The Partner Plot (The Greene Sisters, #2)

by Kristina Forest

He was a breath of fresh air. Exactly what Violet craved.

Moving halfway through his high school career was ass.

Maybe you can dress me for the ESPYs one day.” “You won’t be able to afford me,” she said, grinning too.

they’d sneak out to the parking lot during lunch and hook up in the back seat of Violet’s car, groping at each other and apologizing for overreacting.

He was the love of her life. Nothing was going to keep them apart. She was young and naive enough to believe that was true.

His shiny, perfect curls atop his fresh haircut. His smooth, acne-free skin. Oh, fuck, he was still gorgeous. Why?! Why hadn’t he developed a receding hairline? Why didn’t he have a struggle-bus beard that refused to connect? That was what he deserved! And he was smiling at her. Smiling. Like he was overjoyed to see her. Like he hadn’t shattered her poor, fragile, young heart into a million little pieces.

Their hug was both never-ending and brief.

Then she’d went on and on about what a difference he was making with the high school students, like she hadn’t called him a menace to Violet’s education when they’d been high school students themselves.

What do you have to be nervous for? You are that girl. Act like it.

He’d popped her cherry and had been the object of her hormone-crazed teenage affections. So what? It was old news. After tonight, she’d never have to see Xavier again.

His eyes traveled from the elegant slope of her neck to her small waist and generous hips. She was stunning.

Without even trying, she had always been the coolest girl in the room.

Tonight, he wanted to keep Violet happy.

never waste a woman’s time.

“You sure you can hang, Mr. Teacher?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. A seductive challenge.

she began to slowly wind her hips to the beat. He placed his hands on her waist, pulling her closer. He leaned down to her and when his lips gently brushed against the back of her neck, Violet didn’t move away.

Grinding against him on the dance floor, his hands on her waist, her ass on his crotch. His lips lingering at her neck. More drinks. More grinding. Oh God. Making out with him on the dance floor!

An electric jolt shot through her and settled right between her legs.

night with Xavier, of all people? She was furious with herself. After the way he broke her heart, she shouldn’t have allowed him to have such easy access to her. It only proved that nine years later, she was still weak where he was concerned.

The two of them grinding on the dance floor, groping each other in the back seat of an Uber,

her straddling him in the early morning hours, and how soft her breasts had felt in the palms of his hands.

Xavier wrapped his arm around Violet’s waist and she jumped in surprise. Then she leaned against him, reminding herself that they needed to look natural.

By the door there was a small bookshelf, and from a quick glance, she could see that it was stacked with works about pedagogy, as well as classic novels like Jazz by Toni Morrison and Notes of a Native Son by James Baldwin.

Absurdly, she conjured an image of herself licking his chest. What was wrong with her?! Jesus, she hadn’t had sex in . . . Wait, no, the last time she’d had sex was two weeks ago with Xavier and she couldn’t remember any of it! No wonder seeing him like this turned her into a hornball.

No, she wasn’t. This was too much. Xavier shirtless.

Xavier concentrated on his players, all too conscious of Violet’s presence.

Her brown cheeks reddened when she realized what had caught his attention.

he used to find Violet’s beauty distracting. She was even more captivating now.

She was looking at him because . . . well . . . because . . . Actually, it didn’t matter why! What mattered was that she needed to sit and rest her ankle.

She felt herself leaning toward him too, once again controlled by an invisible string.

Because me being here means she can’t have you.

She imagined him wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace, and heat crept up her neck.

The frustrating truth was that she wanted to kiss him again.

Especially not with Xavier, because in reality she couldn’t be a supportive partner like she was being tonight.

Violet kneeling on a chair in front of his kitchen cabinets, rows and rows of spices lined up in front of her. A Karamel Kitty song blasted from her phone speaker, and his mom’s old wool quilt lay across the arm of the couch. The show she liked about the wealthy Black wives who lived in DC or something was playing on the television. He had no idea what he’d just walked into, but the sight of her creating slight chaos in his space caused an unexpected feeling of warmth to expand in his chest. He had to remind himself that he shouldn’t get used to coming home and seeing her there.

The lips he’d been thinking about nonstop since they’d kissed

Violet laughed, and he wanted to bottle the sound.

Slowly, he interlaced his fingers through hers, and their bands knocked against each other. Her skin was soft and warm. What was he doing?

Xavier gently ran his thumb across her palm, and her stiff shoulders relaxed slightly.

He felt a surge in his chest, being able to claim her as such, even if it wasn’t completely true.

The sensation of her lips against his skin caused all of his senses to jolt to attention, focusing on that one point of contact.

Babe. She’d said the endearment for show, but it made his pulse spike nonetheless.

She flashed her sugary-sweet smile, which, from his experience, Xavier knew meant that she’d reached the stage of contemplating murder. He waved down the server for the check. They’d be better off taking the rest of their food to go.

“You’re too good to be working under someone like that. You’d be compromising your integrity,” she said. “Can’t you find a different coaching job at another college?”

He used his thumb to form soothing circles on the inside of her wrist. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply.

“Don’t leave,” she said, her gaze pleading.

“Okay.” She loosened her grip and eyed him suspiciously.

He reached for her hand and she automatically interlaced her fingers through his. Holding hands was okay. He slowly traced his thumb across her knuckles.

“I liked your hands more than anyone’s.”

The room was quiet; there was just the sound of their breathing.