The Coincidence 03 The Destiny of Violet and Luke ARC by Jessica Sorensen Page A

swish the skirt a little as I make my way across the living room and to the kitchen. I pull out a barstool and take a seat, propping my feet up on the bottom bar.
    Preston’s wearing a plaid shirt that’s unbuttoned and shows a series of tribal tattoos on his chest and ribs. His sandy blond hair is a little long, running down to the bottom of his chin and he has a five o’clock shadow, but he usually does. His jeans are missing a button so I can see the top of his striped boxers and when he steps back from the counter, I notice he’s barefoot.
    “Wow, you sure dressed up tonight,” I joke, folding my arms on top of the counter. “Aren’t you throwing a party or something? You usually do on the weekends.”
    He glances at me as he puts the cigarette into his mouth. “Not tonight,” he says, smoke snaking from his lips. “I’m getting a little tired of people at the moment.”
    “Getting too old for those crazy kid parties, huh?” I tease, then zip my lips together when he glares at me.
    He grazes his thumb across the end of the cigarette, holding it over a coffee mug, and spills the ashes inside it. “I’m not that much older than you, Violet.”
    “You’re ten years my senior,” I argue in a playful tone. “Which does make you old.”
    “Eight years your senior,” he corrects. “I’m only twenty-seven… don’t be adding years on me.”
    I shoot a conniving grin at him. “When you get that old, does it really even matter anymore if I add a year or two?”
    He shakes his head with forced annoyance as he extends his arm over the counter and grabs the ashtray next to my elbow. He puts his cigarette out in it, then his hand moves for the front pocket in his shirt. “So I’m going to have you stick to herb tonight,” he says, taking out a small baggie of weed out of his pocket. He tosses it down on the counter in front of me, getting down to business. “And I heard that the cops were going to be out a little heavier around town, so be careful.”
    “How do you know that?” I ask. “Is your friend Glen tipping you off again? He’s such a dirty copper.”
    “ ‘Dirty copper’?” He chuckles under his breath. “I think you’ve been watching a little too many cop shows, Violet. No one talks like that.”
    “I don’t watch cop shows,” I lie, tracing one of the many cracks on the countertop. “I read that expression in a book.”
    “What era does the book take place in? 1930?”
    “No, 2012.”
    “You’re such a liar,” he says, crossing his arms as he slumps back against the counter. “You seriously are the worst I know and one day it’s going to get you into trouble.”
    “I don’t lie all the time.” I pick up the bag of weed. “I just make things colorful when they’re gray.”
    “You are the most entertaining girl I know, Violet Ha…” He trails off, probably remembering the one and only time I yelled at him—when he called me by my last name.
    I quickly change the subject before it can get to me. “So, are you going to let me crash here for the summer or what?”
    A flirtatious smirk curves across his face. “You know you’re always welcome here. I’ll even share my bed with you.”
    I roll my eyes. “Thanks, but I think I’ll take my old room.”
    “What? I’m not good enough to share a bed with?”
    “No, I’m sure you are, but you know I don’t share a bed with anyone.”
    He leans over the counter. “I know and I’d really like to know why.”
    I give a one-shoulder shrug. “For the same reason I don’t share anything else. Because I don’t like people touching my stuff.” That’s not entirely true. I used to hate sleeping alone—being alone in general.
    After I found my parents murdered, I stayed in the house with them for twenty-fours hours, and it was the longest twenty-four hours of my existence. The longer I stayed in the house with the bodies the farther I sank into the loneliness and myself. I kept telling myself to get up, but I knew once I