Page 32 of A Photo Finish
“This?” Cole asks skeptically as he pulls up and looks at the building.
I haven’t been off the farm in what feels like forever, and he clearly doesn’t share my excitement. Which I don’t get. Isn’t he bored too? That’s what running twice a day says to me: bored.
“Are you scared?” I grab the handle and crack the door. His head flicks instantly at the sound.
“Don’t get out,” he huffs before hopping out his side and rounding the front of the truck in what looks like only a few long strides.
The man is so big and authoritative, I feel a flash of nerves as he storms over to me. He’s got that law enforcement vibe, like I might be in trouble for something. I squeeze my thighs together at the thought of being in trouble with Cole. It wouldn’t be so bad.You’re so sad, Violet.
“What’s that look for?” he asks, standing before me now, one hand holding the top of the open door, stressing the rounded lines of his bicep against the sleeve of his T-shirt. It looks like it might unravel under the strain, especially when I take too long to answer, and his fingers squeeze the door harder, making that bulge grow right before my eyes.
Eyes that go wide and then snap back to his stormy face. The harsh slashes of his cheekbones, the square jaw covered in stubble that would rasp against my . . .
“Violet.”
I startle. “Yeah? Yeah! Nothing. Let’s go.” I look toward the back of the truck, feeling my cheeks burn from the rabbit hole I just let my brain go down. Such a bad idea.
He doesn’t even ask this time. His huge hands slide across my ribs and wrap around my waist. I thank my lucky stars I’m wearing a loose cable-knit sweater that hides the little goosebumps dotting my arms. Everything about him is so . . . almost aggressive, that the gentleness of his touch never fails to startle me. I don’t think I imagined the careful way he lifted me out of the truck that night Billie brought me to his house, or the way he held me close and quietly asked if I was okay.
“You smell like a horse.” He grunts as he places me gently down on the ground and yanks his hands back to his sides. His reaction to touching me is not quite a match for the memory I just lost myself in. “Let’s go.”
I watch his broad back ripple beneath the fitted T-shirt as he walks stiffly toward the front door of the pub.
Obviously, hereallyneeds a drink.
11
Cole
Golddigger85:Do you live near your family?
I shakemy head at myself. This is my lame attempt at making conversation. We’ve been talking for several months now, and I’m not oblivious to the fact she’s been carrying most of the conversation. To be frank, I’m not sure why she sticks around.
I give her almost nothing, and she keeps coming back. Most people have friends because they enjoy their company. I have this friend because knowing she deserves better reminds me how badly I’m failing. I’m a fucking masochist, and I can’t even stop myself.
Every time she’s chipper and sweet, I feel more like a shit bag. But I can’t walk away from her. I live in the shadows, and she’s like this ray of light that brightens my day. I’m so fucking greedy.
Pretty_in_Purple:No. I moved to get away from them.
I don’t want to pry, but that sounds brutal. So, I settle on:
Golddigger85:Oof.
Pretty_in_Purple:Haha. No. That sounds bad. I love my dad and brothers. And they love me too, just a little too fiercely. Like . . . smother me fiercely. And in a small town? Forget it. I couldn’t put a foot wrong or stay out too late. Even dating was brutal. They were constantly meddling, even when I was old enough to handle myself. So I had to get outta there. Fresh start. Fresh me. Naked on the internet was a step for me. Lame as that sounds. They would HIT THE ROOF. But I did it anyway. Once. I’m good now.
Golddigger85:You showed them.
Pretty_in_Purple:Something like that.
Golddigger85:What about your mom?
She takes a few moments to type even though I can see that she’s seen the message.
Pretty_in_Purple:She died having me.
This is why I don’t try to make conversation. The fuck am I supposed to say to that? My thumbs hover over my phone, and I feel my heart rate increase, pounding against my ribs. I know a thing or two about dead parents. I settle on the lamest thing I can think of.
Golddigger85:I’m sorry.
