Chapter Seventeen
This is karma.
I feel like absolute crap.
My entire body aches, and my lower back specifically feels like someone has taken an axe to it. It is as though they are hacking at the muscles, over and over and over. The pain just won’t stop.
And don’t even get me started on the headache. It was the first thing to appear two days ago. I thought it was nothing. Just brushed it off and went about my days as normal. A little pain wasn’t something to fuss over when there was so much to do.
Now, it’s like a truck ran over my brain and squished it. I’ve taken every pain med under the sun, and it just keeps coming back. My throat hurts a little, but it’s nothing compared to everything else.
This is what I get for lying about being sick and hiding a naked man in my room.
I manifested the sickness.
Groaning, I slink out of my bed and drag myself into the kitchen.
Fluids.
I need fluids.
I flick on a light, but the brightness stabs my eyes and causes my brain to pinch.
Nope.
I whack them back off. It’s not that dark. The microwave glows the time into my blurry vision.
3:30 p.m.
God. I’ve been in bed all day.
Cracking open my fridge, I pull out my filtered pitcher and pour a glass of water. The cool liquid instantly soothes my hot body.
Since when was I hot?
I pour myself another glass and somehow make my way back into my bedroom. I slip the glass onto my nightstand and grab my phone instead. A few notifications litter the screen, and I tell myself to reply to Lee’s text as I crawl back under the covers. But as I squint at the light, trying to get myself to focus, nothing really makes sense. It’s all a glowing fuzz.
I shut my eyes for a few seconds, hoping it will clear my vision.
***
A hushed voice swims in my head.
Like I’m talking underwater, so it’s all muffled.
Except the voice is British.
I’m not British.
Something cool touches my forehead, and I lean into it, begging it to stay.
And it does.
Then I’m lifted into the air, floating on a cloud.
I ride the cloud until it turns stormy and starts to rain, sending droplets pattering across my skin.
It feels good, though, and I turn my face up to the sky before sinking back under, trying to ignore the pain all over me, trying to wash it away.
It feels like eons pass before I finally resurface and break for air.
***
There’s another voice.
Flashes of memories start to come back to me, and I will myself out of the haze.
My eyes crack open, and there’s an oddly attractive man in my room. He is bathed in a white light. Or maybe it’s a white coat. I should be concerned. Except, I also don’t know if he is real…and I’d seem really crazy if I started screaming at something that wasn’t there.
Although, if there was no one in the room, there would be no one to see me lose my marbles either.
When the man sticks something under my tongue, some of my senses return to me. Those flashes of memories start coming into focus, and I remember Parker’s voice, his hand on my forehead, the cool compress.
I blink rapidly as my eyes try to adjust to the low light of my bedroom.
I stare up at a man with a sharp jaw of stubble and cool green eyes, who is most certainly real, and let out a meek squeak as I try to scramble back. But my body is like jelly, and I don’t really make it more than an inch.
“How are you feeling, Ms. Lake?” His voice doesn’t really match how he looks; there’s a slight Southern twang to it.
“Not great,” I answer hesitantly.
He chuckles, capping the thermometer in his hand. “That would add up. You had a high-grade fever; it’s only just breaking.”
“You’re awake.” Parker stands in my door frame holding two mugs, and I see relief pool across his features. His face is lined with exhaustion, but his hair is still a perfectly styled wave of white blond on his head.
He’s dressed casually, which is an uncommon occurrence for Parker Covington. A tight blue T-shirt and dark gray joggers hang on his sculpted body. Even in my haze, he’s hot. When he spins to place the mugs on my armoire, I see the giant “Dior” letters printed across the back of his shoulders. Of course.
Parker perches on the side of my bed and helps me sit up slowly.
“What’s going on?”
It’s all still disorienting.
“You have the flu,” says the man in the white sweater. The more I look at him, the more he has that rugged mountain man parading as a city boy vibe. “Can I ask when your symptoms began?”
“I had a headache three days ago.”
“Yes, that’s what I feared.” He taps his jaw in thought.
“I’m sorry, who are you?”
