The Failing Hours

His eyes go wide. “Bossy?”

I scoff. “N-No one has ever called you that before? I find that very hard to believe.”

A snort comes out of his nose. “All I’m staying is, you could have picked a better place. Do not let your guard down, got it? Too much nasty shit goes down when no one is looking.”

I cock my head, intrigued. “Yeah? Like what?”

“Like roofies and date rape and back-alley shit.”

“Are you planning to roofie anyone tonight?”

For the first time since we met, Zeke appears absolutely horrified. “What? Jesus Christ, Violet, that’s not even funny!”

No, it’s not funny, not even a little bit, but a laugh squeaks out anyway. “Sorry, I can’t help it. You should see the look on your face.”

“I don’t want to see the look on my face.” He’s snarling now, really getting worked up.

My palm finds his bicep, resting there, giving it a gentle pat. “I highly doubt I’m in any danger of unwanted attention, but you can keep an eye on me if it makes you feel better.”

He silently stares down at me.

“Would it?” My lips are moving and he watches them intently. “Make you feel better to watch me, I mean?”

He nods. “Yes.”

“You wanna know what I think?” My hand glides down his bicep, to his forearm, squeezing the tight muscles beneath my palm. “I-I think you care, Zeke. That’s why you’re so irritated with me all the time. I think you care a lot but you don’t know how to say it.”

His shoulders dip and he’s leaning in again, driving me crazy with the smell of his aftershave. “Is that what you think? That I’m irritated all the time?”

“Aren’t you?” I close my eyes when his warm breath lingers near my lobe, luxuriating in the closeness.

I long for it.

“No.” His body presses into me; his hands slide up my neck, holding my face. Jawline. “I don’t get irritated with you Violet, and I wasn’t mad at you last night; I was mad at myself.”

I inhale, holding my breath; he’s opening up to me.

“I wish I could say I was going to try harder to not be such a dick, but this is who I am. I’m an ass and I’ve been like this a long time. But you’re not jaded—not like me. I’m a beautiful mess.” Rough thumbs tenderly stroke my cheeks. “You’re just beautiful.”

His words kiss my soul.

His lips kiss the exposed skin on my collarbone, up the side of my neck, gently.

My eyes close when he kisses the lids. The tip of my nose. The divot above my lips.

Tenderly, like we aren’t in a biker bar, surrounded by people, in a room full of drunks and troublemakers.

I let my hands slide around his waist. Feel his intake of breath from the contact when I glide my hands up his chest, up his neck. Over the stubble to cradle his face like he’s cradling mine.

I don’t even care that he’s probably kissing me because he’s had three beers. That he might not be thinking straight. That in the morning he probably won’t feel the same way I feel about him.

Because when our lips finally meet? It’s magic. Tingling electricity all the way to my toes.

This kiss is music and moonlight and basking in possibility.

This kiss is…

A light tap hits my shoulder.

My roommate Melinda’s voice somewhere behind me.

“Violet, please stop making out with the pissed off cheesy-looking bo-hunk. We said we’d stick together tonight, remember?”

I remember. We did say that.

But it’s Zeke who pulls back first, dazed, hands still cradling my jawline. Mouth still inches from my lips.

It steals another kiss.

“Whoa. Jeez, you should see the look on your faces. You both look freaking drunk. Combustible.”

Zeke releases me, hands sliding down my arms. “Did you just call me a cheesy bo-hunk?”

“Uh, yeah,” my smart-mouthed roommate yells above the noise. “You’re one step away from being oiled up and on the front page of a calendar. Dude, lay off the roids.”

She grabs my hand, tugging.

I catch Zeke’s toothy grin and my heart skips three beats.

He kisses me on the lips. “I’ll be over there with a giant hard-on if you need me, Pix.”

Zeke saunters off, leaving me rooted to the spot and staring off after him.

“Ugh, the guys that come to this place, I swear,” Melinda quips, looping her arm through my useless one, and having never set eyes on him before, she gives Zeke Daniels a onceover. “What dark corner did you find him in?”

I lift two fingers, tracing my lips, and grin at him. Sigh.

“The library.”

Zeke

As promised, I watch Violet from a distance the rest of the evening. Kind of like a stalker, but it’s not nearly the same thing if she knows I’m doing it, right?

All I do all night is keep sentry as she dances, always with an ice water in her hand, always with those two other girls. Melinda and—what did she say the other one’s name was? Wendy. Wanda? W something, shit, I don’t remember.

The blonde, Melinda, continues running up to the bar, leaning in for quick kisses from the bartender. He’s Hispanic, with a grin I can see from here. Every so often he strolls over and plants a kiss on the roommate, frequently wiping a glass or mixing a drink while he does it.

I stay with my friends, never leaving the confines of my group, shooting covert glances over at her every few minutes. She hasn’t left my line of vision, and I’ve told myself over and over that it’s for her own good; I’m watching out for her, not indulging myself.