SWNOVELS A Photo Finish: Chapter 7
I HEAR MY PHONE BUZZ, but push through my final set of deadlifts before picking it up.
Pretty_in_Purple sent you a message.
Maybe the girl changed her mind? Probably not, and I don’t blame her. I feel greasy, like I need a shower after every time I send a message like that. I know I sound like a sleaze bag, and I hate that. I also know there are creeps on the internet, and I like to think that I’m not one of them. But this arrangement works for me. It assures me the privacy I want and provides me companionship I crave.
Sort of.
I swipe the notification open.
Pretty_in_Purple: How many girls have you done this with?
Good god did this girl have a lot of questions.
Golddigger85: A few.
Pretty_in_Purple: So . . . three?
Golddigger85: Something like that.
Three dots roll across the screen as she types and then her message pops up.
Pretty_in_Purple: Guess they didn’t stick around for the conversation.
I can’t help but chuckle. She’s not wrong. I’ve never been accused of being a great conversationalist.
Golddigger85: No, they stuck around because I talked them into the best orgasms of their life while I watched.
The dots roll and stop. Roll, stop. I wait a few beats before they roll again.
Pretty_in_Purple: Oh.
Golddigger85: Yeah. Oh. Still not interested?
Pretty_in_Purple: In internet orgasms? No, I’m good. I manage those just fine on my own.
I groan. The thought of the pale silky skin in that photo, what’s hidden beneath the pretty pink panties, wedged just slightly between the lips of her pussy. The thought of her fingers slipping beneath the triangle of lace.
I adjust myself in my sweats. It’s like this girl is totally clueless about how sexy she is—something I like even more.
Pretty_in_Purple is a tease, and she doesn’t even know it.
I SHOVE my air pods into my ears angrily. I’ve already worked out today, but I’m going for another one. I dig my thumb into my quad muscle and drag it down, trying to relieve the building soreness. Exercise is the only coping mechanism I have for whatever this feeling is. Trixie would tell me to give it a word but talking about your feelings isn’t really part of what the military drummed into me as a special operator.
So, with no gym in sight, I run. I do push ups. I do sit ups. If I can find some bricks or something, I could probably wrangle myself some weights. The gravel crunches under my feet as I hit the back roads; the air smells fresh and unfamiliar, like the silty rocks down at the cool river that runs through the property. Like the snow that hasn’t quite melted off the top of the Cascades, even though it’s already April.
I tell myself I miss the smell of exhaust and the sound of car horns blaring that I usually face when I’m downtown. But I think I might be lying. It’s hard to tell anymore. What I know is that movement is a gift, freedom that we can never take for granted. Your body, no matter the shape or size, is a workhorse that does incredible things for you. Simple things that you don’t even realize until you can’t do them anymore.
Which means I also know that Violet is feeling trapped by her injury. Maybe she doesn’t even realize it yet. But I do. And rather than being wise and understanding about it, I was . . . me.
After she stormed off, I went and got a step stool out of the storage shed so that she can reach that cupboard, even though I’m pretty sure the damage is already done. She thought I’d do that to her intentionally, so I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that I’m not in Violet Eaton’s good books.
I pump my arms and run faster, eating up the ground beneath me, breaking into a sweat. Even I want to run away from my personality.
How can I make this up to Violet? I know I don’t owe her anything, but the truth of the matter is she’s the closest thing I’ve had to a friend since . . . I can’t even remember. Hilary and I were certainly never friends. We were rich-kid fuck buddies. And then I was a soldier getting ready to deploy. And then we were engaged.
And when I came back for good? We were poison.
I stewed in that poison for years. I scoff at myself as I round the corner onto another completely unidentifiable road. Nice try, old man, you’re still stewing. You’re saturated.
Violet doesn’t deserve to be tainted by my bullshit. She didn’t ask for any of this, and it wouldn’t kill me to make her life a little easier after hurting her feelings. Because I know I hurt her—not intentionally—but I couldn’t give her more. I couldn’t give her what she wanted. I wasn’t brave enough to take my clothes off in person, let alone on a video chat. That night she told me to take over, to tell her what to do, it had been hot. So fucking hot. Hotter than any other time I’d done it, probably because we’d gotten to know each other. Her trust meant something to me in that moment. I was feeling things for Violet that I couldn’t put my finger on.
