That gets Luke to smile. ‘I can totally picture you all dressed in black and covered in studs.’
‘Yeah, I pulled it off pretty well. The ring would have looked totally kicks ass too, but yeah, about five minutes after I got the ring, Mrs Fairly informed me that she’d given me the wrong present, took it away, and gave the ring to her daughter. My real present ended up being new socks.’ I stop talking, my heart knocking inside my very long confessional. ‘Yeah, sorry about the sad, pity party story. I don’t know what got into me.’ I glance down at the cupcake. What the hell did Greyson put in this thing? Truth Serum?
Luke’s continues to drive down the road, mulling over something. ‘I hate holidays too,’ he admits, flipping his blinker on to turn off the main road. ‘We never really celebrated them right. For Halloween, we’d usually clean the house, although Kayden and I did go out trick or treating a few times. For Thanksgiving, if I was lucky, she’d let me and Amy cook a good meal or I’d get invited to one of my friends, but that’s when I was older. And Christmas …’ His mouth snaps shut, his knuckles turning white as he grips the steering wheel. ‘Let’s just say that Christmases were the worst.’
I feel like he’s giving me something in return for sharing my story, even if I really didn’t mean to. Stuffing the rest of the cupcake into my mouth, I slide across the seat toward him and hold my pinkie up. ‘You know what we should do? We should make a promise not to make a big deal of holidays.’
He considers what I said, glancing from my pinkie to my face. ‘You’ve never dressed up for Halloween and gone out trick or treating ever?’
I shake my head. ‘I’m sure I did when I was still with my parents, but the memories are too foggy to remember it – most of them are anyway,’ I say, my heart constricting in my chest at the painful reminder.
Instead of giving me a look of pity, determination fills his expression. ‘Then how about this? How about we celebrate the shit out of all the holidays. Every single Goddamn one. Every single year.’ When he stops at a stop sign, he turns to face me in the seat and lifts his pinkie in front of me. ‘What do you say? Are you in?’
I know his words have much bigger meaning than just celebrate a few holidays, but I’m not sure if I’m promising them to the full. Still, what he’s proposing sounds like something I’ve always wanted, but never let myself want, since I was about five years old. So I hook my pinkie with his and decide to give it a try. ‘Okay, Mr. Stoically Aloof, I’m in.’
Chapter 17
Violet
‘Oh my God, I think I’m going to die.’ I breathe through my nose because the smell of the mat I’m lying in is more pungent that spoiled eggs left out in the sun on a hot, muggy day. Seth is lying next to me, something he did after he declared he wasn’t a gym person either. Greyson, however, is, at least the kind that loves to run on treadmills, but I’m not too surprised, considering how cheery he was this morning about going.
Seth and I are hanging out on the mats, lying on our backs, staring up at the ceiling, the sound of clanking and grunting surrounding us. Callie’s doing some sort of kickboxing class, and Greyson’s on the bikes. There’s this super poppy song, with an upbeat beat and lyrics playing, and it makes me want to find the stereo and break it.
Nope, I’m not a morning person, something I’ve known for a while, but it’s been made clear to everyone that is graced with my presence today.
‘Give me some of your coffee,’ Seth playfully demands, reaching over me to steal my iced-latte.
I swat his arm. ‘No way. Get your own damn coffee.’
He lets out a frustrated grunt as he lies back down on the mat. ‘Greyson wouldn’t let us stop to get one. He said we were running late and that it was my fault therefore I had to go without coffee.’
‘Dude, he’s so hardcore,’ I joke, because Greyson is anything but that.
‘Totally,’ Seth agrees sarcastically.
Sighing, I sit up and offer him a sip of my coffee. ‘But don’t drink it all or I’ll have to kick your ass.’
He shoots me a doubtful look as he takes the coffee from my hand. ‘I highly doubt that. You may act a badass, but you’re so not.’
I eye him over purposefully. He’s wearing a plaid shirt with the sleeves fashionably rolled up to the elbows, dark jeans, and his hair is tousled and has these blondish highlights that look like he spent some time in a salon to get. But now I live with him I know that’s not the case, that they’re a-la-natural. He looks very Hipster, which would be fine except we’re at the gym. ‘Look who’s talking. You look like you’re getting ready to go to a concert instead of going the gym.’