“Dr. Reston.”
“Right.” I nod.
Until I start to get a grip on reality and comprehend that there are two men—one of whom I do not know—inside my apartment whom I never let in. At least, I don’t think I did. The last few hours are hazy.
Has it even been hours?
What time is it?
Who is this man really?
“Are you sure she’s going to be fine?” Parker looks at me with concern, and I realize that I’ve just been having a conversation with myself while nodding blankly into dead space.
“Are you really doubting me after I flew all the way here, Covington?” Dr. Reston reaches down and zips up the black duffle at his feet. “Just make sure to keep her hydrated with lots of rest. If she’s been sick for four days, I can’t prescribe her anything, anyway. She’s fought through the worst of it. Which, unfortunately, seems to have been worse than most of the cases I’ve seen this season.” He cocks his head at me. “You really should sleep more. Exhaustion makes you immunocompromised.”
This doctor has awful bedside manners.
“I’ll send you my bill.” He hikes the duffle over his board shoulder and claps Parker on the back. “Good luck at your championship.”
Dr. Reston leaves the room before I can blink, his heavy footsteps echoing throughout my apartment.
Right.
Myapartment.
“God, you scared me, Syd.” Parker brushes my sweaty bangs out of my eyes and despite myself, I sink into his touch.
Except, now that I think about it…my bangs aren’t sweaty.
They’re wet.
Like I took a shower.
I don’t remember a shower.
Do I?
My brows furrow and I look down at my body.
Now that there isn’t some mountain-man doctor in my bedroom to distract me, everything is starting to come into focus.
The main one being that my clothes are not the clothes I was wearing when I passed out., And the more I shift on my bed, I realize my sheets are also not the same sheets I put on last weekend.
What the heck happened?
“What’s going on in that head of yours, Syd?” Parker’s voice breaks my spiral.
There are a million questions swimming in my brain, but I settle on the one floating closest to the surface. “How did you get into my apartment?”
“Would you believe me if I told you that you left it unlocked?”
I narrow my eyes at him as I try to think back to when I last got home. It was just after Crime Night, and I was in a world of pain after putting on a smile for hours at Lee’s. I definitely locked it.
I always lock it…especially after Crime Night.
Wait.
I can’t even leave it unlocked.
It has a damn keypad.
As if sensing my growing frustration, Parker pops off my bed and grabs the mugs he abandoned on my armoire. He hands the apple-shaped mug to me, reserving the blueberry-shaped one for himself.
“Well, love, as you now know, I do own this building. Access isn’t exactly hard to come by.” He takes an innocent sip of his tea.
“Abusing your privilege once again, I see.” I take a small taste of my own mug, careful not to burn myself. The flavor is a little strange. I can’t tell if I like it or not. Mint is the main note. However, there’s a deep bitterness to it, as well as some slightly nutty tones. It makes my throat feel better though.
“You don’t like it?”
“It’s not that I don’t like it…” I trail off. “What exactly is it?” I take another sip and tell myself not to curl my lip at the initial bitterness.
Parker laughs. “It’s Yin Qiao San.” The man has a habit of saying things to me that he just expects me to understand. “Chinese herbal medicine. I had the doctor send it over when I explained your symptoms.”
“Dr. Reston?”
“No, Dr. Zhu. He’s the one who does Jackson’s cupping and is a lot easier to get a hold of than Reston.” He rolls his eyes. “Are you still tired?”
I shake my head. “Not really. I feel a little stuffy though.”
Parker hums and holds his hand out to me. I take it, careful not to spill my tea as I get out of bed. Parker rests my hand in the crook of his elbow as he guides me out of my room. My muscles don’t feel like noodles anymore, but I don’t let go of him.
As we enter the living room, I realize that the sun is setting, sending a bright pink glow over my apartment.
Parker places his mug on my coffee table before he fluffs up a new knitted blanket on my couch and cocoons me in it. I’m wrapped in warmth, sipping on the not-so-bitter-anymore tea, watching as he cracks open my balcony door to let fresh air in before he turns on a pot on the stove.
