Ohmigod! Tia!
Jet turns his penetrating gaze back to me. The hopeful yet hesitant look in them is the very reason that I want to agree. “I really could use the help.”
I look back and forth between Jet and Tia. I tell myself that I really can’t say no now. If I protest too much, it might seem suspicious. Plus, this might be a great way to keep Tia coming to the meetings.
Yeah, that’s what I tell myself. The problem is that I’m a little too pleased to agree. And that is not a good sign.
“I’ll do it,” I say, turning to Tia. “And since Tia will be coming back each week, she can help encourage you. These meetings are very important after all.”
Tia’s laugh is the nonverbal equivalent of a Touché! I give her my sweetest, most innocuous smile. “See, Violet, you’re always thinking.”
A short, uncomfortable silence falls between the three of us. Jet is the first to break it. “There’s more,” he says, clearing his throat. “One of the reasons I wanted to ask you tonight is that tomorrow night is one of those times that’s particularly hard for me. I wondered if maybe you would . . . if you could . . .”
“Of course she will,” Tia chimes in again, overenthusiastic. Now she’s doing it just to needle me. I see the challenge light her eyes. She’s enjoying this.
“We both will,” I add, sending a subtle glare at Tia. “Weekends are hard for Tia, too. This will be good for her.”
Tia punches me playfully on the shoulder. “Youuu,” she starts through gritted teeth, her smile notably forced, “you’re such a little . . . helper.”
I almost laugh. I have no doubt that sentence ended much differently in her head. But this is what she gets for putting her manipulative nose in my business. “That’s me.”
“Great, then let me give you the address,” Jet says. “Do you have your phone with you?”
“My phone?” I ask, not really understanding why he’d need that to give me an address.
“Yes, your phone,” he repeats with a grin. “I thought we could exchange numbers and then I’d text you the address so you’d have it tomorrow. Isn’t that pretty standard with this kind of thing? That we exchange phone numbers so that I can call you if I get into trouble?”
I shake my head and wave him off casually, like I’m just being absentminded. “Right, right. Of course. I’m just a little . . . it’s been a long day.”
In my head, I smack my forehead. That’s almost exactly what I said at the store last week. If I’m to continue this charade, I’ll have to come up with something better than “a long day” to excuse my lack of knowledge.
I dig out my phone and hand it to Jet. I try not to focus too much on how big and perfectly formed his hands are, or how nimbly his fingers move over the screen of my smartphone. It’s not like me to feel this kind of instant attraction—or really, very much attraction at all—to a guy. To say I’m flustered would be a grave understatement.
When Jet finishes, he hands me back my phone and then punches something into his own. A few seconds later, my phone bleeps with an incoming text. I glance down to see his name and number pop up.
“Around ten?” he asks.
I open the text, not recognizing the address. But at least I won’t be going by myself.
I glance up at Jet. “I’ll be there.”
The smile he gives me could stop a car. Or my heart. Or maybe both. “Great. I look forward to it.”
I’m a little concerned by the fact that, now, I do, too.
TEN: Jet
I’ve never really felt like a piece of shit before. Not until tonight.
I mean, I’m always up front with women about who I am and what I want. They know what to expect. They know me. Or at least the me that they see onstage.
But not Violet. Not only is she nothing like the women I’m used to, but she has no idea who I am or what I’m like. And what kinds of despicable things I’m capable of. Not really.
Tonight was an all-time low for me, though. I really didn’t think I’d feel this bad about it, so I’m a little surprised. I think the worst part, the part that makes me feel the shittiest, is that I’m not going to call it off. I could tell her not to come, but I won’t. Why? Because there’s something I want more than I want to feel good about myself.
This isn’t about success or proving a point or winning. This is about me wanting a woman. One woman in particular.
Violet. I want Violet, and I’ll do whatever it takes to have her. Period. End of story. And that is who I am. That is the real me.
ELEVEN: Violet
“What is this place?” I ask Tia when we pull up outside a huge, elaborately decorated red barn.
“It’s the old Pfizer barn. Have you never been out here before?”
“No, should I have?”
Tia rolls her eyes. “Good God, you really do need to get out more. They’ve been renting this place out for parties for, what, five or six years now?”
“Some of us have better things to do than party in old barns,” I snap, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.
Tia starts backpedaling immediately, sympathy dripping from her tone. “I’m sorry, Vi. I know you’ve never really had time for fun.”
I send a frown over to Tia as I cut the engine. “I don’t want your pity, Tia. That’s not what I was getting at. I chose to do what I did. I was simply reminding you of that, reminding you of why I’m so clueless about Greenfield pop culture.”
“I know. And I know it was your choice. Well, sorta.” Tia turns in her seat to face me. “Don’t forget, Vi, I’ve known you since we were kids, since that first summer your dad had to bring you over to my house while he was mowing the grass. You were sick and he was afraid to leave you, afraid your mom wouldn’t come back. You’ve spent most of your life taking care of everybody else. As you got older, maybe it was a choice, but when you were younger it wasn’t. I remember all the things we invited you to do that you couldn’t do because either you were afraid to leave your dad or you were worried that your cousin might do something stupid. That’s no way to grow up, Violet.”
“I like helping people, Tia. You know that. It’s who I am.”
“I know that, but at times, it’s been to the exclusion of everything else, everyone else. It’s not healthy for you not to have a life of your own. You need time to do the things that make you happy.”