A quintessential and literal star in every sense, Elsie captures almost every eye in the small Irish bar we used to frequent, soaking in every bystander’s attention. Except mine.
My eyes are reserved for the woman sitting in our small corner.
Every sexy business-suited inch of her.
A year has done nothing to soften the severity of Violet Keats’ ruby-colored locks—or my attraction to her, for that matter, and I watch her face closely as Elsie tries her best to beat away the hulking elephant in the room. Hell, the several that are waiting to crash into our night and wipe the whole damned thing out with the drama surrounding Brett’s dad’s case. Not to mention the car accident that nearly took away half of my family.
The car accident that still might.
“Okay,” Elsie beams at first me, then Violet. “It’s settled. Heath…” She glances at my disapproving face. “You’ll be best man. Violet, you’ll be a bridesmaid. I want this affair low-key, away from the cameras.”
I raise one pointed eyebrow. “You’d have to have it on Mars to achieve that.”
“We’ll keep the wedding a secret,” Elsie counters. “No plus-ones. Just all of our Day-Ones.”
She smiles in Brett’s direction, and I observe as he melts under a self-satisfied grin. They snuggle closer together, every bit of the sickeningly-sweet couple that the TV cameras have shown them as, but there’s nothing “sick” about it.
Theirs is a love that’s genuine. Long-awaited and rare.
If it weren’t for the fact that I know them so intimately, I’d think a love like that was impossible, but my tattooed, television show-producing business partner is nothing but proof of that. Proof that some parts of life are ethereal. Inexplicable.
They work because the universe somehow ordained it.
Violet frowns, her auburn brows lowering as she stares at the singing blonde pop star and soon-to-be-bride, crossing her tiny suit-covered arms.
“I’ll gladly be a bridesmaid, Elsie…just as long as you don’t make us wear any of those putrid green dresses that the latest Instyle thinks is so ‘in’ right now.”
Elsie gapes, her hand flying to her buxom chest. Mock outrage shines through her gleaming eyes. She scoffs. “Putrid green? I would never.”
Violet exhales, reaching for her whisky to take a sip. “Thank you so much.”
“I’m thinking more of a muddy brown.”
Violet’s powder blue eyes go wide. “Elsie, no…”
“Or what about sickly salmon color? I hear that tuna look is very in this season.”
Violet laughs, a sound that sends a stirring to my groin. I notice the twinkle in her smoky blues, a laughter I’d often forgot was there. She shakes her head, making strawberry-colored strands of her spin.
“You must not want bridesmaids after all.”
Elsie nudges her with her elbow. “I’m only kidding. Only the best for my bridesmaids.” She smirks. “It’s settled.” Her cell phone rings and she reaches for it, her eyes lighting up from within.
“That’s my cue.” She hops up from her barstool, all platinum gold hair and smiles. “Late night voice-over session for the show.” She hugs me, leaning into my ear. “Be nice, alright?” she hisses.
I smile, but the expression almost hurts. “Always.” I let her go. “Now go kick some TV show ass.”
She kisses Violet’s cheek, apologizing quickly. Brett departs after her with a fist-bump to me, adding a second kiss to Violet’s cheek.
With a last swig of his beer, he’s off—right after his fiancée, and they walk hand-in-hand together out of the pub, clutching their expensive television-funded trench coats against the cold.
Violet’s and my eyes follow their every movement until they both disappear out the door. My skin starts to hum as the silence between us stretches, and the sultry redhead turns to me first, her blue eyes darting back and forth across the surface of the bar. She sighs—a sound so heavy that I almost feel it, closing her eyes before opening them up once more.
“Am I the only one here who thinks that quick exit was on purpose?” Her laugh is light.
I grin in agreement, unable to do anything else. The scotch I ordered myself no longer burns, but whatever bullshit my long day of travel has piled on me is washed away in a wave of whisky-amber liquid, the silky saxophone music playing in the bar’s background catching my ear and keeping it.
I can’t stop staring at Violet, stop soaking in every detail of her face. I remember studying her face as she lay between my sheets just a year ago, finding a new detail every second that she slept. In my bed, I discovered ninety new features to marvel at in the after-glow of our all-night fucking, and I can’t help but notice a few of them now, her button nose, red lips and glossy hair making everything below my belt start to stir.
My stare raises back to her eyes, and I blink, the liquor thrumming through me.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Wow,” she exhales. “Not listening. Something new for Heath Sparrow,” she declares with a roll to her dark blue eyes. I tilt my head at her.
“Hey,” I lift my glass to my mouth, drinking the dark liquor. “It’s been a long day. Besides…” I trail off. “I was paying attention to something more important.”
“I know.” The look in her eyes says she’s sorry. “I’m really sorry about what happened to Marilyn. And your dad.”
I shrug. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.” I point towards her drink. “Except maybe the vintage of that whisky. I hear it’s the worst.”
She suppresses a smile, the corners of her lush lips turning upwards. They fall just as fast as she starts to stand again.
“Well, what you didn’t hear was me saying that I’m calling a cab to get out of here. I’ve got a lot of work to do, and I’ve been in Chicago on extended leave, so…” She reaches for her purse, and I put a hand on hers, shoving her wallet away. I take mine out and place it on the tabletop, my eyes never leaving her face, taking note of the frown hidden behind her eyes. I probe.
“Chicago?” I ask, watching Violet bristle from the question. “What’s in Chicago?”
“Something I don’t want to talk about.” Her shoulders slump. “Especially with you.”
Her gaze swings in my direction, and they travel to my hand still perched on hers, the skin beneath my fingers just as soft as velvet. And as tempting to touch. I remove my hand.
“I see you haven’t forgotten much, have you?”
The beautiful redhead blinks. “I’ve forgotten it all. All except the part where I wish you’d never been born. I remember that part very vividly.”
“As do I.” I smile. “Along with the shoe you threw at my head.”
Her blue eyes flash, humor hinting in their oceanic depths. She raises one red eyebrow. “That was an accident.”
“‘Accident?’” I lift my own eyebrows, letting them practically hit my hairline. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
“Heath…” she says my name, her tone turning serious. “You might be a liar. But I’m not. And I didn’t plan on coming here tonight, knowing you would be too.” She closes her eyes briefly. “I never told anyone about us.”