Where are you?
I huff out a breath, one that’s a little too loud. I’m getting antsy. I want to find her.Needto but doubt trickles in. Maybe the person I heard is another girl. Or worse, a guy. I grimace at the thought but push myself to find the basket. If I don’t come across anyone after that, I’ll leave.
I’ll take my loss just like I did earlier and walk out of the apartment.
My foot bumps into the basket a second later, but the strange thing about it? It almost seems like it slides off something. I take half a step further. My heart skips when my foot hits something hard but human-like.
Jackpot.
I crouch. No other gasps come from the person’s mouth. No signs that they’re scared their hiding place has been found, but that doesn’t deter me. I reach out, and eventually, my palm catches skin.
I feel what I think is the edge of a knee. I trace my fingers over the boney body part until it fills my palm. I squeeze my eyes shut even if I can’t see and slide my hand toward the person’s foot. I’m getting a feel, figuring out if I can place the person’s leg.
I get to their ankle, feel a dainty bracelet I’ve had the pleasure of running my fingertips over in the past, and all the air whooshes out of my lungs.
Violet, baby.
I found you.
THIRTY-SIX
VIOLET
Everleigh:How are fictional men so much better than the real life kind?
Violet:Because they’re written by women?
Violet:Also, where is this coming from?
Everleigh:Tristan drunk-texted me. Sent me a picture, too.
Everleigh:Sylvia and Fletcher are in the background of it.
Violet:Soooo what exactly does this sexy book boyfriend of yours look like?
Everleigh:I always knew you were a keeper.
I’m not typically scaredof the dark. Next year I’ll be a twenty-two-year-old college graduate, for crying out loud, but it’s almost eerie how the guys’ apartment goes from lit up to stark black.
Chatham U’s tradition of hook and seek wasn’t what I was planning on getting into tonight, but Olive wanted to celebrate and go into the New Year with a big bang. I couldn’t bring myself to say no to her. Not when winter break will fly by, and she’ll be back in Florida before either of us knows it.
However, the idea of another guy’s hands on me…no, thank you.
Colson’s are the only ones I want sliding up and down my body. His soft, feathery lips are the only ones I seem to think about every time the game resets, and we enter another round. I always seem to find the same hiding spot—this one in the closet—and so far, no one has found me.
Sebastian told everyone Colson's room was off limits. He had this serious look on his face when he said it. No one challenged him, too excited to get the game started to care about one room. I’m the only one who has dared to creep into his space and shut the door behind me like I’m not betraying Sebastian’s trust.
For an unexplainable reason, I put an empty laundry basket on my lap, thinking it’ll keep someone from finding me but what does it matter? No one has come in here so far, and I think it’ll stay that way. I rest my head against the wall and wait for the commotion that comes at the end of each round when the seeker finds someone and gets in their make-out sesh.
The quiet and darkness envelops me the longer I sit. I wonder where Olive hides. Last round, she ended up in Webber’s bed unknowingly. Her eyes went wide, and she gagged when I told her whose room she exited. There was nothing I could do but stand there and laugh while everyone rallied to hear the seeker of the next round. At the start, we agreed that tonight’s seekers would only be guys.
Mostly, I’m glad Olive is enjoying herself and has found friends in mine. Even Everleigh came back for two days to hangout with us and bring in the new year. I just can’t help but feel disappointed that I’m not spending a minute of it with Colson.
I’m still trying to work through the betrayal over him keeping everything from me. But waiting for things to change is pointless.
I think back to last night’s phone call. It didn’t take long for me to realize something was wrong. That he was calling because he needed me. I wish I could’ve physically been there. We may have this line drawn between us. We may say we’re just friends, but I think we’re both fully aware that we’ll never be able to be only that. That six-letter word feels too wrong on our lips when we say it.
A sound sparks from the bedroom, a trace of two objects flicking together.