But that’s all it was: a moment. For me, anyway. So, the least I can do now is not be a dick to her. I hadn’t even been trying to. It just always comes out that way whether or not I want it to. And usually, I don’t care how I’m perceived. It’s beneath me. I could try to be helpful, though. It won’t kill me, and Trixie would definitely approve.
My breaths come out in huffs, and I hate to admit it, but my body is tired from my first workout. The midmorning sun is hotter than I expected this far inland, so I stop, linking my hands behind my head to stretch out my chest, as I turn around slowly, taking in the heavily-treed ditches. All the leaves are a vibrant, almost neon green at this time of year. All fresh and new before they grow bigger and take on a darker shade.
With a deep sigh, I force my body into action. Mind over matter. And feeling tired doesn’t matter. So I carry on, forcing myself to run back even though I’d rather walk.
As I hit my stride, Violet’s face flashes into my mind. The one she’d made when she realized she couldn’t reach that cupboard. The pink stain on her cheeks. The way her round blue eyes had sparked like a live wire. The stupid sweatpants she was wearing all rolled over to fit her tiny waist. The evil part of me wants to laugh because she’d looked like a scrubby little Tinkerbell stomping her foot, but the good part of me absolutely cringes. I hadn’t meant to do that. I didn’t even think of it. I just put the pills where they belong, with the rest of my vitamins and supplements. I didn’t need the counters cluttered with random shit.
I run harder until I feel my lungs and quads burn. Until my mind goes blank.
I don’t need my life cluttered with any of this shit.
THE MINUTE I walk in the door, I see Violet scowling at me from the stool where she’d sat earlier. Her mouth is moving, but my music is so loud in my ear buds that I can’t hear her. It’s kind of glorious if I’m being honest. I’ll have to remember this trick for later.
I remove them, holding one hand up to stop whatever tirade she’s going on about right now. A bead of sweat trickles down between my shoulder blades as I calmly ask, “What is it you’re going off about?”
Her bottom lip pouts out, and her shoulders drop on a sigh. Agitation flows off her in waves. “There’s no coffee in this place.”
“I know,” I say, removing my shoes and placing them on the shelf before wandering into the house for a glass of water. “Coffee is a crutch; it tricks your body into thinking you have energy.”
Her knuckles go white from gripping the counter so hard. “I want to be tricked. No. I need to be tricked.” She slides off the stool gingerly. “I’m going up to the barn to get coffee. I need to figure out where I’m going to stay,” she rants on, “because out of everything wrong with staying with you, the fact you don’t have any coffee is the most offensive.”
Hands on my hips, I groan and tip my head up to the ceiling. “Violet.”
“A crutch. Is that some sort of pun about my mangled leg?” she continues, hobbling away.
“Violet.”
With her back to me, she tries to slide her foot into the flip-flop she got dropped off here in and mumbles something that sounds an awful lot like, “So fucking high and mighty.”
So, I opt for something that might actually get her attention. “Nice sweatpants.”
She spins on me so fast you’d never know how injured she is. “Are you kidding?”
I cut her off. “Violet. I’ll take you to get a coffee. I need to get some groceries anyway.”
Now she just blinks at me, her expression straddling the line of rage and disbelief. When her dainty chin drops in a terse nod, I move near her, grab my keys off the hook and usher her out the front door.
“Do you want your crutches?”
She takes the front stairs awkwardly, with one leg set straight in the cast, and leans against the railing to accommodate the motion.
“No.” She almost growls at me. “You going to lecture me about that too?”
“Nope.” I jog down the stairs and head to my black truck, leaving her behind. “You’re an adult, and you know your body best.”
I swing the passenger-side door open and wait there.
Violet regards me suspiciously as she walks forward, clearly still sore. “What are you doing?” Her tone is accusatory.
“Holding the door open for you.” I honestly almost roll my eyes. So many questions.
She sort of grunts as she approaches the truck, assessing how she’ll tackle getting in, and if she doesn’t ask for help, I’m not going to give it to her. She’s made that much abundantly clear. If I learned anything about Violet from the year we spent corresponding, it’s that she’s stubborn. I gave her almost nothing, and she kept badgering me, coming back for more, until it forced me to relent a little bit. She wasn’t put off by my persona back then.
