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Living with the man and falling asleep thinking about the hard lines of his body doesn’t exactly scream wise or independent. Great work, Violet.
Everything about him is so . . . almost aggressive, that the gentleness of his touch never fails to startle me.
live in the shadows, and she’s like this ray of light that brightens my day. I’m so fucking greedy.
“What?” “A girl could throw her panties right in your face, and you wouldn’t pick up on it, would you?”
She thinks I don’t like her? If she only knew is what runs through my head as I lean in closer.
“I’m engaged to the love of my life. Not blind.”
“I thought you hated horses?” “I don’t hate horses.” Pippy snorts and bats her eyelashes at him. Another one down, apparently. “Okay. You said you don’t like horses.” “Yup.” He grunts as he turns his back on me and crouches down to line up two boards. “But I like you.”
a dangerous voice takes over my train of thought from behind me. “Nobody enjoys fucking you, Patrick. Now move your arm before I remove it completely.”
Patrick just smirks in the face of the threat. He steps right up to me and defiantly places his spare hand on my shoulder. Like I’m too simple to understand his implication—like it’s perfectly normal to talk about another person like they aren’t even there. Like touching a woman without her permission is acceptable.
should tell her she’s so much more. The thing that got me out of bed most mornings. My bright spot. My sunshine.
Falling in love would be bad enough. Falling in love with a jockey would be downright impossible.
Can you fall in love with someone you’ve never met? Never seen? I spent the day mulling over that question. Because this morning, I was nothing but one big bundle of complicated feelings.
“So that’s what you tell Trixie. But what’s the real reason you don’t tell anyone?” “Picked up on that, did you?”
“Good god, Cole. What do you think I am? A city girl?”
Don’t pick a man who needs fixing—or changing—to meet your needs. He either wants to, or he doesn’t. And if you need to convince him, he doesn’t love you the way you deserve.
“I don’t need you to coddle me. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” He pins me now, his gray eyes sparking with fight. “That’s what you keep telling me. But Violet, letting me help doesn’t make you weak. It just means I care. I know you don’t need me. But I want to be there for you. Let me care for you in the only ways that I can.”
His hands fist and then let go as he raises his voice right back, shouting, “What do you want me to tell you? I never open up to anyone. You think everything between us just started and finished with a photo for me? Like it was easy for me to lose you? To not know if you were okay? To miss you so much it physically hurt? You broke me!”
“You’re not broken. You’re perfect. And I’m a shitty fucking patchwork quilt. I’ve spent years picking up the tattered pieces of myself, every life event, every heartbreak, and slowly stitched it all back together. But I’m not good at sewing, Violet.”
“And now the edges are starting to fray. I’m coming apart at the goddamn seams, and you’re the one holding the thread that could undo it all.”
You don’t look at me like I’m tragic. You look at me like we’re inevitable.”
We are completely inevitable.