My apartment has a similar floor plan to the boys’, but just on a smaller scale. It’s an open concept with the living room, kitchen, and small dining area all nestled within the same twelve-hundred square foot space. I have one bedroom off to the side, whereas they have six. My balcony only fits a two-person table set, while they have an entire outdoor barbeque area as part of their penthouse.
If my rent is ten thousand dollars…I don’t even want to imagine what theirs costs.
My eyes track Parker’s movements over the top of my mug. There’s not a single part of me that is ashamed anymore to admire the way his joggers hug his firm ass. Not after what happened in Seattle.
I swallow at the memory as my stomach swoops briefly. With my body no longer in crushing pain, my mind is free to trace his defined biceps as he stirs something in the pot. There’s something soft about seeing Parker dressed so down-to-earth; it’s like another barrier has broken between us. Just being in his presence feels intimate.
“What happened?”
Parker looks at me over his shoulder, “Stevie said you were acting strange at Crime Bingo—”
“Crime Night,” I correct him.
He rolls his eyes. “Crime Bingo sounds a lot more fun.”
“Parker.”
“Okay, okay.” He starts to ladle what I think is soup out of the pot into two bowls. “Stevie said you were strange at Crime Night, which tracked with the way you barely checked in on Tuesday on my run times—which were beast, by the way. You weren’t responding to my texts all day Wednesday, and then Lee texted us that night to see if we’d heard from you because she wasn’t getting any response either.”
Shoot. I do remember her text.
“Wait, what day is it?”
“Thursday.” He opens my oven and pulls out an entire baguette, which he proceeds to slice. “Anyway, I grabbed your keycode and came in to check on you. As your landlord, it is technically legal for me to conduct a welfare check.” He winks.
Oh God.
If it’s Thursday that means I lost an entire day that I don’t even remember.
How’s that even possible? It was just the flu.
“You were barely responsive and scared the living daylights out of me, you know. You burned through cold compresses faster than I could make them, all while your whole body was shivering like it was freezing. It was worse than heatstroke.” Parker comes over and takes my mug from my hand and places it on my round dining table along with the food he’s cooked up. “I called up Reston, and he told me to put you in a cold shower and attempt to get you to drink water whenever you woke a little. It took a few hours for him to get here, but finally your fever broke. Honestly, he didn’t really do much. Useless expensive fuck.”
I vaguely remember the shower, I think. It’s kind of scary that I went through all that and my brain didn’t even record any of it. I didn’t think I was that bad. It was just a little cold…
“Wait a second. A shower? You saw me naked?” Mortification, rage, and something disturbingly close to lust combine in a confusing haze at the realization.
He holds his hands up in defense. “I swear I closed my eyes for like half of it.”
“Parker!” His name leaves my lips in a whine as I clutch my arms around my body.
I get it, I really do. But that doesn’t necessarily make the whole situation better. Mostly, I hate that my first thought is whether or not he liked what he saw.
I push my thoughts to the side and gesture at the periwinkle nightdress I’m sporting.
“That explains why I’m dressed in this.”
I bought it on a whim a few months ago when it went on sale but hadn’t worn it yet because the silk seemed too luxurious. Of course, Parker picked the most expensive nightwear I owned. I’m pretty sure I had it tucked in the back of my closet.
“I think you look hot.” Parker grins as he proceeds to scoop me up, blanket and all, before depositing me on one of the dining chairs. “Blue suits you.”
He slips a finger under one of the straps and runs it across the length. His touch sends goosebumps immediately down my arm. For a second it feels like someone is pressing hard on the center of my chest, and it becomes hard to breathe. But then he sits down, and the distance makes everything lighter again.
“Bon appétit, mademoiselle.” I don’t miss the glimmer of mischief dancing in his eyes.
I clear my throat and eye the steaming bowl of soup topped with cilantro and the fluffy baguette slices in the center of the table.
“There’s no way you made this yourself.”
Parker barely remembers to eat the premade food their personal chef makes for them, let alone cook something from scratch for himself. The most I’ve ever seen him make successfully is beans on toast and two-minute ramen, both of which only require heating skills. And even then, he sometimes burns the toast.
