She smiles, but I can’t decide if it’s from amusement or genuine pleasure. “Don’t hate me, but like, kind of, yeah.” She laughs. “I’m most definitely surprised.”
“What’s so funny?”
“I don’t know, it’s just…” Her tinkling laughter reaches a new pitch, and she shoves her hair away from her face, sitting up and resting her back against the couch’s armrest. “I’ve had like two sexual experiences, and neither one would’ve been caught dead bringing me a washcloth to help clean up afterward. Not that there’s even necessarily anything to clean up in this case since we used a condom, so…”
“Bet if I looked at your underwear, we could prove differently,” I point out. She chews the inside of her cheek and scrunches her nose. “Not so ridiculous of a gesture now, is it?”
“Okay, fine. I can do it,” she caves. Sitting up a little more, she takes the washcloth and wipes between her legs. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Give me two minutes, and I’ll get dressed, then you can take me home?”
It comes out as a question. I can’t decide if it’s because she honestly doesn’t think I’d give her a ride if she asked for it, or if it’s because the idea of ending the night already feels…empty, almost.
“Nah, too tired,” I lie.
Her eyes widen. Whatever she’d been expecting me to say, that clearly wasn’t it, though she doesn’t look disappointed. She looks intrigued. “Oh, really?” she challenges.
“Mm-hmm.” I fake a yawn and stretch my arms over my head, laying the lie on thick.
“So, what? I’m supposed to call an Uber?”
“Or you could stay the night,” I offer.
She tilts her head, scrutinizing me.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” I remind her. And it’s funny, because I’ve never let a girl stay the night. Not unless we’re both so wasted we pass out. That isn’t the case for me and Violet, though. And maybe it’s stupid. Maybe I should grab my keys and drive her home. But for some reason I don’t want to analyze, I’m not ready to let her go yet.
“You sure?” she asks.
With a nod, I scoop up her pants, then offer my hand. “Come on. Let’s get you upstairs.”
35
JAGGER
The sound of an engine roaring in the driveway jostles me from sleep. Tossing my forearm over my eyes, I groan and roll onto my side. It’s empty. The bed. Not exactly what I was expecting when last night, I fell asleep with a certain blonde tucked against my side. Where the hell is Violet? Curious, I sit up and look around, confirming what I already know. My Little Thief is missing. A girl’s laughter echoes from outside. Slipping on a pair of boxers, then basketball shorts, I glance out the window, curious if I’ll catch the culprit. Violet? Is that you? I search the front yard and driveway for a flash of blonde, but whoever had been outside is missing. Instead, all I find is a familiar bike parked out front.
“What the hell are you doing here, Judge?” I mumble under my breath. Snatching a T-shirt from my closet, I tug it over my head and enter the hallway, nearly running into Ford.
“What does he want now?” Ford asks.
“No idea,” I admit. “Where’s Hawke and Rome?”
Ford shrugs as the same feminine laughter comes from the first floor.
“Is that Violet?” Hawke asks from behind me.
I look over my shoulder, finding an exhausted Hawke rubbing at his tired eyes when the guest room’s door squeaks open, revealing Roman. To be fair, Roman’s had his own room in our house for a solid four years, but we’ve gotten into the habit of calling it the guest room in case our father ever found out.
“Who’s here?” Roman asks.
“Judge,” Ford answers.
Roman frowns. “Want me to wait?—”
“I’m done accommodating him,” I mutter. “We all should be. Come on. Let’s get this over with.”
