Nine
Jon’s ass was rapidly growing numb, and he couldn’t decide if it was the rumble of his motorcycle or the bitter cold Utah night air that was causing it. He didn’t have much time to dwell on it either since his stomach had bottomed out at the sight greeting him as his headlights illuminated the driveway of his family’s home. He assumed Jackson must’ve seen the horrifying sight as well because the arms he had around Jon’s waist from behind tightened to bone-crushing levels. If his stomach hadn’t already fallen to his feet, Jon was sure his brother would’ve squeezed it right out of his body.
He brought the bike to a screeching stop and hopped off, seconds before Jackson’s fierce hold stole the last wisp of air from his body. His boots crunched against the gravel as he tripped over his own feet to get to Viola and Milo’s rental car. The car’s engine was still running—it’s headlights illuminating the quiet driveway.
“Viola—!” Jon’s horrified scream broke as he came closer to the sight that had stolen his breath. Then, his wide eyes softened, his clenched fists loosened and his gaping lips spread into a smile he couldn’t control.
Lying on her back on the gravel with her knees lodged underneath the car was Viola, her tiny limbs flailing back and forth like a fish who’d been ripped from the ocean and left in the sand to die. Milo lay atop her, sound asleep. As if he’d just fallen into the deepest slumber he’d ever had—on the softest bed on the planet—and not on top of his girl.
Jon’s throat closed up.
His girl.
His brother’s girl.
Viola’s big brown eyes caught sight of Jon above her, then widened, clearly thankful that another human being was there to save her. Her desperate squirming grew violent as she squealed and moaned, writhing for rescue, unable to speak because Milo’s forearm was slung right across her mouth, his leather jacket muffling her every word.
At five-foot-six, Milo was no mountain man, but he was still basically a giant next to Viola who, as far as Jon was concerned, was about half an inch shy from entering little person territory. Milo’s entire body was splayed sideways across hers, laying directly on top of her skinny arms, splayed wide on either side of her body, like she was making a snow angel, completely restricting all movement of her upper body. Her legs were kicking wildly, but since they were trapped under the bottom of the car, movement there was impossible as well. The scent of bile rose up and stung Jon’s nose. Only then did he notice the pink-colored vomit splattered in Viola’s hair, making her curly strands stick together from where they were fanned all over the ground.
Jon chortled, unable to help it, bringing a fisted hand up to his lips to stifle the sound. He was sure he heard a few muffled profanities rise from her lips and into the night air as her desperate moans grew violent. Moans that were meant to convey her anger wiped the smile clear off his face. Not because he felt bad for angering her, but because he realized the buttery sound of her moans right then were no different from the ones that had kissed his lips on the plane. The ones that had tickled his tongue and warmed his throat as her breathy groans mixed with his, bringing butterflies alive in his stomach that felt like they’d been tearing his guts to shreds. Making his heart beat faster than he could ever remember it beating in his life. Faster than when he performed for packed houses in the country’s largest arenas. Faster than he’d ever known it capable.
He clenched his teeth around his gum, reigniting its minty flavor. He wished the wad was still as pepperminty strong as it was right out of the package, desperate for any distraction as every inch of amusement washed out of his eyes and he glared down at her.
His face must’ve looked as poisonous as it felt because she immediately stopped thrashing under his gaze. Stopped writhing. Stopped moaning. Her wide eyes got even bigger, doubling in size, as she became completely frozen, searching his face like it was the most riveting book she’d ever read. Desperate to get to the next chapter to find out what the hell was going to happen next.
Nothing.
That’s what.
Nothing was going to happen between them. As far as Jon was concerned, she was dead to him. No better than the dirt on the bottom of his shoe. Deserving of every strangled breath Milo stole from her right then. Of every stitch of puke stuck to her curly hair. Of every patch of dirt that had found its way off the ground and onto her face.
She deserved it all.
“Holy shit!” Jackson came up next to Jon and bent over at the knees with a howl, his face lighting up as laughter overtook him. “What happened, Viola?”
Viola began to thrash and writhe once more, voice still muffled.
Clearly much more of a humanitarian than his brother, Jackson hurried over and bent down, throwing Milo’s arm off Viola’s mouth.
“I can’t breathe—” Her whispered voice was barely audible, so she drew in a healthy breath and tried again. “I can’t breathe! Can you get him off me, please.”
“Did he throw up on you?” Jackson, still laughing, seized Milo’s arm once more and got to work dragging him off her. Since Jackson wasn’t much bigger than him, pulling Milo off her proved a grueling task, one that left him huffing and puffing as he leaned back and dug his heels into the dirt, looking for any leverage he could get as he heaved backward.
“Move.” Jon approached and laid the back of his hand on Jackson’s chest, guiding him aside. “Move. I got it.”
“How much has he had to drink?” Jackson moved aside.
Jon pulled Milo’s limp body up from the ground with ease, bending down and throwing one of his limp arms over his shoulder. Milo collapsed onto his back, and Jon stood tall with a grunt.
“I swear to God if this motherfucker throws up on me…” Jon did a little hop to re-adjust Milo’s weight.
