Getting Real (Getting Some 3)

“So what’s up? Why did you guys want to meet for lunch?”

“Does something have to be up? Can’t I just want to visit my older brother?” Garret asks. “We had a few days off this week.”

“Gotta love those unused snow days,” Dean adds, his blue eyes scanning from the door of the cafeteria, across the room, then back again.

“O-kay . . .” I look back and forth between them, because something seems off.

Shady.

Before I can push the issue, Dean’s attention darts to the doorway.

“Hey, look, there’s Violet.”

I turn around in my chair. We worked on two of the car accident cases together, but this is the first time I’ve actually looked at her.

Vi stands in the doorway, her eyes drifting around the crowded room behind a pair of sexy as hell, black-rimmed librarian glasses she doesn’t often wear at work.

She’s also wearing the bunny scrubs today—dark blue and dotted with little white rabbit faces. Scrubs look good on Violet—which is a feat in and of itself—but those scrubs are something else entirely.

They remind me of pajamas.

And that makes me think about what Vi wears to bed. Lacy, sheer lingerie or barely there cotton ensembles that are as translucent as a wet T-shirt on spring break. And that makes me imagine Violet in bed, wearing nothing at all. Laid out bare, with that long dark hair spilling over the pillow and those bedroom eyes beckoning.

And that pretty picture almost always turns me on.

I haven’t had a public erection since I was a teenager, but if I let myself contemplate Vi in those Peter Cottontail scrubs long enough—that’ll do the fucking job.

“How do you know Violet?” I ask Dean, still watching as she navigates the food line.

“She’s in Lainey’s sewing circle.”

“Lainey has a sewing circle?”

I thought sewing circles were for rocking-chair-sitting, gray-haired ladies in the 1800s.

Dean lifts a shoulder. “If it involves making something awesome out of absolutely nothing, Lainey does it. It’s like witchcraft. Hot, modern-day witchcraft.”

He cups his hands around his mouth and calls across the room. “Hey, Vi!”

When she doesn’t hear him over the thunderous chatter of the cafeteria, he presses two fingers to his lips and whistles—making Violet jump before her attention shifts our way.

Dean waves her in. “We have an open seat here—come sit with us.”

For a quick second, Violet’s gaze vacillates warily from me to Garrett, but she quickly flashes a bright smile and takes a step toward us.

And then she trips.

Over nothing but air.

Momentary panic stabs me in the chest, but she recovers! Catching herself in a half turn around an occupied chair, lifting her tray over the head of the person sitting in it, while still managing to keep a single thing from spilling, with an agility that’s goddamn impressive. Especially for her.

“Hey, guys,” she says when she reaches us unscathed, sliding into the open chair beside me. “Thanks—this place is a madhouse today.”

Vi takes a drink of her iced tea and makes small talk with Dean about the upcoming wedding.

“I can’t wait to see how the table linens look,” Violet says.

“You’re going to Dean and Lainey’s wedding?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“Hey,” Dean says, leaning forward. “I just got an idea, just this second sitting here. The seating arrangements have been driving Lainey a little cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. Some of the tables have an odd number of chairs and she likes even numbers, you know?”

I’ve met Lainey Burrows . . . she’s almost as laid-back as Brayden. There’s no way she suddenly has a rabid obsession with symmetry.

But Violet nods, like that’s a totally normal thing to say.

“Right. I mean, who doesn’t?”

“Exactly,” Dean continues. “So, since you’re coming solo to the wedding, Vi, and Connor here isn’t bringing a date either—would it be okay if we sat you two together?”

And my brother and Dean’s need to visit me here at the hospital suddenly becomes so clear.

For a few seconds, Violet says nothing.

And I don’t say anything because I’m too busy waiting to see what she’s going to say.

“Ah . . . yeah, sure,” she eventually stammers out, the way people do when they’re not sure. “Connor and I know each other—it’ll be fun. It’s not like I’ll knock the candle centerpieces over and set the table on fire.” She barks out a harsh laugh, then adds under her breath, “Hopefully.”

My brother’s lounging back in his chair, balancing on the two rear legs—a habit my mother tried and failed to break him of. But now he leans forward, bringing the front two legs to the floor with a decisive smack.

“I have an even better idea. Since you guys are already sitting together—why don’t you just go to the wedding together?”

“Good thinking, D,” Dean says smoothly. “That is a better idea.”

“Connor, you could pick Violet up. I mean, that’s one less car in the parking lot and it’s going to be packed, right, Dean?”