking dumbass. “Of course,” I say with another giggle. “Do I really look that young to you?”

He slants back and lets his pervert eyes lazily scroll over my body, taking an extra long time at where my dress starts to cover my legs. “You look fine as hell.” He says it as if it’s a compliment, as if hell’s a fine place and that being good looking will make me a silly girl who swoons into his arms—and who uses the word swoon.

“Thank you,” I say like an airhead. Jesus, all I need is some bubblegum and I’m one step away from being a ditz.

He nudges my half drank drink in my direction, a vodka and cranberry. “Drink up beautiful.”

I can tell he thinks I’m going to get good and wasted, go home with him, and get freaky. Honestly, I’m getting to the wasted part, so my cattiness is starting to come out, claws and everything… oh, claws… and Luke’s skin… I shake the fogginess in my head. Focus. Violet. And stop drinking so much.

Catterson is still grinning at me and I have to force myself to grin back. There’s no way I’m going home with this guy. I have my eyes set on the smoking hot guy sitting across the table, intense brown eyes, soft hair, smell like familiarity and everything I wish I could have, but am scared as hell to take, because of what it’ll mean—facing my emotions head on. But seriously, if there weren’t so many damn people around right now, I’d crawl across the table and attack him… rip his clothes off and bite him, lick him, do all kinds of naughty things to him…

That thought has me looking down at my glass, wondering just how much I’ve drank. It’s empty now. Crap, I can’t even remember finishing it off… and is it my fifth, sixth… eighth? Dammit, this is bad. Drunken Violet is reckless, wild, impulsive. She can easily get out of control, worse than sober Violet. I should get up and go sleep it off in the car… yeah, I’ll do that, just after I do another shot with what’s his face.

“Bottoms up,” he says as he hands me a shot glass full of black licorice scent booze—probably jager. Then he lifts his own glass and chugs the whole thing down in one swallow.

I put the rim of the glass to my mouth and knock it back in one gulp, licking my lips and plopping the empty glass down on the table like I’m some kind of badass shot taker. But I’m not and I instantly regret drinking it as my stomach churns. Vomit burns at the back of my throat… I think I’m going to throw up. No, don’t do that. Suck it up.

“You going to be okay there?” Catterson asks, putting his hand on my shoulder to steady me as I start to tip sideways in the chair.

I make my damn lips turn upward, forcing myself to suck it up—be tough Violet. The one that sells drugs and dazzles costumers. “I’m good,” I tell him, managing to smile again, which he gladly reciprocates.

“A little strong for you, huh?” he asks and then doesn’t wait for me to answer. “That’s okay. We’ll get you one of those little fruity drinks,” he says and I have to resist the urge to let my smart mouth fly. Grinning, he turns back to his cards, losing the hand and cursing under his breath, but when he looks at me he simply says, “You win some, you lose some.”

“I have a feeling you’re going to get lucky the next hand.” I wink at him and let my fingers drift to the low neckline of my shirt. God, I’m good, I think to myself as I see the bulge in his pants

“I sure hope so,” he says, adjusting himself as he picks up his newly dealt cards and observes them with a serious look on his face.

I take the opportunity to sneak another glance at Luke sitting across from me. His uncle and cousin are spread out at different tables. In the car they explained that it was pointless to play against each other, especially when they’re all cheating. Evidentially, cheating is some kind of family thing or something, at least on his father’s side. Although, Ryler didn’t seem to into it. In fact, he acted like he was only here for his father.

Luke’s been pretty quiet the entire game, sipping on Bacardi and smoking his cigarettes, up quite a bit. I know him well enough to know he’s cheating, but I can’t tell what hands he’s cheating on, which is probably a good thing.

As I continue to openly stare at him, he assesses his cards as the bids make their way around the table. When it’s his turn, he puts in about two hundred chips then sits back in the chair, appearing relaxed as the dealer turns over a card. Keeping his cards in one hand, he takes a long sip of his drink, then a deep drag of his cigarette, seemingly oblivious to my excessive gawking of him. Or at least that’s what I think until he glances up at me over his cards, his lips quirking as he winks at me, and I wonder if he was aware of it the entire time. It makes little butterflies dance in my stomach, which has never happened before. Then again it could be the jager and vodka that’s doing it, not butterflies. Oh who the hell cares what it is. I want him. I don’t even care that I’m drunk. I need to do something reckless tonight to still all this energy inside me and right now I want that something to be him, even though he’s the cause of the energy.

Game end soon please. My thighs are burning.

