Page 31 of Wallflower
When I open the door and step out into the room, I’m not quite sure what I’m looking at.
The bed is perfectly made, but the sheets are now olive-toned linen instead of the crisp white cotton they were twenty minutes ago. I creep forward and touch them, just to be sure, then glance at the door and back at the bed.
Chord changed my sheets.
That’s when I notice my pretty teal camisole carefully draped over the white desk chair, and the pinboard against the wall, now moved to the other side of the room from where I left it. My sketchbook is right there, too. My favorite dress, almost finished, is drawn large on the open page.
And I realize with a sinking feeling that Chord saw more than my bare skin tonight. He doesn’t know it, but he just got a glimpse directly into my soul.
fifteen
Chord
75 DAYS TILL HOCKEY SEASON
I have no ideawhat time Violet leaves her room in the morning because for as long as she’s been here, I’ve been out the door at sunrise, but I’m skipping breakfast with Dylan, Daisy, and Izzy today to get past the weirdness as fast as possible. I want her to feel safe with me. I want her to stay.
Last night was so freakingawkward.
Awkward or not, my cock twitches every time I think about it, and I adjust my pants while scowling at the coffee machine as it doles out my espresso.
The picture of Violet standing there in those flimsy blue panties, luscious tits bare, squealing at a mouse like a goddamn city girl… So damn adorable and so freaking sexy, someone will have to physically carve it from my brain before I ever forget it.
I’m sitting at the informal dining table on the opposite side of the kitchen island, sipping my second cup of coffee and devouring my overnight oats, when Violet appears. I look up just as her eyes widen at the sight of me, and she actually spins onher heel and takes three steps in the opposite direction before she stops herself.
She’s wearing denim cut-offs today, exposing her long, smooth legs, and I watch with interest as she straightens her back and tosses her head—obviously giving herself some kind of internal pep talk—before she turns around again and strides into the kitchen, focused entirely on the coffee machine.
“Morning,” I say.
There’s an imperceptible pause in her movements as she goes to fill a cup. “Hello.”
I watch her move about the kitchen with a focus that tells me she plans to look anywhere but at me, but when she checks the fridge for today’s to-do list, I clear my throat and hold it up.
Violet glances at it, then me and her brows draw together. “Do you need more time with the list?”
“No. I wanted to go over a few items, if you’ve got time?”
She adjusts her glasses and casts a furtive look down the hallway. Toward the home office where she works or the front door where she can escape, I’m not sure, and I cover my uncertainty by lifting my coffee cup to my lips. I’m relying on her being too timid to tell me no, but after what happened last night, I’m not entirely certain she won’t just bolt.
I give myself a point for guessing right as, with an almost silent sigh, she slips into the chair across from me. “I’ve got time. What did you want to talk about?”
So many things. The felt board and sketchbook I saw in your room. The flimsy little thong I hope you’re wearing under those shorts. How pretty you were with your face bare last night, and how I’ve wasted too many hours thinking about it.
How I can’t stop wondering how well your tits would fill my hands.
I shift in my seat to give my dick a little more room, set down the list between us, and tap the top line. “How are the plans coming along for the move? Any leads on a new apartment?”
Her forehead creases as her shoulders drop. “Oh.”
I see the moment Violet gets it that I’m not going to mention the mouse, the sketchbook, or the partial nudity. The tension between her brows fades as she twists the paper on the table to face her and then wraps her hands around her mug.
She still can’t meet my eyes, but if reading my notes gives her something to do, I’m okay with that. It means she doesn’t notice the way I count the freckles on her nose or watch her lips form each word.
“There’s not a lot out there, and I want to get you the best.” She touches the paper again before hiding her fidgeting hands under the table. “The realtor sent me a list of options, but only one was anywhere near good enough.”
“One is better than none.”
“Right.” She glances at me from underneath her lashes and offers a tentative smile. “When I’ve found at least three for you to choose from, I’ll set up times to inspect them. You don’t mind returning to the city for half a day in the next few weeks, do you?”
