The Failing Hours(23)

I remember what I said when I straightened after reading the blurb: “I wish I had the money to bid on it.”

She must have told Zeke I’d fallen in love with it.

“I love it, Zeke.” I breathe deeply. “I love it.”

And I do.

Not only because I’ve never received a gift for absolutely no reason, but because it’s so beautiful. It represents a part of my life I hope to embody: shiny, new, and full of symbolism. Like the rest of the bangles lining my wrist, this one too tells a piece of my story. Positive is how I live. Take the wheel. Zodiac. Guardian angel.

My eyes squeeze shut as I clasp the charm in a clenched fist, the metal warming to my touch; I saw the bids for this imitation gold trinket, saw how expensive it was.

It’s not even real precious metal and it was going for an outrageous amount of money.

Before I can stop it from escaping, a single wet tear glides out the corner of my eye and down my cheek.

I wipe it away.

“Thank you.”

Zeke grumbles in reply, the sound rumbling from his chest as he reaches up and flips off the overhead light.

My palm opens and I push the shiny new bracelet over my knuckles, easing it onto my wrist; I admire it alongside the others. They cling and clang and shine in the dim light suspended above us.

Then, before I actually think about what I’m doing, my body leans toward his big body, propelled by the heart pounding wildly inside my chest, until my lips encounter the bristly side of his cheek.

“Thank you,” I whisper faintly into the shell of his ear, mouth stalling there. Brushing the skin of his lobe. Tip of my nose giving him a sniff, colliding with his temple.

Zeke stiffens from surprise—or because of the invasion of his personal space—but doesn’t shrug away when my lips press to meet his jaw for another brief, spontaneous kiss.

I simply cannot help myself. I simply cannot move away.

He lowers his hands from the steering column of his truck, letting them fall heavily to his lap. Runs the tips of his fingers up and down the black fabric seam of his dress pants, up and over his thighs.

Zeke turns his head the slightest fraction of an inch, just enough so that our faces are inches apart.

His habitually harsh gaze roams my face, settling on my plum-stained lips, gray eyes softening, wrinkling at the corners.

“You’re welcome, I guess,” his bottomless voice rumbles, vibrating, breath all pepperminty.

I don’t know who moves first, and I swear—this wasn’t my intention. I don’t mean to, but suddenly we’re—

“Violet.” He sighs the question of my name into my mouth as my eyelids slide closed, our lips touching. Briefly, hesitating. The barest whisper of contact sizzles in the space between the soft skin of his lower lip and mine. A long, charged quiver that lingers deep within my spine, compelling us both to fuse our mouths together.

Zeke Daniels shivers.

It’s positively electric.

Chaste kisses. Kisses that make sweet…kissing sounds.

Once, twice. Again.

But then…

Our mouths open and it’s not so chaste. Not so sweet. His tongue, my tongue. Tenderly. Hungrily. And oh god, his hands are in my hair, gently caressing and tugging at the silky strands lying in an artful blonde cascade over my shoulders. Rubbing them between the tips of his fingers.

He twists that strong torso at the waist so his giant palms are cupping my face, gentle thumbs stroking the tears of joy off of my flaming hot cheek as he kisses any sense I might have had left right out of me. So sweetly another tear escapes.

“The bracelet isn’t a big deal,” he whispers.

My eyes flutter open; his are squeezed closed, long lashes fanned flat against his skin, and I realize he’s not talking to me; he’s murmuring these things to himself.

“Violet.” He sighs.

He sighs.

Zeke is… He’s sighing my name.

I want so badly to kiss his handsome, broody face all over. Kiss his deep frown lines away. Run my smooth cheek against his coarse, stubbly one. I want so badly for him to remove his hands from my face and put one between my legs, slip them between my inner thighs to the aching wet spot that’s making me want to moan.

But he doesn’t.

His hands stay properly above my waist, above my shoulders. Our mouths still welded together, Zeke’s hands move from my hair to cradle my jawline.

Gray irises lower to meet hazel, foreheads pressed together, thumb pads slowly stroking the corner of my mouth.

No, not stroking. Memorizing. My mouth.

My lips.

The spell is broken when a light gets flipped on from the inside of my house.

The bathroom.

Which means at least one of my two roommates is awake.