I squeeze my legs shut and attempt to be as patient as I can, watching the players dwindle around the table, while remaining my charming self to Catterson. Finally, the damn thing comes to an end, Luke winning over nine grand, while his uncle and Ryler lose all their money. Well, at least that’s how it appears. But I overheard them in the car. Cole and Ryler were to lose to make it not look so suspicious and in return Luke gives them each a third so technically he’s only up three grand. I wonder if he’ll be able to make enough and what will happen to him if he doesn’t. Being a realist and knowing something about Geraldson’s world, I have two pretty good ideas, 1). Luke will get the shit beat out of him, pretty badly. I’m not sure if they’d kill him, but just thinking about it makes me sick to my stomach. Or 2). Luke will end up not going back to Laramie, deciding it’s better to stay away than return to the risk. That option surprisingly makes me sick to my stomach too.

“So where you heading now you sexy, beautiful thing?” Catterson asks, the sound of his voice forcing me back to reality. I realized I’ve lost a little bit of time while I zoned out. Everyone has already started clearing out and Catterson is looking at me expectedly, like I’m about to fuck him right here in the open. “You gotta head back or do you want to come back to the back room with me? Because I’d love to see that fine ass of yours in my hands.”

There are so many things I want to say to this guy. Like for starters, asking him if that ridiculous line has ever worked. But I know I have to keep my mouth shut and say the right thing, otherwise I’ll be busted.

I don’t know what the back room is, but I have some ideas. Back during my time living on the streets, I ended up sneaking into a strip club with this dude who said we could score some beer from the backroom because it was easily accessible without anyone seeing us. Turned out the backroom didn’t hold beer, but naked women giving out blowjobs and lap dances. Yep, way to awaken me to my sexuality.

She’s actually got to hitch a ride with us. Ryler appears by my side and causally puts and arm around me, all night in shiny armor, signing. Gotta make sure she gets home safe.

Catterson glances from Ryler to me and I give him my best I’m-so-sorry-but-not-this-time smile. “What’s he saying?” he asks confusedly.

“He says he needs to get me home safe,” I tell him, giving him my best I’m-so-sorry-but-we-can’t-hook-up look.

“She’s family?” he asks Ryler with a doubtful look, like he can’t possibly make out the family resemblance.

Cousins, Ryler mouths, giving me this weird side hug thing before he steers me along with him across the room, past the tables, and toward the exit doors, waving at Catterson before opening the door and then we step outside.

“Awe, thanks cuz,” I say with a sarcastic grin as I step out into the dark parking lot and overheated desert air. The street is a little ways away, but pretty vacant, the city in the distance, a cluster of sparkling lights that dance against the night.

Ryler smiles as he lets the door shut behind him, then his hands move in front of him as he signs, Hey, it was better than letting you come up with an explanation as to why you flirted the fuck out of him the entire night, but aren’t going to let him bang you in the backroom.

“Hey maybe I wanted him to bang me in the backroom,” I state, elevating my eyebrows as I walk backwards, facing him. I’m getting feistier by the second and the need for Luke to get out here soon grows, otherwise I’m going to end up doing something stupid probably.

Ryler pauses in the middle parking lot, confusion masking his face as he messes around with his eyebrow piercing. Aren’t you with Luke, though?

I stop walking and put my hands on my hips. “Does it look like I’m with Luke?” I’m all talk though because all I want to do right now is be with Luke.

I have no idea. He massages the back of his neck easily. He kind of reminds me of Luke in a way, a little squirmy when I’m blunt, but not enough to drop the subject. He’s also rough looking like Luke, especially in the eyes, and the piercing and tats add to the intensity. But whether that’s for show or not who knows. But it looks that way. He pauses, waiting for my answer, but I don’t have one to give him because I’m still trying to figure that out for myself.

“Where is Luke?” I scan the parking lot, my eyes landing on the dark purple Dodge Challenger we drove over in, parked toward the back, completely vacant at the moment. The situation could be dangerous, a girl and a very strong looking guy all alone with no one to hear her scream. My sick obsession to walk on the line between life and death pulls me forward, though, instead of back toward the light coming from The Warehouse.

Ryler starts for the car with me, swinging the car keys around on his finger. He had to go cash out. He unlocks the door, opens it, then flips the seat forward so I can get into the back. My dad went with him just to make sure there aren’t any problems.

I point a finger at him as I lower my head to duck into the car. “Again, sounds very mobsterish.” I hop into the backseat, very ungracefully and unlady like, probably flashing Luke’s cousin my lady part since I forgot to pack underwear so I’m commando right now. I’d care, but I’m too drunk to give a crap and if Ryler saw, he’s enough of a gentleman that he doesn’t say anything, quietly putting the driver’s seat into place, before sitting down in it with the door open, his feet planted outside on the ground.