“Don’t worry.” Wiggling out from under the car and stumbling up to her feet, Viola slapped away the dirt and leaves that’d gotten stuck to her dress as she looked up at him, tugging at the ends of her hair. “He was kind enough to give me every last drop.”
Jon glared down at her because, even though it did appear she’d gotten every last drop of Milo’s puke in her hair, the horrid smell still didn’t overpower the much more horrid scent of her fruity shampoo. A scent that had once been the farthest thing from horrid to him. A scent that had never failed to make his pulse race the moment he’d breathed deep now bordered on unbearable. His eyes ran the extra small shift dress that was too big for her skinny body. With no ass or tits to give it some shape, it looked like a paper bag that had been painted bright yellow. She crossed one of her equally scrawny legs over the other when his gaze landed on the high-heeled black booties at her feet.
His eyes slowly rose back to her face. Even her full lips and slightly wide nose somehow seemed delicate in size. Round enough to leave no question to her West African ancestry but still small enough to fit her pint-sized face. His eyes followed her as she broke their gaze and moved to the car, leaning into the passenger’s seat to remove the keys from the ignition. A flash of her yellow polka dot panties made containing the scream that rose up his throat nearly impossible, so Jon turned away and began toward the house before it could succeed in its mission.
Viola and Jackson’s voices rang in behind him as he crossed the yard and climbed the steps of the porch.
“What happened, Viola?” Jackson asked.
“You know when you’re out drinking and think you’re straight until you actually stand up? Well, Milo thought he was straight until I opened the door to help his drunk ass out of the car and we both realized how straight he wasn’t, a touch too late.”
“Man, I know that feeling,” Jackson laughed. “Sucks.”
Jon cut a look at Jackson over his shoulder as he threw open the front door, craning his body to make sure he didn’t crack Milo’s skull against the frame. “And you know that feeling, how? You’re fourteen.”
Jackson gave him a look. “Think back to when you were fourteen, bro, and times that by ten.”
“I guess you’re just a badass now, huh?”
“Damn straight.”
“Don’t tell Dad Milo got fucked up,” Jon said, moving into the dark, quiet house with Viola and Jackson on his heels. “He’ll just blame me—”
“Should I?”
All three of them gasped at the unexpected voice as Robert clicked on a lamp in the living room to their left, illuminating their stunned faces.
“Should I blame you?” Robert asked, eyes bleary and uneven as he motioned to them from the living room sitting chair. “What happened to my son?”
“If you need to blame me, Dad, fine. Go nuts.” Jon moved toward the stairs.
Robert’s voice stopped him in mid-step. “Thought you weren’t coming back.”
“I’m not back. Just dropping off Jackson, and apparently now Milo. Wasn’t even gonna come in but…”
“Did you put my boy on the back of that bike, drunk?”
“No, Dad.”
“Jon didn’t even drink tonight,” Viola said, unable to keep the clip from her voice.
Jon met her eyes over his shoulder, unable to decide what his stomach was doing as a lump moved down his throat.
She didn’t notice his gaze, her eyes hard on Robert. “Not one drop. I watched him.”
“He only had soda water, Dad,” Jackson said. “He knew I wanted to ride home on the motorcycle.”
“Said he’d was willing to take the risk with his own life,” Viola added. “But not Jackson’s.”
Robert cut his eyes to Viola. “And you?”
She straightened. “I had one drink. Just one. Early on. Before dinner. And I ate every bite.”
They all watched Robert with big eyes and still bodies, every pair of lungs still as his squinted gaze danced back and forth between all of them. A long silence fell and lingered.
Then, Robert spoke. “Don’t wake your mother.”
——
Minutes earlier, Viola had been convinced that the sight of Jon’s biceps exploding to twice their size as he hauled Milo over his shoulder had been the sexiest sight she’d ever seen. But only because she’d yet to witness the sight before her right then.
“I wish you would,” Jon warned Milo, who was sitting on the edge of the guest bed before him, teetering back and forth, his eyelids heavy like a toddler fighting a nap, heaving softly every other second. “I wish you would throw up on me, right now. I’ll knock you the fuck out. I swear to God I will.”
Viola smiled from where she leaned against the doorway as Jon threw one empty threat after the other at Milo. The kind of threats only a loving family member could get away with without it being considered verbal assault. She crossed her arms tightly as Jon helped Milo—who’d woken up halfway into their journey up the stairs—out of his jacket, throwing it to the floor of the guest bedroom.
“Lay down,” Jon instructed.
Frowning softly in his drunken stupor, as if he couldn’t decide whether he was experiencing great pleasure or great pain, Milo fell back onto the pillows. Once he was down, he was out cold once more, snoring loudly with haphazard moans and groans mixed in. Slurring words that barely qualified as English as he entered a dream world.
Jon moved to the foot of the bed with a shake of his head and began to untie Milo’s boots. He dropped each one to the floor with a thud.
“Didn’t know he was capable of having this much fun,” Jon said.