Of course, he’s the first to pull back. Pull away. Broad shoulders hitting the black leather driver’s seat with a weighty thud. The massive palms that were just on my body are running up and over his face, first down, then up, and he tugs at his raven black hair ’til it’s tousled.

Stares out the windshield.

And then, “The bracelet wasn’t a big deal Violet.”

Why does he keep saying that? Why isn’t he looking at me? Not three minutes ago he was whispering my name…

I’m so confused.

“I-It isn’t?” My voice is so small, so small and disappointed. I finger the new bangle circling my pale wrist.

“No.”

No. No. He’s always saying no, isn’t he?

I slump in my seat, grasping for the forgotten jewelry box that’s fallen onto the floor. Root around with my fingers to retrieve it from the mats, gather my purse.

“I-I guess I should go inside.”

The yard is dark. With no streetlights, the neighborhood looks shady. My house is dark, save for that one glowing bulb on the east side of the tiny, ramshackle house.

It’s apparent he’s not going to walk me to my door. Our night is over and won’t be repeated. I’m as certain of it as I’m sure of my own name.

My face is aflame from mortification, though I know I have nothing to be embarrassed about.

Deep breath, Vi. Deep. Breath.

“Thank you for the lovely evening and for the bracelet.”

He nods in the dark.

Feeling slightly dejected, I clear my throat. “Good night, Zeke.”





“Melinda, you up?”

I come through the back door, remove my dress coat, and hang it on the hook my roommate Melinda hammered into the wall herself.

“No, it’s me. Mel’s with Derek.”

I’m not three feet inside the house when my roommate Winnie pounces, releasing the hold she has on the gauzy living room curtains, stepping away from the window.

The sneaky spy follows me down the dark, narrow hallway to my bedroom.

“Who on earth was that?” She doesn’t hesitate to make herself at home, propping herself on the foot of my bed, fluffing a pillow to get comfortable. “Seriously, who was that guy?”

“His name is Zeke Daniels. We were at a fundraiser benefitting—”

“Bzzz! Time out.” She makes a buzzer sound, holding her hands in the universal sign for ‘time out’ and tapping obnoxiously.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Vi, not so damn fast,” she interrupts, her wide eyes enormous. “Zeke Daniels?” Her throat gives a little hum as she taps her chin. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

I raise a shoulder, not committed to answering. “He’s an athlete. Wrestler. I’ve tutored him a few times, and he needed a favor, so I went with him to the—”

“Bzzz. Back up,” she interrupts again. “You tutored him? When was this?” Suddenly, her phone is out and she’s furiously tapping on the screen. “Z-E-K-E…ah, here it is.” Long pause. “HOLY SHIT BALLS!”

She flips the phone and thrusts it in my direction. “This is the guy you were just kissing in that truck? This guy? Holy crap.” Winnie shoves the phone directly in my face, displays a picture of Zeke in an Iowa wrestling one-piece, hands on his hips and scowl on his face. His name in the top left-hand corner, stats below. Weight, height. Record. Hometown.

Before she can yank the phone away, I catch a glimpse of wide shoulders, bulging biceps, and five o’clock shadow; he hadn’t bothered to shave for the team picture.

I put myself in Winnie’s shoes, see Zeke through her lenses. The handsome, frowning face, the black slashes above his dispassionate eyes.

“Wow. He’s hot. Like, super hot. Just…wow. I’m speechless. Wow.” She’s looking at me like she’s seeing me for the first time. “That is so unlike you, Vi.”

My face is flaming hot because she’s right; I don’t go around kissing anyone, let alone guys that look like Zeke Daniels.

Winnie continues tap tapping on her phone, googling and Instagramming him, I’m sure. She’s always doing that—scavenging for information.

“Oh wow,” she says hesitantly. “Don’t freak, but I found him on Campus Girl.”

Campus Girl is a website run by college-aged women for women on college campuses around the world. You can search for your school, read articles—some of them helpful, some of them gossip—and submit information. Chat. Rate things like the cafeteria food, activities, student clubs.

And guys.

Winnie face is so buried in her phone it’s actually glowing, the reflection from the small screen casting a blue pallor on her skin. “Yeesh. I don’t know if I should read this out loud.”