“Oh, I do, but I might actually take action.”
I smile at that, reminiscing briefly over Olive and I always having each other’s backs. What I wouldn’t do for her.
“We’re over. I have no plan or desire to get back together.”
“Thank fuck for that.”
“You’re lucky mom can’t hear you.”
She shrugs. “What’s she going to do? Wash my mouth out with soap?”
“No, but she might forbid you from going back to that academy where youmustbe learning all that bad,naughtylanguage.”
She waves her hand at me. “Don’t try to change the subject. Have you met anyone else?”
“I haven’t.”
“Not interested?”
“Nope.”
“Here I was hoping that I’d be able to live vicariously through you.”
“It’s been nice being on my own after being with Webber. I’m not rushing to jump into anything serious.”
Colson comes to mind as I say it. The way he grabbed my ass all those weeks ago. It feels like it happened forever ago and yesterday all at the same time. What I’m most happy about is how it didn’t seem to impact our friendship. That it happened and we’ve been able to talk like we did beforehand. How we’ve both stretched the textingfor emergencies onlyinto daily, random conversations.
If I told Olive that though, she’d take it and run with it.
I’m not quite sure if it’s something I want her to obsess over because I’ve grown to enjoy the time Colson and I share. Sure, he’s sex on legs with sculpted forearms and drool-worthy biceps. His ass might be the tightest one I’ve ever seen, and those blue eyes are one shade away from drowning me when I look intothem, but I’m not sure where his head is when it comes to me. The attraction is there—if it wasn’t he would’ve never gripped my ass like he was starving for it—but there’s no interest in commitment.
“Boring. I wish I had a boyfriend. Maybe that’s what I need to help balance my schedule out,” she contemplates, bringing her hand to her chin to stroke it thoughtfully.
“Bad idea.”
“Come on, you don’t want a little excitement in our lives?”
I throw another candy at her. It pings off her cheek.
Little does she know, I’ve had enough excitement to last the both of us for the next five years. The absolute last thing I want to think about is her ruining her chances at her prestigious dance school for a boy who wouldn’t risk it back.
Spending moretime in the bathroom than what most consider normal, I sit on the edge of the clawfoot tub I used plenty over the summer and stare at my phone. Thanksgiving dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes, and I don’t know how I’m going to handle it when my stomach is cramping worse than if I had a bad case of IBS.
I have yet to see Dad—who was in the upstairs office when I arrived—but I’m aware of needing to be cordial with him for Mom and Olive’s sake.
What I’m worried about is how my demeanor might change. I don’t want to lie to their faces. My omission has me feeling guilty enough, but if they notice a change in my behavior, all bets are off.
I unlock my phone and open my messaging app, quick to type out a text to the only person I can trust with the topic of my dad.
Violet: I’m freaking out.
Colson: Talk to me.
Violet: Dinner is about to start. Tell me what to do.
Colson: What I told you before.
Violet: I don’t know if I can do that.
