Free Living Violet by Jaime Reed Page A

locker room. He swore he didn’t embellish these accounts and was willing to provide photographic evidence.
    He excelled in track and field, soccer, and anything involving a bull’s-eye. All the men in his family learned to shoot before they could ride a bike, but Caleb mastered archery and offered to show me his crossbow. Displaying a collection of medieval weapons to an already suspicious girl did not incite the best confidence, so he decided to hold off until our third date. And here I didn’t even know we agreed to a first date.
    Mr. Caleb Baker was a walking contradiction. He could shoot a target from a hundred yards, but he got squeamish around knives and avoided hand-to-hand combat at all costs. He came from a wealthy family, but he kept the lifestyle of a gypsy. He had friends all over the world, likely females in countries I never even heard of, but a heavy blanket of loneliness cloaked his body. Dude was a hard book to read, but he was definitely a page-turner.
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    By the time we parted, I felt a little better about being alone with Caleb, but I still held suspicions of his motives. He seemed interested in more than friendship, but how far was he trying to go? We said nothing on the ride back to my car. My feet were killing me, my clothes were still wet from the water rides, and I smelled like hard, sweaty fun.
    When he parked his car next to mine back at Buncha Books, he reached in the glove box and pulled out a memory stick with my name written in silver marker. “You thought I forgot, didn’t you?”
    I couldn’t argue because I had surely forgotten about it.
    â€œThanks, I’ll let you know what I think.” I slipped his music in my bag.
    He leaned over me, his eyes fixed to mine. His sudden movement scared me. The scent of powdered sugar on his breath tickled my nose. His lips parted, hovering mere centimeters over mine when a dull pop came from my door. I spun my head in time to see his hand on the latch, prying the door open.
    â€œDrive safe,” he whispered.
    I wasn’t sure what to make of the entire day, or why he hadn’t kissed me, or why I cared that he hadn’t. But I felt him watching me as I climbed in my car, pulled out of the lot, then left the shopping center. Even throughout the short drive home, I still felt it—the deep purple of curious eyes and unknown intent. It was a hard thing to get used to, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to.

7
    T he next few days went by in a blur. Nothing exciting happened anyway.
    I was so swamped at work from summer tourists that I practically had to smuggle a lunch break. But the music Caleb had given me kept me entertained to the point of distraction.
    I got through the entire file in one day, and I transferred a number of tracks to my playlists. There were some weird Euro-trash techno songs that had me raising an eyebrow, but the rest was unexpectedly ... awesome ! He owned an eclectic taste, from rock, to blues, to old-school hip-hop. I found myself humming a folk melody as I whipped through my work.
    I needed to adjust my hours so I could free the weekend to watch the twins. Swallowing two mouthfuls of pride, I sought out Alicia, who alternated between the café and book floor. After a great deal of groveling on my part, she agreed to take my shifts. Today she whisked by me on her way to the magazine aisle, giving me the you-owe-me-big-time glare.
    Restocking the cream and sugar bar, I went through the agenda in my head, estimating how much time was required to go home, shower, pack a bag, and head to Dad’s house so I could chaperone his brood.
    Just before my shift ended, a voice rang out, “What’s up, Sam?”
    I turned around and saw Garrett sporting a nasty shiner on his right eye. I took a step back and admired Dougie’s handiwork.
    The guy was about six-foot-four with wide shoulders, built solely to intimidate weaker beings. With spiky blond hair and a square jaw, Garrett