“No sex, but touching’s okay isn’t it?” He winks as he pulls off my coat and throws it over the back of the sofa. His hands smooth up and down my sides. Oh yeah, touching is A-Okay with me.
Chapter 20
What superpower do I want? The ability to spot a trick question from a woman. ~ Luke’s Secret Thoughts
“What are you doing here?” I ask Violet when I open the door to find her standing on my porch.
She frowns. “What kind of greeting is that?”
“Sorry.” I kiss her cheek. “I was expecting Shelby.”
Her eyes narrow into tiny slits. If she could shoot daggers from her eyes, I’d be bleeding out in my doorway. Shit. “Would you have preferred Shelby?”
I backpedal as fast as I can. “No, of course not. But she called to ask if I was home.”
“Yeah.” Violet nods. “Because I asked her to. I have a surprise.” She nods to the box she’s carrying.
Where are my manners? “Let me take that.”
She shakes her head. “There’s more.” She nods towards her car. Her car which is now sporting a tree as a roof rack. “Why is there a Christmas tree on your car?”
“Duh.” She rolls her eyes. “Because you haven’t decorated for Christmas and Christmas is days away.”
Violet may love Christmas, but me? I could take it or leave it. It’s nice to have some time off of work and the parties are fun, but the day itself? When you have no family left, it’s hardly a celebration.
“Give me the box. I’ll put it in the living room and then I’ll get the tree.”
Violet’s mouth drops open. “You’re not going to fight me?”
Does she want me to fight her? Women are confusing. For me, it’s simple. If decorating for Christmas makes Violet happy, then we’re decorating for Christmas. I’m all about making her happy. All part and parcel of the ‘get Violet to forgive me’ plan. “If it makes you happy …” I shrug.
“Go get the tree, Mr. Smooth Operator.” She pushes past me. I grab the box. I know she’s perfectly capable of carrying the box herself, but I want to show her I can take care of her. If we’re giving the Luke and Violet show a second chance, and it looks like we are, she needs to know she can rely on me.
By the time I drag the tree inside, I’m sweating, and my muscles are aching. “How the hell did you get this tree on your car?”
Violet looks up from the box of decorations she’s unpacking. “I didn’t. Some guy at the place where I bought it offered.”
I growl. “Was he flirting with you?”
She rolls her eyes and goes back to her decorations. “You need to get a handle on your jealousy. I’m not putting up with you growling and pounding your fists on your chest like a caveman whenever a man flirts with me. If you can’t trust me to be faithful to you, this is going nowhere.”
Crap. She’s right. I lean the tree against the wall and walk to her. I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her close. I kiss the side of her head. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ll work on it. In the meantime, feel free to call me out when I mess up.”
She snorts. “Don’t worry. I have no problem calling your ass out when you mess up.” She twists to face me and stands on her tiptoes to give me a quick kiss. I chase her lips, but she pushes me away. “Not now. We have a tree to decorate.”
“Fine,” I grump. “What’s first?”
“Get the tree set up.” She hands me a tree stand. “I hope this fits.”
I place the tree stand in the empty corner Violet has designated as the ‘Christmas tree corner’ and then lift the heavy ass tree to place the trunk into the stand. It doesn’t exactly fit. I have to wiggle it around until the trunk finally drops into the stand.
“Oh my god!” Violet screeches.
“What’s wrong?” I rise from my squat and lift my head only to whack it smack dab against the windowsill. The world spins and I fall onto my ass.
Violet rushes to me. “Are you okay?” She feels around the back of my head. “Oh no. You’re bleeding. I need a towel or something.”
I start to stand but she pushes me down. “Stay there,” she orders.
“Towels are under the sink in the kitchen.”
While Violet bangs around in my kitchen, my fingers explore the back of my head. The bump isn’t large, maybe the size of a quarter, but when I pull my hand away it’s dripping with blood. The room starts to spin, and the corners of my vision turn white. Oh crap. I refuse to faint because of a little blood. I take deep breaths to calm my ass down.
Violet rushes in carrying a towel. “Here.” She places it against the wound. “Keep pressure on it,” she orders before reaching for the phone in her back pocket.
What the hell? “Who are you calling now?”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m not calling anyone. I’m googling to see if I should take you to the hospital.”
“I’m not going to the hospital.” The hospital is for when you are missing limbs, not for when you cut your head from standing up too quickly while squatted next to a window like a complete idiot. I try to nab her phone, but she bats my hand away.
“Okay. It says here If the bleeding doesn’t stop after ten minutes of applied pressure, you should go to the hospital.” She frowns at her screen. “I am not waiting ten minutes.” She continues to scroll. “If the cut is deeper than a quarter-inch, you may need stitches.” She pulls the towel away and peers at my wound. Her eyes widen before she inhales through her nose and puts the towel back. “Alrighty then, we’re going to the hospital.”
“I’m not going to the hospital,” I repeat.
“Yeah, you are,” she insists before tugging me to my feet and dragging me out the door. I should probably protest, but I can feel the towel is already soaking wet and the room is spinning. Maybe the hospital isn’t the worst idea. Still, if anyone asks, I’m telling them my girlfriend insisted on hauling me off to the ER.
The emergency room is surprisingly quiet when we arrive. I’m immediately ushered to a room. I sit on the bed with Violet standing by my side grasping my hand while a doctor looks at my head. “You’ll need a few stitches.” He stands and pulls his gloves off with a snap. “A nurse will be in to shave your head and then I’ll be back for your stitches.”
Thirty minutes later, I am more than ready to leave. I’ve got five stitches in the back of my newly shaved, bald head. I asked the nurse to shave my entire head as I’ll be damned if I walk around with a patch of hair shaved off the back of my head like some punk. Now, I look badass. Or as badass as anyone can look with a t-shirt stained in blood.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say as I stand with my discharge papers and care instructions grasped in my hand. When Violet doesn’t immediately follow me, I turn around to see she’s crying.
“Why are you crying? What’s wrong? Five stitches aren’t a big deal. My hair will grow back.”
“It’s not that, although I am sorry you had to get your head shaved because of me.”