“Violet.”
“Does it matter what I want if it runs counter to reality?” I say.
The truth is, I don’t know what I want besides him. I want him whispering dirty nothings in my ear while he fucks me. I want him teasing me with kisses in a parking lot behind a barbecue shack. I want his arm slung over me as I fall asleep at night and I want him there in the morning, his weight on his side of the bed soothing.
“Look at me.”
I do it.
Eli slides his hand into mine, hidden in the valley between our legs where the light doesn’t reach. My heart dips and rolls, my head swimming, my impulse control nearly gone with the whiskey.
“Kiss me,” he says.
“We’re in public,” I murmur.
“And?”
“And everyone can see us,” I whisper.
My eyes drop to his lips.
“Let them watch,” he says. Shivers roll down my spine, the rough pads of his thumb move over the back of my hand. “I’ve been waiting all night to kiss you. I’ve been waiting since I left your house this morning.”
Me too, I think.
A pause. I don’t breathe. His thumb keeps moving, tracing small circles on the back of my hand.
I want it. I want him, his kisses and more, so much that the wanting is palpable, physical, like a cloak I’ve wrapped myself in.
“Not here,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
“Where?” he asks.
I swallow. My mouth is dry. I know the right answer to this question: at my house, after we both sober up enough to drive home.
It’s not the answer I give.
“The wedding barn’s right over there,” is what I say.
“Can we make it?” he asks, his thumb still circling. I swallow hard, shutting my eyes for a moment so I don’t have to look at him.
“I have a key,” I whisper, still breathless, eyes shut. “I’ll go first. Follow me after a few minutes.”
I can feel him lean in, the heat that radiates from his skin.
“You won’t kiss me in public but you’ll fuck me in the barn?” he asks, teasing.
“You make this sound so dirty.”
“That’s because it is.”
I open my eyes, drink him in again. Lord, he’s beautiful.
“You promise?” I ask.
Eli just laughs softly.
“All this time together and you still want a promise?” he teases. “And here I thought maybe I’d proven myself.”
He leans in by millimeters. If anyone’s watching, there can’t be any doubt about what we’re up to, but I can’t stop it. I don’t want to.
“Yes, I promise,” he says. “I promise that I’m drunk enough to throw caution to the wind and fuck you in the barn. I promise it’ll be dirty and perfect and you’ll think about it every ten minutes for the next week.”
His eyes flick to my lips.
“And I promise that if you don’t go right now we’re going to do it on this bench,” he whispers. “Get outta here.”
In the last sensible moment I have that night, I go.Chapter Thirty-TwoVioletThe wedding barn is dark. I hadn’t thought that part through very well. It’s dark and possibly full of spiders, because even though we hold events in here all the time, don’t spiders naturally gravitate toward barns?
Seems like they would.
I step inside, wait for my eyes to adjust. The barn has high windows and skylights, and after a moment I can see in the moonlight filtering in. Tables and chairs stacked at one end, audio equipment, other various wedding accoutrement.
I walk in. It still smells of hay and dirt, even though there hasn’t been an animal in here for twenty years, even though there’s a chandelier over my head and a wooden floor under my feet.
And, at the far end, a couple of couches, artfully arranged in a lounge shape, because they needed something to fill the space when the barn was converted. My heart pounds as I walk toward them, wondering exactly how stupid I am, wondering whether I should find the throw pillows and arrange them nicely or just take the dust covers off the couches.
I settle for taking the dust covers off. Motes fly everywhere, caught in the moonlight, and my vision swirls again. I stare for too long.
The door opens, shuts. I hear the bar slide over it and turn toward the sound, not moving.
Soft footsteps on a wooden floor, a pattern I’ve come to recognize by heart. A dark shape saunters toward me and even though I can’t see the smile, I can feel it vibrate through the air.
And then: Eli’s lips on mine. His thumb on my cheekbone, his fingers in my hair, his body against mine.
There’s a moment of sweetness, tenderness. His hand skims along my waist. His tongue darts at my lower lip. There’s a moment where his fingers sift through my hair gently, where his touch is tentative, gentle.
Then he pulls away. He traces his thumb under my lower lip.