15. Sawyer

Chapter 15

Sawyer

I’m deep in a biography about Gordie Howe, one of the greatest hockey players to ever grace the NHL, when my phone buzzes on the end table beside me. I reach for it instinctively, and my heart skips a beat when I see it’s a text from Violet. She’s a grown woman with a group of other grown women so I shouldn’t be, but I’ve been worried about her since she left.

VIOLET: You know what? Screw the dating apps. Maybe I’ll just meet a guy the old-fashioned way.

A frown creases my face while I stare at the phone, trying to work out what she’s talking about. Was this even meant for me? She’s almost certainly been drinking so it might not mean anything at all, but I’m stuck on it regardless, so I tap back a reply.

ME: What do you mean by that?

VIOLET: This bartender is totally hitting on me .

Her text comes with a sneaky picture of the bartender attached. It’s dark and kind of blurry, but I can still tell he’s young and probably good looking.

My heart lurches, a tight feeling settling in my gut. Violet is a single, beautiful woman. Of course men are going to flirt with her at a bar. So why does that bother me so much? Without even realizing it, my jaw has clenched, and I’m squeezing my phone so tightly that I’m worried I’m going to crack the screen.

It buzzes again, distracting me.

VIOLET: Maybe I’ll finally be able to check another item off my bucket list.

I don’t answer because I don’t know what to say to that. She mentioned having a sexual bucket list that day when her vibrator tumbled out of her suitcase, and the fact that she’s referencing it again right now tells me she’s definitely drunk. Or at least approaching it.

Another text alert makes my phone buzz.

VIOLET: Not like I’ve ticked anything off the list in a while.

A bundle of emotions swirls in my stomach. Part of me would kill to know more about that list and what’s on it, but another part of me is burning with shame for even thinking about it. And then who’s this young prick who’s flirting with her? She doesn’t know him from Adam, and he’s a bartender, so he’s probably a player who doesn’t have her best interests in mind at all.

My fingers fly across the keyboard.

ME: You shouldn’t trust a strange guy. Especially one who’s making your drinks.

Violet doesn’t answer right away, so I sit staring at the phone and wrestling with my feelings. I’d really rather not know that someone is flirting with her, but then again, I’m glad she told me because I don’t think I’d ever be able to forgive myself if something happened to her after I encouraged her to go out tonight.

Finally, the little bubbles indicating she’s typing appear on the screen.

VIOLET: Everyone’s a stranger at first. Even you. *tongue sticking out emoji*

ME: True, but the guy behind the bar shouldn’t be hitting on a drunk woman.

VIOLET: May b he doesn’t know im drunk.

I sigh at her message, because it all but confirms she is.

ME: Violet… he’s the one who served you the drinks. He definitely knows.

VIOLET: Are you jealous?

I freeze, staring down at the phone. Am I jealous? If this were any other girl this was happening to, would I feel the same way? I wrestle with that question for a lot longer than I should, but ultimately decide that I would.

ME: It doesn’t have anything to do with that. I just don’t like the idea of some random fucking predatory jerk hitting on and taking advantage of you.

VIOLET: Maybe I want to be taken advantage of.

My fingers hover over the screen while my heart thuds in my chest. She’s messing with me now, but I don’t think she has any idea all the different ways that message is fucking with me. Or about all the graphic things that are flashing in my mind. It’s probably a good thing I don’t know what’s on that bucket list of hers.

ME: Where are you?

VIOLET: I dunno. Some club downtown. Why?

ME: You don’t know where you are?

That part worries me more than anything else, and before I even realize it, I’m on my feet and heading for the front door. My phone vibrating in my hand again snaps me out of autopilot and freezes me with my free hand on the doorknob.

VIOLET: The bartender’s shirt says Skyline.

I grit my teeth at her reply. At least I know where she is, but I don’t like that she had to talk more to the bartender to figure out the name of the club. Luckily, I know right where it is. I’ve never set foot in the place myself—I’m not the club type—but it’s relatively new and made a big buzz when it first opened about a year ago.

I back out of my text thread with Violet and tap into another one I have with Sarah, one of my older neighbors who’s a grandma and occasionally watches Jake for me.

ME: Hey, Sarah. Sorry to bother you. I know it’s a bit late, but do you have a few minutes to watch Jake for me? He’s asleep and a friend of mine has been out drinking and needs a ride home, but I don’t want to leave Jake by himself.

Thankfully, she replies right away.

SARAH: Sure. Mark is home with the grandkids so I can stay for a bit.

ME: Thank you so much. I’ll be quick.

SARAH: No problem. Be right over.

True to her word, Sarah arrives a few minutes later.

“It’s sweet of you to rescue your friend,” she says as she hugs me on her way inside.

I’m not sure sweetness alone is my motivator, but I smile at her anyway.

“Thanks. She’s downtown so shouldn’t be too long, but you never know with the traffic.”

“No rush. Like I said, Mark’s home with the kids, so I’m a free woman.”

“I really appreciate this. I’ll make it up to you, I swear,” I say and stride outside to my car.