He pops a cigarette into his mouth and lights up, sucking in a long inhale as he turns the ignition on. The stereo clicks on and “Red Light Pledge” by Silverstein flows from the speakers. You seem like a very interesting girl. He grazes his thumb along the end of the cigarette and little pieces of ash dance through the air.

“Interesting?” I rest my arms on the back of the seat as he sits back and leans against the steering wheel to look at me. “That’s a nice way of saying I’m a weirdo. But that’s okay. I’ve been called worse.”

And better a weirdo than ordinary, right?

“Exactly.” I tilt my head to the side and assess him over. He seems like the kind of guy I could potentially hook up with and in the past with as drunk and bored as I am, I might give it a go. It might be easier than screwing around with Luke, which is going to happen if I have it my way, but even through the vodka and jager, the emotions I’ve been attempting not to acknowledge the entire night, I can feel this pull toward Luke. And it’s terrifying, thinking about what that could possibly mean.

“Mind if I have one?” I nod at the cigarette in his hand.

His eyebrow crooks. You smoke? He questions probably because I’ve been around smokers the entire night and haven’t smoked a single one.

And normally I don’t, but tonight I’m going to be someone different. “Yep.” Hello world, meet drunken, smoker, Violet.

He shrugs, then takes the pack out of his pocket and gives me a cigarette and his lighter. I light up, not choking on the smoke because I have smoked in the past, under very strange circumstances when someone who took care of me for a while would have me light up for her when she was doing things like cooking and didn’t have free hands.

“How well do you know Luke?” I wonder curiously as I take a drag and smoke fills my lungs.

Ryler ashes his cigarette, sending ashes across the gravel just outside. Not very well. I met him once when he stayed with my dad a couple of summers ago, but that’s about it. Honestly, I’ve barely seen my dad though up until a couple of years ago. He puts the cigarette to his lips and breathes deeply, trying to cover up his uneasiness with the subject. What about you? He mouths, smoke laces from his lips.

“How well do I know Luke?” I ask and he nods. I waver, uncertain how to respond because it seems like I know Luke well, but at the same time I don’t know him at all. “I’m still trying to figure that out,” I say truthfully.

“What about you?”

“What about me what?” Hasn’t he already asked that question? Or am I losing track of time again.

I hardly know you. His attitude is veering toward flirty which would be fine if it wasn’t for Luke. Jesus, why can’t guys and girls just be friends?

“I’m a fairly boring person,” I tell him, then lean forward over the seat with a sarcastic dark look on my face. “And if I told you anything about me, then I’d have to kill you.”

He gives me a blank stare, trying not to laugh. Like I said, interesting.

I sit back and take a puff off my cigarette. “And I was just going to say the same thing about you, until you started flirting with me.”

Hey, you can’t blame a guy for trying. He presses his hand to his heart and sits up straight in the seat. Besides, if you would have just said you were with Luke, then I’d leave you alone.

Oh, I get it now. He’s trying to get me to confess. I’m about to say it to—it’s on the tip of my tongue even though I’m not sure if it’s the truth, but then Luke and Cole show up and interrupt me before I can. But the revelation itself makes panic soar in my chest and the need to do something crazy press up in my lungs and crush the air out of me.

Saved by the questionable boyfriend. Ryler winks at me then gets out of the driver’s seat and rounds the front of the car to the passenger side, while Cole flips the seat forward and Luke climbs in the back beside me

As soon as he gets settled, he takes one look at the cigarette in my hand and his brows dip together. “What the hell are you doing?”

I bat my eyelashes innocently at him and extend the cigarette toward him. “I lit it just for you.”

He looks at me skeptically. “Yeah, right. And smoked half of it.” He reaches for it to test me, but I move my hand to the side.

“No way.” I put the end into my mouth and allow the smoke to smother my lungs. “It’s mine now. You’re going to have to fight me to get it,” I say as Cole starts the car and then drives forward out of the parking lot.

Luke flicks a glance to Cole, then Ryler, then shakes his head, restraining a laugh. “How much did you have to drink?” he asks me in a low voice.

I shrug, watching the blurs of colors zip by the window as we drive onto the road and toward the freeway that will take us back toward the city. “Five, eight, eleven.” I hold up my fingers, trying to show him the amount, but eleven proves to be a problem. “Hey, I was just doing my job. It wasn’t my fault that Catterson guy kept offering me drinks.”

“You did a fine job,” Cole comments, making a turn onto the freeway. “But we’re going to have to find a new job for you tomorrow, so the bosses won’t catch onto you.”

