Page 109 of Live To Tell

GRAYSON

“I still believe loitering around the clubhouse is as conspicuous as standing on the side-lines.” Violet gestures across the tarmac space between the playing fields a few hundred meters away and the wooden bench where we sit and wait for Rowan.

Rowan made a pointed comment how 'a couple of weird Goth kids' hanging around a kid's soccer training match would look strange, to which I retorted better that than they know I'm a blood-drinking vampire.

But it makes sense to keep Violet out of view after Annabelle's freak out earlier.

Rowan stands beside a group of parents who’re enthusiastically cheering on their kids as they play. They're young—pre-teen—and a mix of boys and girls, some in red bibs over their shirts, others in blue. He's out of Annabelle’s sight, the pony tailed woman now without her baseball cap and with a whistle around her neck that she uses for the fourth time.

Violet cringes. “If somebody blew a whistle at me, I'd punch them.”

“Yeah, the tone isn't great on our hearing sensitivity.”

“Neither is the human spawns’ combined cacophony,” she remarks.

I frown as I unpick her words. “You mean the soccer players?”

“High pitched shrieking voices and too much shouting.” She wrinkles her nose and gestures at the kids enjoying their day beneath a cloudless sky. “Worse than the hospital. Let's hope this excursion is worth our time and Annabelle speaks to us.”

“Mmm.”

“And that she confirms Vik is the witch concerned and elaborates who he is and the events hinted at in the letter,” she continues.

“Right.”

She turns to look at me. “Are you paying attention, Grayson?”

No. I'm suffering from constant replays of Violet's lips against mine, how the girl who wouldn't let me near pressed herself to my naked chest, surrounding me with her blood scent as I tasted the sweetness I’ve craved.

But best I don’t say that.

I barely touched Violet’s skin but still discovered the hard-edged girl is impossibly soft on the outside; softer than anyone I've touched before. My obsession with Violet took over my life too much before, and I'm a fully crazed fanatic now.

“Are you listening, Grayson?” she repeats.

I stare at her lips. “Mostly.”

“I do recognize that look, by the way,” she tells me. “I'm learning male body language extremely well.”

Unable to resist, I slide my long fingers across her cheek to cup the back of Violet's head and move my face closer to those tempting lips. “Kiss me.”

“Good grief.” Her small hand comes between us and not-so-lightly pushes at my chest. “I will not be one of those girls who subject others to public displays of physical desire.”

I run my finger along Violet's nose. “Although I'm disappointed, I do like that you mentioned physical desire. Maybe a less public display later?”

Violet's eyes slide ever so briefly to my lips. “Meaning?”

“Alone.”

“Depends how busy I am,” she says. “Now stop distracting me.”

I splutter in amusement, but what else did I expect from hitting on Violet when she’s mid-investigation mode?

“Look.” Violet points at where Annabelle strides towards Rowan, barely pausing but clearly speaking to him as she continues walking away from the soccer pitch, Rowan at her heels.

“I'll get the water,” she shouts over her shoulder and heads towards the opposite end of the building we’re loitering outside.

Rowan wanders after her, and Violet's on her feet in a heartbeat.

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