The Destiny of Violet & Luke (The Coincidence 3)

He pauses and I hear a flick of the lighter in the background as he lights up a cigarette. “Violet, I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to, but I need you to go out tonight.” His voice is calm, but firm. He’s getting irritated and I’ve seen what can happen if he gets too upset. “I was there when you needed me. I gave you a place to live and put a roof over your head when no one else would. And I let you live your life however you wanted.”

“Preston… I…” I waver. I want to stay in and study, but I don’t want him to be upset with me. And he has a point. He did help me out when no one else would—when no one else wanted me. “Okay, I’ll do it,” I finally say, frowning at my study stuff on the bed.

“That’s my girl,” he says, flawlessly changing from intense to flirty. “Take the bus over to my house and get the stuff. Then I’ll let you use my car.”

“Okay,” I tell him, trying to hide my disappointment. “But am I just dealing tonight or do I have to screw people over?”

“Just dealing,” he tells me. “After what happened last weekend I think it’d be good if you took a little break.”

“I’m sorry I screwed up.”

“It’s okay. Just don’t do it again.” He hangs up and I sigh, getting out of bed to get dressed.

I decide on a black backless, floor-length dress that will hide the fact I’m going to wear flip-flops. Then I tousle my fingers through the waves of my hair and sweep it to the side, then put some lip gloss on and outline my eyes with kohl eyeliner. It’s not my best presentation, but I’m only dealing tonight and I honestly am too exhausted to put any more effort into my looks. But hopefully I’ll be up to Preston’s standards, otherwise I’m going to be on the shit list for a while.

* * *

I arrive at Preston’s house a little after eight, which is a little later than he’d probably like but I had to wait around for the bus. I knock on the front door to the house that I called my home for three years before I went to college. It still looks the same; green shutters, nasty brown siding that used to be white, and set of rusty metal stairs that lead to the front door. The yard’s nice, though. There’s even flowers growing in it and the flourishing trees make me think of the trees that enclosed my old childhood home.

“Come in,” Preston calls out after I knock again.

I turn the doorknob and then gather the bottom of my dress so I can step over the threshold without stepping on it. The air always smells pungent in the house, but I think that’s because someone’s always smoking something. Like Preston right now. He’s got a cigarette in his hand, smoke snaking out of his lips, and a candle burning on the kitchen counter, which is diagonal from the front door.

“Well don’t you look beautiful,” he says, his eyes scroll over my outfit and I feel myself let a relieved breath out of my lips. I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding it.

“Thanks. I do try my best.” I swish the skirt a little as I make my way across the living room and to the kitchen. I pull out a barstool and take a seat, propping my feet up on the bottom bar.

Preston’s wearing a plaid shirt that’s unbuttoned and shows a series of tribal tattoos on his chest and ribs. His sandy blond hair is a little long, running down to the bottom of his chin and he has a five o’clock shadow, but he usually does. His jeans are missing a button so I can see the top of his striped boxers and when he steps back from the counter, I notice he’s barefoot.

“Wow, you sure dressed up tonight,” I joke, folding my arms on top of the counter. “Aren’t you throwing a party or something? You usually do on the weekends.”

He glances at me as he puts the cigarette into his mouth. “Not tonight,” he says, smoke snaking from his lips. “I’m getting a little tired of people at the moment.”

“Getting too old for those crazy kid parties, huh?” I tease, then zip my lips together when he glares at me.

He grazes his thumb across the end of the cigarette, holding it over a coffee mug, and spills the ashes inside it. “I’m not that much older than you, Violet.”

“You’re ten years my senior,” I argue in a playful tone. “Which does make you old.”

“Eight years your senior,” he corrects. “I’m only twenty-seven… don’t be adding years on me.”

I shoot a conniving grin at him. “When you get that old, does it really even matter anymore if I add a year or two?”

He shakes his head with forced annoyance as he extends his arm over the counter and grabs the ashtray next to my elbow. He puts his cigarette out in it, then his hand moves for the front pocket in his shirt. “So I’m going to have you stick to herb tonight,” he says, taking out a small baggie of weed out of his pocket. He tosses it down on the counter in front of me, getting down to business. “And I heard that the cops were going to be out a little heavier around town, so be careful.”

“How do you know that?” I ask. “Is your friend Glen tipping you off again? He’s such a dirty copper.”

“ ‘Dirty copper’?” He chuckles under his breath. “I think you’ve been watching a little too many cop shows, Violet. No one talks like that.”

“I don’t watch cop shows,” I lie, tracing one of the many cracks on the countertop. “I read that expression in a book.”

“What era does the book take place in? 1930?”

“No, 2012.”

“You’re such a liar,” he says, crossing his arms as he slumps back against the counter. “You seriously are the worst I know and one day it’s going to get you into trouble.”

“I don’t lie all the time.” I pick up the bag of weed. “I just make things colorful when they’re gray.”

“You are the most entertaining girl I know, Violet Ha…” He trails off, probably remembering the one and only time I yelled at him—when he called me by my last name.

I quickly change the subject before it can get to me. “So, are you going to let me crash here for the summer or what?”

A flirtatious smirk curves across his face. “You know you’re always welcome here. I’ll even share my bed with you.”

I roll my eyes. “Thanks, but I think I’ll take my old room.”

“What? I’m not good enough to share a bed with?”