CHAPTER SEVEN
Ace
“Where do you want this?” I groan as I hold tightly onto the box that must hold every pot and pan Violet owns.
“The kitchen,” she directs me, as she turns around, pointing to where I need to go.
As she does, I try to force my eyes away from the tight pants she’s wearing. If there’s one thing Violet has, it’s a grade A ass. It’s firm, tight, and round, with what looks like enough give I could get a good handful if she’d ever let me touch her. Thankful that the box I’m bringing in is hiding what is now an erection, I focus back on the task at hand. Especially when I hear the other helpers stomping up the steps of the porch.
Renegade and Tank come in behind me, both holding boxes, waiting for her to give them directions.
Whitney comes in, carrying Stella in her arms. “Hey Violet, the couch and chair I was able to get from the warehouse that was going out of business is here. You want me just to have them put it on the porch, then the guys can move it?”
“Yeah,” she answers, sounding a little overwhelmed.
Looking over at her, I see she is, in fact, overwhelmed. “Be right back.” I glance over at my friends. Grabbing Violet’s hand, I pull her out onto the back porch. “You okay?” I ask as I take a drink of bottled water.
“I can’t believe everything everyone’s done for me, and I’m starting to freak out a little bit.” Tears spring to those brown eyes of hers, and she pulls her lip in between her teeth. “What did I do to deserve this?”
“You’re you.” I reach out, putting my hand around her neck, massaging the tight muscles lightly, hoping to relax her. “These people care about you. If Whitney wanted to spend two hundred bucks getting you a couch and chair, let her. She’s been where you are. If Blaze wanted to give you a gift card for groceries to fill this new fridge up with, let her. They don’t do anything they don’t want to do, Vi, and you’re an important part of our lives. Just smile and accept it. One day you’ll pay it forward.”
Tears slip from those eyes. “It’s so much.”
“In the grand scheme of things, it’s nothing,” I insist. “Every day we assist someone in the community, why can’t you be one of those people?”
“I don’t feel like I deserve it,” she whispers. “I got myself into the situation I was in.”
“Stop it right now. No one ever asks to be hit, Vi. You and I both know that.”
“It’s just hard to accept so much charity.”
I tilt my head back and take a deep breath, calling on the patience I usually have. “No one is doing this because they feel sorry for you. They’re doing it because they want you to succeed. When you do, we’ll all celebrate with you. We’ve all needed help in our lives, all we’re doing is paying it forward. When you can, you will. Simple as that. Okay?”
“Okay.” She nods.
“Now let’s get back in there and get you moved in.”
* * *
Hours later, I’m lying on the floor of Violet’s bedroom, sprawled out on the plush carpet as she hangs up her clothing in the huge closet. If I was a woman, I’d be envious of this closet. It’s way bigger than the one I have on my side.
“Are you okay?” she asks, a giggle in her tone.
“I’m dead.” I close my eyes, groaning. “I thought working out the way I do kept me in shape, but it’s painfully obvious that the gym is no match for physical labor.”
“How about I feed you?” she asks as she comes to stand over me. I can feel her presence, and when I open my eyes, I wish like hell she was in a skirt. Guess that teenage boy inside will never fully go away.
“Please do.” I roll over, pushing myself up on my arms. “I could probably eat you out of house and home right now,” I warn her.
“I’ve got plenty. C’mon.”
Following her into the kitchen, I take in the way the place looks. Since we had Blaze and Whitney with us, they got almost everything put away before they had to leave.
“I wish everyone else had stayed, I could have fed them, too. They did a lot of work for me today.”
“They enjoyed it.” I have a seat at the breakfast bar. I’m not sure where these stools came from, but at some point, someone set them up. “Now what are you feeding me?”
“You have a couple of options.” She holds open the fridge. “I can do a broccoli chicken casserole type dish, burgers, I’ve got some shrimp that I can make into a shrimp pasta, ummm…” She bends over and I try my best to avert my eyes from her ass that’s now in my face. Violet has always been a beautiful woman, and I’ve always noticed it. “Or I can make you breakfast.”
Averting my eyes from her ass, I veto the breakfast. “I get breakfast at The Café all the time. I’ll take the broccoli chicken casserole.”
“It’ll take longer, but I’d love to make it for you.” She gives me a smile.
“Then I’d love to eat it.”
I try not to let those words go to my groin, but they do. Truth be told, I’ve had a hard-on for this woman since the first moment I saw her. Clearing my throat, I turn away from where she’s prepping the meal and gesture to her TV. “I’ll hook up the Firestick I got you, and then we can watch some Netflix while we wait. Sound good?”
“You really didn’t have to do that,” she reminds me. “It’s not like I had cable before, and I was just fine watching Netflix through the TV.”
“I know, but it’s something you enjoy. Just let me give it to you?”
She agrees and I go to work away from where she tempts me.
