Page 31 of For Dear Life

“Is this because you want to go bowling?” she repeats.

“No!”

“You are extremely confusing at times, Rowan.” Violet pushes her tongue against a canine. “If I’ve upset you, we could go bowling tomorrow?”

“This isn’t about the bowling…” I trail off. “Forget it. Maybe Leif might leave his room if you ask him to go with you.”

“Right.” She pauses. “Besides, you’d distract me.”

“Oh? Meaning?”

“Take that as you wish.”

Hands behind my back, I lean forward, close enough to inhale the ocean-scented soap she uses. How would Violet smell to me if I was a vampire—especially if I was Grayson? I’ve barely touched her skin or hardly tasted that sweetness, and if the smell of Violet’s blood tempts him in the same way, Grayson’s more controlled than I imagine I would be as a vamp.

“I suppose I’ll spend the evening practicing my new magic then,” I whisper.

“Psychometry, I hope,” she says, not moving. “If you even try to touch the shadows, I’ll drain your magic energy until you can barely conjure anything simple for a week.”

“You can drain my energy any time, Violet.” I pull back and smile.

“Good grief, Rowan. That’s extremely unhelpful.” She holds my gaze, a glimmer of something in her eyes that recognizes what I’m saying.

We’ve never spoken about the kissing, and considering everything that happened between then and now, kisses seem low on the list of ‘life-changing events for Violet’.

She doesn’t move as I hold my mouth close enough to hers that they almost touch. “I hope you find a dress you like,” I whisper.

Why won’t you just put your lips on mine, so I know what the hell is happening here?

For one hopeful heartbeat, I think she will, but Violet pulls her head back. “A dress for bowling? Holly’s wearing jeans.”

My mouth pulls up at one side, and irritation flares across Violet’s face and into her aura at my next words. “For when we go to the Spring Ball, Violet.”

11

LEIF

Violet stands in the entrance to the bowling alley, her sullen face and black clothes a massive contrast to the name above her in pink neon lights. Sounds of pins knocked over echo from one direction ahead, and to our side there’s an arcade filled with brighter lights and mingled music and voices, some kids crowded around and shouting at the more popular games.

I’m unsure which of the two locations Violet’s viewing with the greater dread.

“What’s that awful smell?” she asks.

“Shoes.”

“Excuse me?”

“You need to wear special bowling shoes. The alley hires them with the games. They have an... odor.”

Horror strikes her face. “Shoes other people have worn? No. That will not happen.”

She looks around, her face one of a girl brought to a funeral and not for an evening out to somewhere that involves fun. Actually, maybe that’s what she would prefer. What did Violet do in her spare time before Thornwood? “And what is in there?” Violet jabs a finger at the arcade.

“Arcade games. I’ll win something for you later—I’m pretty good at the claw machine. Not many people are.” I grin.

“Claw machine? I’m almost curious, but no. Only if Holly visits the machines. Where is she?”

Not waiting for an answer, Violet marches through to the area spanned by bowling lanes, a place I’ve spent some good evenings inside over the years—winning usually. The thud of the balls and the monitors flashing with names and scores announced by a disembodied voice cause a surge of memories, but Violet halts as if I’ve brought her into a circle of Hell.

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