Viola straightened. Since the moment he’d dropped Milo onto that bed, Jon hadn’t looked up at her once. She’d been convinced he’d had no idea she was standing there.
“You have no idea,” she said. “That math nerd can paaarty. Let me tell you. This is nothing.”
He looked up at her while tugging off Milo’s socks, then curled his top lip as if he’d just realized what a mistake he’d made in acknowledging her at all.
Viola’s smile vanished at the disgusted look on his face, which only seemed more intense when he left Milo and began toward the door, his every angry feature more amplified the closer he grew.
She squared her shoulders and stood her ground, even as her basest instincts screamed for her to run.
He stopped at the door, looking exasperatedly down at her. “ ‘Scuse me.”
It was more of a demand than a polite request, but she didn’t move, looking up into his angry blue eyes with the same determination she felt burning in her heart.
Crossing her arms, tightly, she swallowed heavily. “What was that tonight?”
He pressed his lips together and gazed lazily over her shoulder, out into the hallway, before charging forward, pushing past her to leave the room.
She held her breath as his body brushed against hers. His strength against her softness. His spicy scent against her sweet. His towering frame against her short one. She breathed in the very essence that made him such a man. The man that had taken her breath away from the moment she’d laid eyes on him. The man who’d taken it away every minute she’d known him thereafter. Like she’d been born again in a world that hadn’t existed until she’d met him.
She followed him out into the darkened hallway and took his arm before he could take another step away.
He froze but didn’t face her. “My dad is right downstairs.”
She tugged his arm again.
He turned.
Her chest swelled as their eyes met, amazed at how his blue orbs somehow made the hallway feel less dark. She couldn’t tell if he was lighting up the room, or just her soul.
“It was an… interesting night.” She took a deep breath and asked him again. “What was that? At the concert?”
He searched her eyes, his own chest taking up a heave. One so strong she heard every trembling breath that left his flared nostrils. The sound filled the room like the most beautiful symphony she’d ever heard. Like a sad song on the radio that touched her heart so deeply she couldn’t help but relate to it right away.
“What was what at the concert?” he spat.
She tilted her head as if to say ‘come on now.’ They both knew what had gone on against the rails of that concert. The same thing that was going on right then.
“I still haven’t decided whether or not I’m going to tell him what you did,” he whispered. “And you’re not helping your case right now.”
Impervious to a warning that held no weight in contention with her aching limbs, she took a step closer.
He drew in a sharp breath.
“Can you just tell me one thing?” she breathed.
He held her gaze, jaw clenched.
“If I wasn’t with Milo… and I’d called your number…” Emotion burned her eyes, leaving her thankful that the hallway was too dark for him to see. “What would you have done?”
“The fuck is wrong with you?”
“Just answer that one question, and I swear I’ll never ask another one.”
“Why don’t you go lay down with your boyfriend? In case you hadn’t noticed, he’s fucked up right now.”
I’d much rather lay down with you.
“Lay down with him? So he can throw up in my hair some more?” she whispered. “Hard pass.”
The corners of his lips lifted but that lift disappeared in an instant. Like the darkness had eaten it alive.
But Viola caught it. “Besides, Betty already has us sleeping in separate rooms. The sight of Milo and I in bed together might give her a heart attack. At least until he makes an honest woman out of me.”
“Honest?” His smile was back, this one much different than the last.
“Jon, listen, I understand why you’re angry at me—”
“I’m not angry at you.”
“You are—”
“That would imply I give a shit about you at all.”
She took the blow. “I know what I would’ve done… If I’d called your number. Do you wanna know what I would’ve done?”
She swore he leaned in. The tiniest fraction of an inch, but still close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath on her skin like his lips were inches away. Close enough that, if she came to her toes and craned her head up, their lips would be sealed together. Close enough to send herself crashing to the floor—ten times faster than Milo had outside—as her knees began to wobble uncontrollably.
The tip of his perfectly pointed nose came within a breath of hers—so close she could feel the invisible baby hairs on the tip tickling hers. The skin on the tip of her own nose prickled as if it was seconds from sprouting tentacles, her body evolving into a totally different species for the sole purpose of getting even a quarter of an inch closer to him. Willing to take on an alien form just to achieve that goal. He already made her feel alien at her depths anyway, might as well go full throttle.
Instead of forcing her to transform, he closed the breath of space that remained between them, brushing the tip of his nose down the bridge of hers.
She clenched her thighs in response—sure her pounding clit was seconds from exploding between her legs.
Please ask me. Ask me what I would’ve done. Her mind cried out. Or better yet just fucking kiss me already.
The tip of his nose left hers, and his mouth fell open as if he was going to do just that.
She held her breath in anticipation.
“Stay the fuck away from me, Viola Rice.”
She gasped in a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding as the sharp words hit her, eyes welling up as he turned away—his gaze never leaving hers—and began down the hallway.
He kept his eyes on her, over his shoulder, as he left, the cringe on his face deepening with every step he took before he disappeared around the corner and pounded down the stairs.
Each pound of his shoes felt like they were dancing in time with her racing heart.
A heart that should’ve been shattered to pieces but was now more determined than ever.