“Okay, at first I was joking about the mobster thing before, but now I have to wonder.” I slant forward to stick my hand out the window and ash the cigarette.

“No mobsters, just hardcore gamblers who don’t take shit from anyone,” Cole says, putting a cigarette between his lips and cupping his hand around the end of it to light up.

After that remark, Ryler and him start having a conversation about the game, Ryler signing the entire time and seeming really annoyed at his father about something. It leaves me distracted enough to focus all of my attention on Luke as a darkness in my chest starts to stir, drunken Violet getting restless. Always looking for trouble, one of my foster mother’s used to say. Uncontrollable. She might not have been so right at the time, but now she would be. Guess I turned out exactly like she thought—like all of them thought. But that’s not what I want to focus on. Something good. I want to focus on something good that’s sitting right beside me.

Luke is staring straight ahead, arms folded, his muscles taut, his thinking face on, as if he’s pondering some complicated theory on human nature and how we turn out the way that we do, what molds us into the people we are.

I shake my head. God, I think some weird things when I’m drunk.

Luke. Focus on Luke.

He’s sitting close to me, but not close enough, so I scoot over and he shakes his head, his lips threatening to turn upward. “You have that look on your face,” he says, turning his head toward me. “The one where I can tell you want to start trouble.”

“You know me better than I thought,” I say straightforwardly, not being able to see very clearly through the alcohol swishing around in my brain.

His eyes search mine confusedly. “Do I?”

I nod deliberately, a fire igniting in my chest based on lust. “And I bet you can guess exactly what I’m thinking right now.” I move my hand down the front of my body, biting my lip as I touch myself.

He sucks in a slow breath and gradually lets it out, mouthing the words wow. But he doesn’t speak aloud, just wraps his fingers around my wrist, brings my hand to his mouth, and puts his lips around the cigarette I’m holding. It makes me think of his tongue and how good it felt when it was licking me earlier in the bedroom.

After he takes a drag of my cigarette, he lets me have it back then says, “You’re thinking how awesome I am for winning three grand tonight.”

“As awesome as that is, that’s not what I’m thinking about.” I shake my head, feeling the electricity in the air, the out of controlness, just the way I like it. Then I place the cigarette to my lips, not because I want to smoke, but because I want to tease him like he just did with me. I give it a good long suck, feeling a flicker of panic when I see Preston’s face, the way it looked right before he shoved me down on my knees, turned on not just by getting a blowjob but by the pain and lack of desire in my expression. But I quickly shove the mental images away and it gets absorbed by the vodka burning in my veins and clouding my mind and judgment. “So guess again,” I say as I exhale a cloud of smoke.

Luke’s eyes darken, shadows in the inadequate light flowing in from the lampposts, casinos, and sights outside. He shifts toward me, his knee pressing against my leg as he cups his hand to my cheek and dips his lips to my ear. The warmth of his Bacardi laced breath caresses my skin and sends warmth throughout my body. Safe. I feel that safeness again.

“You were thinking about what I did to you in the bedroom a few hours ago,” he says in my ear, his voice low and filled with desire, his breath hot against my skin. Sweltering—I’m sweltering and it’s not from the heat of the desert. “And about how much you want me to do it to you again, only maybe slower this time and longer… take my time…” He has to be drunk as well and two drunken peas in a Challenger make for sporadic decisions without even a flicker of a thought about the consequences. And makes the adrenaline addict nearly fall into a state of euphoria.

A calmness overcomes me and settles inside my chest, I let my hands drift toward Luke’s jeans, resting them right on top of his dick. Right there, in the backseat of the car with his uncle and cousin within earshot. And in return, Luke lets out a throaty groan that makes me want to rip off his clothes and scratch the shit out of him, like I was picturing doing back at the table.

But as my fingers start to wander up Luke’s shirt, my nails gently scratching against his lean muscles, his uncle burst the moment. “Okay, you two, let’s wait until we get back to the house,” he says amusedly. “I promise it’s not that far.”

I’m not one to get embarrassed, but either my cheeks heat or the air gets even hotter. Luke however looks completely unbothered as he sits back in the seat, putting his hands on top of mine so they’re trapped inside his shirt, my palms pressed against his muscles and warm flesh. Then he gives me a look as if he has every intention to continue this right up the moment we get into the bedroom. I just hope I can stay drunk enough that I can go through with it unemotionally, otherwise I might have to find another alternative to settle the emotions buried inside, one’s that want to burst out of me, both old ones and new ones. And I’m afraid once I let them out, I won’t be able to put them back in again.