The strange thing is she almost looked excited about it. About the old dude yelling at her, getting rough with her, and then when we started to fight. I’m not sure if I imagined it, but if I didn’t, it makes me wonder: Does she like starting trouble? Or is there some other reason?

“You can just drop me off downtown,” she says, gazing out the window as I drive down the highway toward the center of Laramie.

I flip on the blinker to switch lanes and pass a car moving at a snail’s pace “Drop you off downtown where?”

She shrugs, resting her forehead against the glass. She looks exhausted, probably from the panic attack that she insists she didn’t just have. But I’ve seen them before, had a lot myself, especially while I was growing up.

I merge back into the right lane and flip the visor down to block out the sunlight. “Violet…” Stay out of it. “Do you have someplace to go or are you…”

“Homeless?” she asks as she twirls a strand of her hair around her finger. “I was supposed to live back there, but obviously that’s not happening.” She lets out a tired sigh, pushes away from the window, and rotates in the seat to face me. “I’m good, though. You can drop me off downtown and I’ll find a place to crash.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere.”

I slow down as we reach the city limits where seemingly identical houses start to line the streets. “It sounds like you don’t have anywhere to go.” My gaze locks on her.

“I can take care of myself,” she insists.

“I never said you couldn’t.” I downshift the truck and the engine rumbles in protest as I get ready to turn toward the side road that goes past the park and leads to downtown. “I’m just asking if you have somewhere to stay.”

At first, rage crosses over her face and I seriously think she’s going to hit me, but then she recomposes herself, detachment possessing her eyes. “No, I don’t,” she says, then she fixes her attention on the window again. “But like I said, I can take care of myself.”

I’m about to turn down the road that will lead us to the center of town where I can drop her off and let her go, which is what I need to do. She’s unstable and erratic; the last thing I need in my life since I can barely take care of myself. And she has this control over me and makes me do things for her without even asking. I hate it, the way I’m drawn to her, yet I can’t seem to stop the feeling.

All I can keep picturing is myself at eight years old, gasping for air, wanting to be able to breathe, but it seeming so hard. I looked a lot like Violet did when she collapsed to the ground and I felt that way when I took off for that strip club yesterday. We’re both stuck in the same situation, not having anywhere to go, and it really doesn’t make any sense why I’d try to help her when I can’t even get myself out of the situation. Yet right at the last second, I straighten the wheel back out and keep heading straight, toward my dorm. I don’t know why I do it, other than there’s this part of me that wants to help her—wants to understand her.

She doesn’t ask me where I’m going and it doesn’t seem to faze her when I pull up to my dorm building and park the truck near the entrance doors. There are only three cars left in the parking lot and a couple sitting in the shade under the trees.

I turn off the engine and wait for her to say something, but she continues to stare out the window. She’s making this difficult. I’m not used to being the person who works to open closed doors. I’m the one who wants to hold them shut.

“So you can crash in my dorm until I have to leave tomorrow,” I tell her, my eyes widening at my words as I slip the keys out of the ignition. I pause, get myself together, before I look at her. “You’re welcome.”

That gets her to turn her head toward me. Her green eyes burn and I lean back in the seat. “I’m not going to fuck you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she says bluntly.

I tuck the keys into my pocket. “It’s not even close to what I’m thinking.” Well, it wasn’t until she brought it up.

“Then what are you thinking?” Some of the harshness evaporates as she studies me.

“I honestly have no idea. You’ve seriously got my head fucked up and all over the place,” I admit.

She seems pleased over this. “Why?”

“Because I have no idea what you’re thinking and that’s not normal for me.”

“What are you? A mind reader?” she asks, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

“No, just observant.”

“Well, maybe you can’t tell what I’m thinking because I don’t have a whole lot going on inside my head.”

I almost smile as I recline against the door and rest my elbows on the windowsill. “I don’t think that’s even close to the truth. I think you have a lot going on inside your head. More than most people, which is why you had a panic attack.”

“It wasn’t a panic attack,” she contends, resting back against her door. “I just got caught up in the excitement.”