And don’t I know it. She scrambles into the truck. It’s not graceful, and I end up getting an eyeful of her round ass with “Vancouver” printed across it as she pulls herself up into the cab. My fingers pulse at my side, itching to reach forward and give her a boost. Watching her struggle makes tightness twinge in my chest.
When she’s finally seated, I slam the door and round the truck, getting into the driver’s side, and firing the engine up so that we can get this done and over with. As I peel out of the driveway, I don’t miss the way she reaches up for the oh shit handle, like she doesn’t even trust me to drive her down a gravel road.
It grates on me that she thinks so little of me now. I’m fairly sure that at one point we were on good terms.
When we hit the main road, I chance another look at her, but she’s turned her head away as she looks out the window, gazing at the green fields whipping past as I speed down the road. Her hair has a silvery quality to it, like a cool sunlit stream trailing down her back. Complete with mud from her fall, but I don’t think it would be a wise thing to bring up when we’re already on such tenuous footing.
Plus, I kind of like it. Violet just walked right out the door in hospital sweats, no makeup, and with mud in her hair because she wanted coffee. She didn’t spend hours primping to go out in public, and she still looks beautiful. She’s feminine, graceful, Elven almost.
I remember noting that about her hair when she sent a shot of her head with bird shit on it. “Got a big old dose of good luck today!” she’d said.
The memory makes my cheek twitch. At the time, it had made me laugh, and then it had made my chest ache. I still can’t remember the last time I smiled like that. She had literal shit in her hair, and all she could do was laugh and comment on the good luck it might bring.
That is a glass-half-full kind of attitude I can only aspire to. But I didn’t need to knock her glass over in the process. That was just a dick move. I don’t want to be a dick. I want to be better.
“You don’t need to move out.” I break the silence abruptly and stare out the windshield, hard, like there’s something interesting out here in the middle of a field. Spoiler alert: there’s not.
I feel her eyes on me even though I’m doing my damndest not to look her way. Her gaze pierces me like a tattoo gun. A sharp needling sensation, followed by warmth that flows deep.
“You don’t want me there, though.”
I sigh audibly and pulse my fingers around the leather steering wheel. What I don’t want is all the feelings she stirs up in me. I don’t want to have to look at her every day and wish I could touch her or let her touch me, because it’s pure torture wanting something that you won’t let yourself have. “That’s not true.”
Her head tilts as she regards me. “This is a weird situation. It’s awkward. You’re mad. I get it.”
I don’t need to respond to that. We both know she’s right. Weird and awkward doesn’t even begin to cover it. The girl I solicited anonymously on the internet to send me nudes became my pen pal and friend. (I never told her that.) She ghosted me, and now she works for my brother at the family ranch.
It’s fucking bizarre, is what it is.
Am I mad? Yeah. I’m mad at myself.
“I’ll stay out of your way. Short of going home, I’m not sure where else to go. You won’t even know I’m there.”
I somehow doubt that, but deep down, I also don’t want her to leave. It’s a relief to not be alone all the time. “Okay.”
“Okay.” She sighs, relaxing back into the leather seat with a small smile on her shapely lips.
She’s only quiet for a few moments. It seems like our tenuous peace treaty has paved the way to her inquisitive side.
“Why Golddigger85?”
I try to act casual, but I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about that. About what happened between us. It’s too . . . well, it still fucking hurts. So I try to play dumb, praying she might drop it.
“Huh?” I grunt distractedly as we turn onto the main street of Ruby Creek.
It is literally called Main Street. One sad little street in a place that seems to be stuck in some sort of time warp. A bar, a coffee shop, a grocery/liquor/hardware store, a bank, and a few other stores line each side of the road. You can drive farther and have access to everything you need and more, but this is Ruby Creek. Not a single thing has changed since I was a child. That’s weird.
“The screen name.” I can see her peering up at me from my periphery. “Why’d you choose it?”
Why is the speed limit so damn low here? I want this to end.
“Because I run a mining company. We dig for gold. I was born in 1985.”
