Page 17 of A Photo Finish
The dots roll and stop. Roll, stop. I wait a few beats before they roll again.
Pretty_in_Purple:Oh.
Golddigger85:Yeah. Oh. Still not interested?
Pretty_in_Purple:In internet orgasms? No, I’m good. I manage those just fine on my own.
I groan. The thought of the pale silky skin in that photo, what’s hidden beneath the pretty pink panties, wedged just slightly between the lips of her pussy. The thought of her fingers slipping beneath the triangle of lace.
I adjust myself in my sweats. It’s like this girl is totally clueless about how sexy she is—something I like even more.
Pretty_in_Purple is a tease, and she doesn’t even know it.
* * *
I shovemy air pods into my ears angrily. I’ve already worked out today, but I’m going for another one. I dig my thumb into my quad muscle and drag it down, trying to relieve the building soreness. Exercise is the only coping mechanism I have for whatever this feeling is. Trixie would tell me to give it a word but talking about your feelings isn’t really part of what the military drummed into me as a special operator.
So, with no gym in sight, I run. I do push ups. I do sit ups. If I can find some bricks or something, I could probably wrangle myself some weights. The gravel crunches under my feet as I hit the back roads; the air smells fresh and unfamiliar, like the silty rocks down at the cool river that runs through the property. Like the snow that hasn’t quite melted off the top of the Cascades, even though it’s already April.
I tell myself I miss the smell of exhaust and the sound of car horns blaring that I usually face when I’m downtown. But I think I might be lying. It’s hard to tell anymore. What I know is that movement is a gift, freedom that we can never take for granted. Your body, no matter the shape or size, is a workhorse that does incredible things for you. Simple things that you don’t even realize until you can’t do them anymore.
Which means I also know that Violet is feeling trapped by her injury. Maybe she doesn’t even realize it yet. But I do. And rather than being wise and understanding about it, I was . . . me.
After she stormed off, I went and got a step stool out of the storage shed so that she can reach that cupboard, even though I’m pretty sure the damage is already done. She thought I’d do that to her intentionally, so I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that I’m not in Violet Eaton’s good books.
I pump my arms and run faster, eating up the ground beneath me, breaking into a sweat. Even I want to run away from my personality.
How can I make this up to Violet? I know I don’t owe her anything, but the truth of the matter is she’s the closest thing I’ve had to a friend since . . . I can’t even remember. Hilary and I were certainly never friends. We were rich-kid fuck buddies. And then I was a soldier getting ready to deploy. And then we were engaged.
And when I came back for good? We were poison.
I stewed in that poison foryears.I scoff at myself as I round the corner onto another completely unidentifiable road.Nice try, old man, you’re still stewing. You’re saturated.
Violet doesn’t deserve to be tainted by my bullshit. She didn’t ask for any of this, and it wouldn’t kill me to make her life a little easier after hurting her feelings. Because IknowI hurt her—not intentionally—but I couldn’t give her more. I couldn’t give her what she wanted. I wasn’t brave enough to take my clothes off in person, let alone on a video chat. That night she told me to take over, to tell her what to do, it had beenhot. So fucking hot. Hotter than any other time I’d done it, probably because we’d gotten to know each other. Her trust meant something to me in that moment. I was feeling things for Violet that I couldn’t put my finger on.
But that’s all it was: a moment. For me, anyway. So, the least I can do now is not be a dick to her. I hadn’t even been trying to. It just always comes out that way whether or not I want it to. And usually, I don’t care how I’m perceived. It’s beneath me. I could try to be helpful, though. It won’t kill me, and Trixie would definitely approve.
My breaths come out in huffs, and I hate to admit it, but my body is tired from my first workout. The midmorning sun is hotter than I expected this far inland, so I stop, linking my hands behind my head to stretch out my chest, as I turn around slowly, taking in the heavily-treed ditches. All the leaves are a vibrant, almost neon green at this time of year. All fresh and new before they grow bigger and take on a darker shade.
With a deep sigh, I force my body into action. Mind over matter. And feeling tired doesn’t matter. So I carry on, forcing myself to run back even though I’d rather walk.
As I hit my stride, Violet’s face flashes into my mind. The one she’d made when she realized she couldn’t reach that cupboard. The pink stain on her cheeks. The way her round blue eyes had sparked like a live wire. The stupid sweatpants she was wearing all rolled over to fit her tiny waist. The evil part of me wants to laugh because she’d looked like a scrubby little Tinkerbell stomping her foot, but the good part of me absolutely cringes. I hadn’t meant to do that. I didn’t even think of it. I just put the pills where they belong, with the rest of my vitamins and supplements. I didn’t need the counters cluttered with random shit.
I run harder until I feel my lungs and quads burn. Until my mind goes blank.
I don’t need mylifecluttered with any of this shit.
* * *
The minuteI walk in the door, I see Violet scowling at me from the stool where she’d sat earlier. Her mouth is moving, but my music is so loud in my ear buds that I can’t hear her. It’s kind of glorious if I’m being honest. I’ll have to remember this trick for later.
I remove them, holding one hand up to stop whatever tirade she’s going on about right now. A bead of sweat trickles down between my shoulder blades as I calmly ask, “What is it you’re going off about?”
Her bottom lip pouts out, and her shoulders drop on a sigh. Agitation flows off her in waves. “There’s no coffee in this place.”
“I know,” I say, removing my shoes and placing them on the shelf before wandering into the house for a glass of water. “Coffee is a crutch; it tricks your body into thinking you have energy.”
Her knuckles go white from gripping the counter so hard. “I want to be tricked. No. Ineedto be tricked.” She slides off the stool gingerly. “I’m going up to the barn to get coffee. I need to figure out where I’m going to stay,” she rants on, “because out of everything wrong with staying with you, the fact you don’t have any coffee is the most offensive.”