The drive to Skyline feels way longer than the fifteen minutes it actually takes, and when I see how packed the place is and how few parking spots there are, I’m doubly irritated. I end up having to park on the street a couple blocks away, then hoof it back to the club.

The bouncer’s eyes widen in recognition when I flash him my ID on the way inside, but he thankfully keeps his cool and doesn’t make a scene. The last thing I want right now is to have to deal with someone trying to get my autograph or something.

There are so many people crammed into the place that it’s hard to move, much less see, and that’s probably a good thing because it’ll help me keep a low profile. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that the bar is probably at the back of the room, so that’s where I head.

While I shove and elbow my way through the throng of people, I spot Callie, Margo, and Becca dancing together toward the center of a sea of people, but Violet’s not with them. That worries me—because there’s only one other place where she’d be, and it’s the last place I want to find her.

Finally, the bar comes into view, stretching across the whole back wall of the main room. Bottles of liquor stacked high on industrial shelving behind the bar flash in the lights spinning overhead, and as my eyes rake down the bar’s length, I spot Violet’s unmistakable blonde hair shining and rush to where she’s swaying on one of the bar stools. The bartender, the same guy she sent me the picture of, is just sliding a fizzing gin and tonic across the bar to her when I get there.

But she’s so tipsy that she misses it. It soars past her and into my hand. She turns on the stool, and when she spots me, her eyes shoot wide open. “Sawyer?”

Instead of responding right away, I lock my eyes on the bartender, who’s watching our interaction warily.

“You really shouldn’t overserve your clients,” I growl at him, and he throws his hands up with a shit-eating grin.

“They order, I serve. Simple as that, man.”

“Or until they’re so drunk they can’t say no to another one. Or anything else,” I snap and slide the drink back at him, and although the guy scoffs, he seems to know better than to try me. He’s in good shape, but I’ve got several inches and at least twenty pounds of muscle on him, so that’s probably the right idea.

Violet seems almost totally oblivious to what just happened. She blinks and smiles at me brightly, and even though she’s totally sauced, it’s so innocent and beautiful that it’s devastating. It takes everything I have not to scoop her up in my arms and carry her out and away from all of this.

“What are you doing here?” she slurs, much louder than necessary.

“I’m taking you home,” I tell her and help her off the bar stool before she can argue.

“Aww, but the night’s just getting started,” she says in my ear, the booze on her breath strong.

“Oh yeah? How many of those have you had?”

She giggles and shrugs. “A few.”

“I’d say that’s more than enough. Come on, let’s get the other girls home too,” I say and clutch her hand tightly in mine so she can’t give me the slip or get lost in the crowd. She squeezes it tightly, and my heart squeezes at the same time. Even though she’s drunk, and a club like this is the last place I’d want to be, her hand in mine feels too fucking good.

And that scares the hell out of me.

Callie spots me first as we approach, and she taps Margo and Becca on the shoulder to point me and Violet out. The three of them abruptly stop dancing, probably because they know the party’s over, but when they get a good look at how obviously intoxicated Violet is, they don’t argue.

“Is she okay?” Callie asks over the noise of the music and the crowd.

“Good question,” I snap, probably too forcefully.

She grimaces. “Sorry. She seemed way more interested in the bartender than she did in dancing with us, so we just kind of let her be.”

“It’s not your fault. But I want to make sure you three get home safe too, so let’s wrap it up.”

“Yeah, probably a good idea,” Callie agrees and pulls out her phone.

I watch her call an Uber, but it’s going to be about fifteen minutes before the driver arrives and they’re all a little tipsy themselves, so I decide to stay with them until they’re safely piled in the car.

When they’re gone, I walk Violet the couple of blocks back to my car. She’s swaying so much that it honestly might be easier to just pick her up and carry her, but I don’t want to make a scene or embarrass her, so I hold her against my side with one arm wrapped tightly around her.

She’s noticeably warm, no doubt thanks to the booze and the heat of the packed club. Being this close to her warms me up too—in more ways than one—but I shove down my awareness of just how good she feels, tucked up against me like this.

She’s slightly uncoordinated thanks to the alcohol, so it’s a bit of a struggle to get her into the car, but we manage it without too much of a problem. When I pull the seatbelt across her chest and click it into place, I find her grinning at me. Out of the club and under the streetlights, I see how flushed her cheeks are, and I wonder just how much she had to drink—and how much more that bartender would’ve poured into her if I hadn’t shown up.

“Thank you for coming to get me,” she mumbles when I get in the driver’s seat. Her words have a slurred quality, as if her tongue is getting in the way of speaking. “I drank…” She wrinkles her nose. “Way too much.”

“How much is too much?”

Violet shrugs. “I don’t know. I wasn’t counting.”

“Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m feeling great ,” she says, beaming and swaying a little in her seat, and I hold back a wry chuckle, because I know she probably won’t be saying that in the morning. “It was nice to be out having fun again. It’s been a long time since I did that.”

I smile at her and give her leg an affectionate squeeze. “I’m glad you had fun. But you really shouldn’t trust random guys like that.”

Her smile fades and she deflates a little, slumping in on herself.

“You’re right. I should’ve learned that lesson after Elijah,” she mumbles, looking out the window.

