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Against my better judgement, I walk into the dimly lit locker room. It isn’t a ghost I see. Though from the look of her, the crumpled shell of a person clinging to her bare legs, she might as well be one.
And everything in me sinks hard all at once.
I’ve never seen Dee look this weak.
Scared, yes. Angry, yes. Nervous, yes. Crying, never.
I lean against the gym lockers, my hand fisting tighter around my damp shirt. There are no words I could say to make this any better, so I watch her with a quiet gaze.
Dee looks up slowly. Tears leave behind streaks on her cheeks, her eyelashes dark and damp around her red rimmed eyes. Goosebumps cover every inch of her as the air conditioning blows against her naked skin. I try not to let my attention snag on her thin black lace bra and panties.
Knox wanted to create a monster out of this school. Congratulations. It’s a living breathing beast now.
And I have to suck it up and keep feeding the fucking thing. Because I’m committed. I don’t half ass shit. Even shit that I hate. Like hurting her.
“Someone take your clothes?” Stupid question but I ask it anyway.
Her eyes narrow in an icy glare. “Actually, I was having such a good day, I donated them.” Sarcasm twists her lips up into cruel smile. She would never let us know she was hurting or ask for help. She isn’t the type.
She’d really rather sink into her own misery than ask me for help…
Vomit stings my throat and I swallow the rising guilt back down into its place deep inside me.
“Get up. I have a spare shirt somewhere.” I turn, ready to take her in to the men’s room to grab my extra clothing. Something to cover her up. Anything to keep me from having to look at the very off limits curves of her body. Violet Demure gives me dangerous thoughts when my guard is down.
Right now, my guard’s so far down it might never come back up.
“Don’t whiplash me with your goddamn guilted kindness, you football fuck.” She spits the words out, stinging me with them like poison.
Football fuck. Fucking woah, Dee.
Someone run to get the bar of soap to wash that sweet mouth out.
It was that sweet mouth that encouraged me during the summer. The calming melody of her voice that I hear sometimes when my thoughts go dark. When I want to get black out drunk rather than face the fakeness of my life.
It had been a quiet moment between us that passed after I sent away a freshly fucked girl and I sense Dee rather than see her as she follows me down to the liquor cabinet. I stood staring blankly at the alcohol for a long time. Dee slipped passed me and walked around to the fridge, the tap water trickling into a glass as she poured herself a drink.
She always reminded me of pureness. Looking at her, her soft blonde hair and big bright eyes, she was the perfect image of an angel.
Even if I knew her mind was anything but innocent.
“You must be parched after all that, um, work.” She arched her pale brow and then offered me her glass. It was like she was offering me an escape. A reason to turn away from what would have been a nasty, messy night.
“I could put in some overtime, if you needed me,” I purred, caging her in against the counter until her back arched and her perfect tits pressed fully against me.
Fuck. What I wouldn’t give for the smallest taste of Violet Demure.
The way she shifted against me, making me rock hard in an instant only fueled that fiery tension that always laid between us.
“You’re so into yourself, I don’t know how you ever make time for anyone else.” She shoved at my chest, her fingers lingering against my pecs, nails digging lightly into my skin in the most delicious way.
“I’d make time for you, Dee,” I whispered along her ear, making her tremble in my arms. “Just say the word and I’ll forget about how much I should be drinking right now.”
Then she said it; the thing I wanted to believe more than anything else.
“We aren’t our parents, you know. I’m not my disaster of a mother or my absent, unknown father. And you aren’t your mother.” She smiled softly. Sadly. “Or your father, or some simple football dream. Reed Carrington, you are solely yourself. Loyal. Sweet.”
No one. No one had ever called me sweet.