I touch my split lip with my fingers and wince from the sting. “You think watching two guys beat the shit out of each other is exciting?”

“Maybe.” She pulls a regretful face as she admits this, bringing her legs up on the seat. “Does that make you afraid of me?” she wonders.

I’d laugh at her, but I am kind of afraid of her. Afraid of how she makes me feel, the way I get swept up with her, the fact I’m thinking about her and not just myself, something I promised myself I’d never do in order to keep control over my own life. Me and me alone. “So Kayden moved out.” I switch topics to avoid the pull I’m feeling toward her, the needy ache, to kiss her, feel her, be with her. Complicated, I remind myself. “You can crash on his bed, but tomorrow I can’t help you.”

She sits up, slides her knees toward her chest, and wraps her arms around them, hugging them against her as she rests her chin on her knees. She looks so vulnerable and helpless, the armor she wears chipping away. I can’t seem to think about anything else but how easy it’d be to hit on her, play her until she gives in to me. I’d lay her underneath me and fuck her over and over again until I got this stupid obsession I have for her out of me.

“Where are you living for the summer?” she asks, slamming me away from my thoughts. “Are you staying here or going home or something?”

I lean away from the door and open it up without answering her, ready to escape the conversation. Then I hurry and hop out of the truck and head up the sidewalk, hearing the truck door open.

She quickly rounds the front of my truck, skittering in front of me with her arms out to the side of her. “That’s not fair,” she says with a frown. “You know my sad little story, at least part of it, and it’s only fair I get to know yours.”

“The only thing I know is that you were going to live with some old pervert who likes to hit you and now you have no place to live,” I clarify and dodge around her, heading for the entrance doors.

She walks across the parking lot beside me. “Do you have someplace to live?”

I rake my hand over the top of my head. “Does it really matter?”

“Maybe.”

“That seems like your go-to answer.” I bite my tongue, deciding whether to shout at her to back the fuck off or run like hell. “Don’t flip this to being about me.”

“Why?” she says, spinning around and walking backwards in front of me. “You know I’m homeless, so why’s it a big deal if I know you are?”

I stop at the curb, feeling something force its way up inside me. I’ve never been asked questions like this. People are usually too afraid of me and that’s the way I like it. And if it was any other girl I’d probably think she was just trying to get an invite home with me, but I’m starting to understand Violet enough to know that she’s probably getting a kick out of being a pain in the ass.

“You’re right.” I throw my arms up in the air exasperatedly. “I have no fucking place to live.” I breathe heavily. “There, are you happy?”

She shakes her head, pieces of her hair blowing in the warm breeze as she looks over at a couple laughing beneath the trees. “No, not really.”

“Me neither.” I glance around the campus yard, scanning the trees, the few cars in the parking lot, my boots, looking anywhere but at her, otherwise she’ll pull me into her, like she’s been doing since she made me care enough to follow her to her car after she kicked me in the face.

“So now what do we do?” Her eyelids flutter against the sunlight as I glance up.

“You’re asking me what we should do?” I arch an eyebrow at her. “Really?”

She looks around defenselessly and I wish she’d bring back that detached attitude so I wouldn’t feel such a need to help her. “I’m running out of ideas, but if I have to I’ll sleep on the streets,” she says.

“You’re not going to sleep on the streets… we’ll figure something out.” I close my eyes when I realize I said “we’ll,” like we’re a couple, which we’re not. We’re just two strangers who keep crossing paths and can’t seem to get rid of each other. “If we have to, we can sleep in my truck.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen how well that goes. You’re a serious seat hog.” Humor laces her voice.

“You can sleep sitting up,” I retort, opening my eyes. “Or take the back.”

“Wow, what a gentleman,” she jokes with a small smile and the tension around us crumbles.

“I’m not trying to be gentleman,” I say, fighting a smile. “And I’ll never try to be one.”

“Good, because I don’t want you to try. Guys who claim to be gentlemen are full of shit.”

“Okay…” I say. “I’m glad you don’t want me to be a gentleman.”

She grins and it reaches her eyes and reduces the hideous swelling in her cheek. It must hurt like hell. “I think I won that one.”