Violet
The looks Anthony has given me all afternoon have caused feelings in my body I haven’t had in years. Flustered after he told me he’d love to eat what I’m making, I turn away from him and begin going to work on the meal. There’s never been so much sexual tension in anything I’ve ever done. I’m almost positive he feels it too, but I can’t go there. He’s done too much for me, and I don’t want to confuse real feelings with hero worship.
“Do you like biscuits or rolls?”
“I like both,” he answers as I hear him flipping through things on my TV.
“Tell me which one you want.” I’m feeling slightly anxious. Whenever I would make decisions for Brent, they would be the wrong ones, and for a moment I’m not sure what to do.
“I decided about dinner,” his voice is preoccupied. “Your turn.”
That answer gives me even more anxiety. Heat rushes up from my stomach to my chest. Inexplicably I feel panic. “Anthony, please just decide.” The tension in my voice is palpable, and he’s tuned in to the fact something is happening with me.
“Why? What’s so wrong with you deciding?” He gets up, coming over to where I am, keeping the breakfast bar in between us.
“I never got to decide, and when I did it was wrong,” I push the tears back with an inhumane force. “This feels like a trap.”
His voice is tender and low when he speaks. “It’s not sweetheart, not a trap at all. You fix what you like. It’s called compromise, and it’s how we’re going to have a relationship. I’m not a dickhead who has to control every aspect of your life, Vi. You pick what you want. If I don’t like it? I still eat it, and act like I do, because that’s what you do for the lady in your life.” He gives me a smile.
He turns, goes back in the living room, leaving me to it. Pushing the fear and confusion down, I shake off the melancholy feeling, and take a deep breath.
Grabbing the rolls out of the freezer, I set them down on the counter until I’m ready to put them in the oven. I’ve mixed everything in the casserole, and when the pre-heat timer beeps, I stick it in and set the alarm on my phone so that I don’t let it overcook. With nothing else to do, I walk into the living room and have a seat on the opposite end of the couch from him. I could have sat in the chair, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I want to be close to him.
“So what is it you like?” He kicks off his shoes and puts his sock-covered feet on my coffee table.
I give him a glare, but he returns it with one of those smiles of his.
“My legs hurt,” he explains. “I have to stretch them out. I sustained some muscle damage when Fulcher hurt his knee. It doesn’t keep me from everyday life, obviously, but sometimes I have pain.”
“Then I guess you can have a free pass.”
He’s going through the menus and asks me again. “What kind of shows do you like?”
“I like all the comic stuff, almost any of the crime shows, I like to laugh, but I also like to use my brain.”
“Good, then let’s find a series that’s got like a million seasons.” He goes through some of the most popular shows. “What about Supernatural?”
“I’ve only ever seen one episode.”
He clicks on it. “I saw the first season a long time ago, but I can’t even tell you what happened, so it’d be like I was watching it for the first time.
“I’m ready when you are.” I grab the blanket someone put on the back of the couch and snuggle in for a nice marathon.
Almost an hour later when the timer goes off on my phone, we pause it and grab food, along with drinks, and the utensils to eat. Anthony pulls the coffee table toward the couch so we have something to sit our plates on.
“Oh my God,” he moans as he takes a bite of the casserole. “I haven’t had one of these in a really long time. My mom and I love them, but my sister and dad hate them, so it was always a special occasion at my house when I got it. I can’t tell you the last time I had one. This one is just as good as my mom’s.”
The praise makes me feel good, brightens up a dark spot inside my soul. “I’m glad.”
He grabs the remote off the table and starts the show back for us as we eat in a companionable silence, only speaking when we make a comment about what’s happening on the screen. When we’re done, we move our stuff out of the way, and I lie down on my side of the couch.
“You can put your feet in my lap,” he offers. “I promise I won’t tickle.”
There, lying together with full bellies and content spirits, we start what becomes a nightly occurrence for us. We simply enjoy each other’s company and friendship. However, I have no idea how this little plot twist in my story will completely alter the ending, how it turns a miserable existence into a happily ever after.
A few hours later, as I’m trying to keep my eyes open and I know I’ve heard him lightly snoring for the past thirty minutes, he sits up. “I gotta get going, otherwise I’m gonna be your first overnight guest.”
The sleepy smile he gives me is lazy and sexy. On a whim, it makes me want to tell him he can stay, but I know I’m not ready for that. “Can you do one thing for me first?” My voice is quiet in the stillness of the room.
Reaching over, he cups my chin. “You know I’ll do whatever you need me to, Vi.”
“Can you do a walk-through. Make sure everything’s locked?”
It’s hard to ask this of him, and given the glimpse of compassion in his gaze, this isn’t easy for him either. “Yeah, give me just a sec.”
Wringing my fingers in my lap, I try to explain. “In the trailer, I knew were all the hiding places were and…”
A well-placed finger to my lips stops me from continuing. “I get it sweetheart, you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”
And that’s the awesome thing about Anthony Bailey; I honestly don’t have to explain myself, because he gets me in a way that no one else ever has.