Page 21 of Wallflower
I attach each bandage with gentle motions, smoothing the material over his skin in long, slow strokes that end when my fingertips graze his skin. I feel every touch in my core. Chord’swarmth crackles like static, and it only takes the lightest touch to ignite a spark.
When I’m done, I take a shaky breath while I gather up the empty packets and toss them in the trash, then stand in the middle of the kitchen, unsure what to say next. Chord sits there staring at his arm for long enough that I decide he wants me to leave so he can be alone.
I move toward the hallway and hover at the edge of the room. “Goodnight.”
Chord doesn’t look up. “Goodnight.”
I shake my hands by my sides as I climb the stairs to my room, like I can shake away the hum in my blood, but it doesn’t work. My pulse lurches every time I replay the feel of Chord’s skin under my fingertips and the high lingers long after I’ve turned out the light.
ten
Chord
80 DAYS TILL HOCKEY SEASON
I breathe past thestrain in my lungs as I power around the empty field beside the old barn, running at max pace toward the dam. The sun has only just cleared the horizon, and although its glow is muted by damp clouds of silvery morning fog blanketing Silver Leaf, I’m slicked with enough sweat that I peeled my shirt off ten minutes ago and secured it in the waistband of my shorts.
I like running. I like the sensation of ground passing beneath my feet, the burn in my muscles and the expansion behind my ribs. I like pushing my body to see what it can do, so even if Violet wasn’t living in my house, I’d be out here covering the exact same ground day in and day out. But sheisin my house, and I’m determined to avoid her, so I’ve made it my mission to be busy every hour of the day. Mornings running alone or with Finn. Breakfast with Dylan, Daisy, and Izzy at the restaurant. Hours in the gym. Laps in the pool. Afternoons fixing the fucking fences.
I absently brush a hand over the bandages on my forearm and think back to the electricity of Violet’s hesitant touch as she applied them. What the hell was I thinking sitting in the kitchen just waiting for her to appear? There shouldn’t be electricity. There shouldn’t be fascination. There shouldn’t beanything.
This woman is shy. She’s withdrawn. She wants nothing to do with me, and that’s why she’s the ideal assistant. But I find myself watching her sometimes when she doesn’t know it. Driving in and out of the garage as she white-knuckles the steering wheel of my truck. Pacing the porch with her phone to her ear. Sneaking up and down the stairs with her dinner at night.
Why was she hiding in baggy clothes when I met her? What’s she thinking behind those big glasses? What is she afraid I’ll see in her dark-lashed chestnut eyes that she keeps them locked on the floor at her feet?
I pick up speed to stop myself from thinking so much. The faster my mind moves, the slower my muscles fire, which is why I won’t let myself be distracted this summer. I’m an elite athlete, for God’s sake. I’ve built a career on strength and self-discipline. I’m a pin-up boy for focus and control. I’m not about to lose it over a banging body, a mysterious set of eyes, and the occasional temptation of a pretty pink blush.
I’m on the last stretch to the house when something moves ahead. A shadow in the fog, the height and shape of a person at a fork in the path like they’re not sure where to go next.
I pull up short, breathing heavily and squinting into the distance, ignoring how my racing heart skips at the possibility that it’s Violet. Whoever it is, they’re too slight to be Finn and too tall to be Daisy. It might be a guest who wandered off the walking trails that crisscross the ranch, but it’s unlikely that lost hikers would pass this close to my house before finding their way back to the main property.
It’s got to be her.
I creep closer to confirm her identity, moving through an ethereal haze that pulls back from the heat of her body like it wants to hug her curves but can’t get close enough.
I empathize with a quiet groan.
She’s wearing skintight white leggings that cling to her high, rounded ass, black trainers, and a baggy khaki-colored hoodie. Her phone is in her hand, pods in her ears, and her warm brown waves are piled on the top of her head, wisps pulling free around her face and catching on her glasses.
The casual athletic look has never really done it for me—but then again, I’ve never seen it on Violet.
I drag a regretful hand down my face and take a few steps back, intending to let her walk back to the house alone because a fantastic ass in yoga pants is definitely a distraction I don’t need, but seconds pass without her moving. I could—should—turn around and take the long way back to the house, but I can’t force my stupid legs to move, so I stand there like a moron, half-hidden in the fog.
Violet looks at her phone, takes a few steps to the right like she’s finally decided that way lies her destination, then stops and moves to the left. Her head lifts, whipping around like she’s trying to get her bearings, and she steps to the right again. When she checks her phone for a third time, then stomps her foot in frustration and takes off on the left trail with a long, determined stride, I cover up a chuckle and follow. She’s fucking lost and it’s adorable.
“If you’re interested in a job picking grapes,” I call, “you’ll have to come back in September.”
Violet jumps clear in the air, spinning with wide eyes that flash ever so briefly with fear, then murder, before she slumps and smacks her hand onto her heaving chest. “You scared me!”
I mash my lips together because her reaction shouldn’t amuse me, but it’s cute, and the glimpse of something in her that isn’t timidity or nerves makes me want more.
“I didn’t mean to, but if you keep going that way, you’re going to end up in the pinot noir vines.”
Violet’s brow furrows as she glances at her phone and then back down the trail. “Oh.”
I gesture in the opposite direction. “The house is about ten minutes’ walk this way—assuming that’s where you wanted to go?”
She glances at my hand, then her rounded eyes bounce from the dirt to my bare chest and away again before returning to my body and lingering a little longer. The corner of my mouth lifts as a flush rises in her face, and I resist a real grin when she spins toward the correct path.