“Huh.” She taps her index finger against her lips, a loose piece of platinum hair resting against her rosy cheek.
“Why ‘huh’?”
“It just sounds like you’re after money or something. You know, like the Kanye song. It’s kind of funny.”
I try so hard not to smile, forcing my mouth into a straight line. For some odd reason, the name made me chuckle when I created the account. Now all it does is remind me of her.
“Why’d you pick . . . your name?” I ask, not wanting to say the name out loud.
She flushes and looks away at the stores as we roll past them. “Purple is just kind of my color.”
I only look at her for a moment. It’s all I can stand before blood rushes between my legs. But as I turn my eyes back to the road, my mind fixates on that blush. The memory of the way she blushed for me. More like pretty in pink.
My god. I need to get the hell out of this truck.
Finding parking is easy, so I pull into an angled parking spot in front of The Country Grind, the local coffee shop. Violet has her door open and is sliding out before I can get over to her side. I hear her whimper and then gasp when she hits the ground. I cringe. So fucking stubborn.
I stride up to the entryway and hold the door open instead of picking her up and carrying her.
She limps past me with one eyebrow up. “This gentleman’s act is cute.”
Cute? I can’t remember ever being called that. Distant. Grumpy. Creepy even. I shake my head and follow her in.
“Hi, Macy!” Violet says.
“Honey!” the curvaceous redhead behind the counter booms back. “What have you done to yourself?”
“Oh, this?” Violet nibbles on her lip as she looks up at me where I stand beside her. “Minor spill. Nothing major. I’ll be back in the tack in no time.”
“Oh, baby,” the middle-aged woman continues, “let me get you a cookie and a coffee. That will help.”
“What about you, darlin’?” These pet names. They’re brutal. Thankfully, Violet jumps in and rescues me from this line of questioning. Or maybe she rescues Macy from me. Who knows?
“Oh, never mind him. He doesn’t believe in coffee.”
Macy looks genuinely horrified as her hand falls across her collarbone in mock shock. Her eyes rove up and down my body appreciatively, making me squirm, before she holds one hand up beside her mouth and leans into Violet conspiratorially. “There are certain flaws I’m willing to overlook for a man like that.”
Violet gasps out a small giggle, and her porcelain cheeks instantly pink again as her eyes shoot up to me nervously, visibly as uncomfortable as I feel inside. I just stare at them like I’m bored, wondering if they’re done yet. I hate it when people look at me too closely; that’s why Vaughn is the face of the family mining company.
“Tough cookie, that one!” Macy cackles and then turns away, busying herself preparing Violet’s order.
Crossing my arms, I look around the place, taking in the rustic decor. An older woman sitting with a newspaper smiles at me, her skin crinkling around her eyes when she says, “Good morning.”
I carry on with my assessment, hating to admit that there is a certain charm to the place, when I feel a poke in my ribs and glance down to see Violet’s furrowed brow looking straight up at me.
She whisper-scolds me, “She just said good morning to you.”
I lean down toward her. “I know.”
“But . . . you just ignored her.”
“I don’t know her.” I don’t like small stalk. Or strangers. Or how small-town people don’t know how to mind their business. If I don’t invite that type of behavior, my time here will be less irritating. I’ve established myself as unapproachable before, and it really doesn’t take long to accomplish if you offend people thoroughly enough.
Violet’s bottom jaw drops open like I’ve just said something shocking. “You have better manners than that, Cole Harding. You’ve been opening doors for me all morning.”
“Are you scolding me?”
She crosses her arms and raises one eyebrow at me in challenge. Her hip juts out as her slender arms fold beneath her breasts, and I focus on the mud in her hair so I don’t sneak a peak of how her stance might press them up.
Her body still haunts me.
“Do I need to?”
She nods.
I groan inwardly, while outwardly smiling in a way I’m sure looks more like a wild dog showing its teeth, as I turn back to the woman at the table. “Good morning,” I say clearly before turning back to Violet, whose eyes are dancing with amusement.
She rolls her lips together like she’s holding back a laugh before she hits me with a full, blinding smile. A genuine smile. “Was that really so bad?”
All I can think is that I can’t remember the last time someone looked at me like that.