Read Online Violets & Violence by Morgan Parker - Free Book Online Page B

didn’t come straight from work,” she said, glancing at me sideways and then placing her hands on her hips. I wanted to eat her up, right now.
    I swallowed, glancing down at my jeans. “Guilty. I needed a shower. And suit porn is highly overrated, not to mention uncomfortable.”
    She smirked, reached out and grabbed my shirt, pulling me against her and smashing her lips to mine. Opening her mouth, she kissed me. Deep.
    Her arms worked their way around to my back, her fingers crawling up my spine to the base of my head and settled there for some unknown reason. She held me against her body, and it felt like I had never come this physically close to another human being before. I hadn’t, not this close, and then I couldn’t help but wonder what this truly meant, this connection between us, whether we had a future or if it would disappear just like she did on that stage every night. Once our kiss broke, she looked up at me with the same dreamy eyes from last week, the hazel having transformed to green.
    “Wow,” she breathed. “Just like I remember.”
    I chuckled, wiped the drool from the corner of my mouth and stepped past her so she couldn’t see how hard her kiss had made me. “It’s only been a week.”
    She grabbed my elbow and pulled me around. Her face had hardened with a touch of impatience as she studied me, her eyes wandering and her head tilting a little to the side.
    “What?” I asked, chuckling because by now I felt just a little vulnerable. When I tried to step away—no longer hard, thankfully—she held me back. “Speak to me,” I urged her, “this is starting to get a little creepy, Violet.”
    At last, she blinked and released her grip. But her eyes remained glued to mine, like she wanted to stare into them and find sincerity there. Or something.
    “Listen to me, Carter,” she said with a stable, soft voice. “I don’t pick up fans. Or people in my audience. Or anyone at all.” That was when she broke our stare and stepped past me, moving through the foyer and steering left down a short hall, past a formal dining room and into a vast kitchen that widened my eyes.
    “Wow,” I said, the word slipping out involuntarily as I followed her.
    Violet swung around and planted her hands against the granite countertop. “What’re you suggesting?”
    I shook my head, realizing we hadn’t finished our last conversation, the one where she admitted to not dating or engaging with audience members and fans. “The kitchen,” I explained. “It’s straight out of a magazine. And it smells delicious in here,” I added. I couldn’t place the smell, except for the garlic and basil.
    Still staring at me.
    I shrugged. “Okay, fine. A beautiful woman like you lives alone her entire life, I suppose. Never picks up the old men in her audience.” I shrugged again, unable to believe the words myself because it was that kind of man – an old one – that had stolen my ex-wife from me. I raised an eyebrow, giving up and opting for the truth instead. “I don’t know what else to say, Violet. But the thing is, I don’t care if you meet a new man every week. I don’t care because I’m the one here with you now, and that’s where I live. In the moment. Right now.” And if she decided to disappear tomorrow, through life’s trap door or however else she might vanish, then at least I had this moment right now.
    Her hands dropped away from her hips, and her face softened at my confession. “There’s no other man,” she whispered, stumbling a little over her words. And then, in a stronger, clearer voice, “Then why don’t you ever call me, Carter? Why can’t you be the one to ask me out, to man up, do the things that guys do?” She rolled her eyes and stepped up to the stove where two pots had steam rising out of them.
    Good question. “I don’t call because I figure you’re too busy with one of the other men you don’t pick up, an exciting one with a fancy house like yours and ice-level tickets