I don’t have a clue who Elijah is, but it doesn’t matter. I hate the sound of anyone at all hurting her, especially a man. I hope she’ll trust me enough someday to tell me about what happened, but now’s not the time to press her on it. I need to get her home, get a lot of water and some ibuprofen in her, and get her to bed.

“Are you going to be okay on the drive home?” I ask, and she nods.

“I’m not that drunk.”

“I’m going to hold you to it,” I say and start the car. “But if you feel woozy, please let me know so I can pull over.”

Violet gives me a thumbs up. “Roger.”

I drive slowly just to make sure I don’t make her sick. She stares quietly out the window like an amazed little kid seeing the world for the first time, but with the slower pace, we make it home without needing to stop.

It’s harder to get Violet out of the car than it was to get her in, and now that we’re home where no one will see us anyway, I decide to just carry her. She yelps and laughs when I scoop her up in my arms, and I kick the car door closed behind us. It isn’t until I’m letting us in the front door that I remember Sarah is there waiting, and I don’t want her to see Violet like this, so I head right for the stairs.

“We need to be quiet. I don’t want to wake Jake up,” I whisper to Violet as we ascend, and she nods. I’ve just gotten her to her room when I hear Sarah calling quietly from the bottom of the stairs. She must have heard us come inside from the living room.

“I’m heading home, Sawyer. Have a good rest of your night.”

“Thank you, Sarah. I owe you,” I call back softly, and Violet’s brows stitch together in confusion. “She’s my neighbor. I had her come over to watch Jake while I went to get you.” I set Violet down on her bed carefully, then take a step back. “Are you good?”

“Uh huh.”

She gives me a drunken smile before standing right back up and starting to tug at her dress, pulling the stretchy material over her head. She’s only wearing a lacy bra and a thong beneath it, and I quickly move to avert my eyes—but before I can, she starts to topple over.

“Shit,” I hiss, reaching out to catch her before she falls.

The dress is halfway over her head, her soft curves pressed against me as my arms wrap around her, and I grit my teeth, doing my best to keep my body from responding to her nearness.

“Help. I’m stuck.”

Her voice is muffled by the fabric of her dress as she twists her arms a little, trying to get it the rest of the way off.

Fucking hell .

“Okay, heartbreaker,” I say soothingly, guiding her back until her legs hit the bed and then helping her sit down again. “I’ve got you. Just—hold still.”

Carefully, I peel her dress the rest of the way off, trying to look anywhere but at her. There’s no way in hell I’m going to violate her trust while she’s in a vulnerable position, but I also don’t want her wandering around the room looking for sleep clothes in this state.

“God, it’s hot in here,” she whispers, fanning herself. She reaches for her bra strap like she’s about to take that off too, but I catch her wrist to stop her. I don’t think my nervous system could handle that right now.

“That’s the liquor talking. Where do you keep the stuff you sleep in?” I ask, then head toward the dresser as a best guess. I flip the switch on the wall to turn on the ceiling fan on the way.

“I usually just wear a big t-shirt. Yeah, in there,” she mumbles, pointing at the dresser. I open the drawers quickly until I find a shirt that’s large enough to be a dress on her, then bring it over and help her pull it over her head.

As soon as her face appears through the neck hole, she smiles at me. “You’re a sweet guy, Sawyer. Thank you.”

I try my best not to let my emotions show on my face and just nod at her. “You’re welcome. Stay right here, okay? I’m gonna go get you a glass of water and some ibuprofen.”

Violet’s face brightens in drunken approval. “Oh, that’s a great idea. You have a lot of those.”

I bite back a small laugh. “Yeah, I do. Be right back.”

Before I even leave her room, I hear her flop on the bed, which means she’s at least doing what I asked and staying put. I keep a glass in the bathroom for water so I don’t have to go back downstairs for it, and I fill it from the sink and pop a few tablets of ibuprofen from the bottle in the mirror cabinet, then go back to her room.

She’s staring up at the ceiling fan as if entranced, but her head lolls over to look at me when she hears me coming. She props herself up on an elbow, and I sit down on the bed beside her, then pass her the glass of water. After gulping half of it down in one go, she holds her hand out to me, palm up.

“You got the goods?”

I laugh and drop the tablets in her palm. “Yup. Here.”

She pops them in her mouth and downs the rest of the water, which should help cut down on the hangover tomorrow too. I gently retrieve the glass from her and pull the covers back so she can slip under them, then tug them up to her shoulders.

“All good?” I ask, and she nods.

“All good.”

“Goodnight, then. I’ll be down the hall if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay,” she whispers.

But as I turn to leave, her hand flies out and grabs mine. I freeze, her touch like a zap of electricity against my skin. She squeezes my fingers and smiles, and the warm, soft look on her face makes something deep inside me shift like a tectonic plate.

“Thank you for taking care of me tonight,” she murmurs.

My hand instinctively starts to move hers toward my mouth to kiss the back of it, but I catch myself and give her hand another gentle squeeze instead, my heart thudding in my ears and my throat dry.

“You’re welcome, heartbreaker.”