Dartmoor Futures - Violet contd.

 Was bitten by the random inspiration bug this afternoon at the barn. More Dartmoor Futures, featuring Violet Walsh. A continuation of the ongoing little blog-only story that starts HERE. 

The problem with Ash Teague was that he looked like a younger, smoother, not-yet-tattooed version of his older brother. An Aidan clone. Which by default made him a Ghost clone. He was, much to Vi’s annoyance, hot. One could even say very hot. And he was walking her way now, hands stuffed in his cut pockets, expression aiming for cool, but landing on uncertain, as his gaze stayed trained on the path.

Vi whispered, “Balls,” with great feeling.

Beside her, Tenny chuckled. “He probably has some. Want to give ‘em a squeeze?”

“Ew, no, shut up.” She swatted at him, but couldn’t reach from her camp chair. “Get rid of him.”

“Why? Don’t you want to thank him for the flowers in person?”

Vi tore her gaze from the approaching teenager – he was only nineteen! Christ, it didn’t matter how hot he was, or how much weight he’d been lifting in the gym; mentally, he was about twelve on a maturity scale – and fixed her uncle with her best glower, her heart pounding in her throat. “Tenny,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “I don’t want to see him. Get rid of him.”

He cocked his head and played dumb; scratched at his hair for effect. “Yeah, I could, sure. But. I really want to see how this plays out instead.” He grinned, the bastard.

Ash’s boots crunched over gravel. He was getting closer – close enough to hear them, if she repeated herself. She would have to face him, damn it.

She drew herself upright as best she could, ignoring the way pain grabbed in a dozen places, and said to Tenny, “Your hair’s going gray.”

His mouth fell open, and she thought he was only playacting a little when he patted his gleaming, pomaded hair and gaped at her in blended shock and outrage.

To her left, Ash chuckled. “Dude, what’s with your face?”

Violet braced herself, wiped her own expression smooth as best she could, and turned to face Asher.

Up close, she noticed details she hadn’t on her first, furtive glance. She hadn’t seen him since Christmas, and in the intervening months, he’d clearly decided to grow his hair out. It wasn’t long, but long enough to be fluffy, revealing the natural curls that his dad and brother kept close-cropped. He’d also stopped shaving – or was going for a stubble look, like Aidan. It was a good look. It worked; made him look older than he was. He wore a plain white t-shirt under his cut, and his jeans were bootcut, fitted everywhere save the hems that flared out over his harness boots. He had the whole uniform: wallet chain, knife visible on his hip, sunglasses pushed into his hair, gloves hanging out of his back pocket. He’d acquired a new ring: a clunky silver number like the ones her dad wore, some sort of rectangular seal on top she couldn’t make out from a distance. His biceps stretched the sleeves of his tee, and he had sunglasses tanlines on his face.

She allowed herself a moment to appreciate the aesthetic, and then ruthlessly shoved that part of her brain aside. He was laughing at Tenny, who’d said something in response to his comment she hadn’t paid attention to. But then his gaze shifted to her, and his laugh faltered, and his face got that half-awestruck look to it he’d been turning her direction for years. Vi wanted to get up and run. As fast and as far as she could.

His throat jerked as he swallowed, and the front of his cut shifted, like he was clenching and unclenching his fingers nervously inside his pockets. “Hey.”

Violet let out a slow breath. “Hey.”

*TBC*