“Depends on your definition of made.” He blows on the soup before eating a spoonful. “I heated everything to the exact temperature the chef told me.”
That made more sense.
“Chef?” I mimic the same motion, blowing on the steaming soup before tasting a spoonful.
The vegetable soup is like a warm hug. All the spices warm me the second I swallow. I scoop up some of the carrots floating around, and I get excited when I notice that there are even wood ear mushrooms. It is a silly thing to be excited about, but they are my favorite.
“Yeah, I ordered it from Le Forêt. It’s their seasonal mushroom elixir soup.”
“No way! I’ve been dying to go there. I stalk their page religiously.”
Le Forêt is a Michelin star vegan restaurant in New York that is known for the way they create dishes based on the health properties of each ingredient. Their menu changes every four months to accommodate for whatever vegetables are in season. They even have a quarterly event with an energy guru, and the waitlist is bonkers.
Wait.
“Le Forêt doesn’t have a restaurant in California, do they?”
There’s no way I would have missed that.
“No, they don’t.” He picks up a piece of bread and dunks it in his soup, taking a bite. I try not to get distracted by his sharp jawline and the vein that is sticking out on his neck.
“Then how did you get their soup?” I swallow another bite and stifle a groan at how good it tastes.
“I flew the sous-chef out. She cooked a couple of batches. There’s a few frozen in your freezer for the next couple of nights, plus more in the fridge for tomorrow. It should help you feel better and replenish the nutrients you sweated out.”
The piece of bread I’d been in the middle of grabbing promptly falls to the table.
“You flew the sous-chef of Le Forêt to California to cook me soup?”
“She made some celery juice, too. She said that would only last till Sunday, though, or else you won’t get the health benefits.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” I point my spoon at him menacingly, or as menacing as I can be after coming back from the brink of death. “Why on earth did you fly her here? Soup from the supermarket would have been fine.”
“Supermarket soup would not have sufficed.” He looks offended by the mere thought. “I was already flying Reston out, so it didn’t cost any more to have Amber on board.”
I blink a few times as I process his words.
“You flew the doctor out as well?” It’s more a hushed yell than a question.
“Of course. Reston might be a bit of a dick, but he’s one of the best private doctors I know. It’s just unfortunate he moved to New York last year. He lives to make my life harder, I swear.” Parker sips his tea without a care in the world, as though all of this is very normal.
“Parker,” I say slowly. “I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to say.”
My brain might be mush, but even I have enough sense to realize that this entire situation is abnormal.
Last year, Jackson broke his foot skiing, and Parker never mentioned this Reston guy. In fact, I distinctly remember Parker taking selfies with a severely drugged-out Jackson in the private hospital room and attempting to upload them online, and I had to confiscate his phone.
“What I think is that you need to keep eating.” He makes a pointed look at the soup I’ve barely touched because my brain has been too distracted. “You haven’t had anything to eat in twenty-four hours. You need fuel, love.” His spoon taps against the side of my bowl.
I purse my lips before taking another sip of the heavenly soup.
My stomach warms, but it’s not because of the food.
It’s because of him.
I’m not used to this.
Normally, it’s me checking in on him, making sure that he has something to eat after gaming for eight hours straight with nothing but energy drinks fueling his body. I’m the one who keeps track of where he is and makes sure that he isn’t getting into trouble. And I’m the one who normally scolds him to take a second to breathe and look after himself.
It’s weird to have him hovering over me like this. To have him caring about me. I don’t like to let people see me like this. I don’t like to be vulnerable. Because that means you have to let someone in, and that’s dangerous because the pain of losing someone you love is irreparable.
But this, right now?
I don’t hate it.
I don’t hate it, because it’s him.
And I don’t know what that means.
Sure, we had that moment of attraction five years ago, but attraction can be surface level. It doesn’t have to mean anything deeper. And after I drew the line between us, he never tried to push.
I thought he’d lost interest.
Yeah, okay. He has always been touchy and flirty. But that’s how Parker is with everyone.
I never took his flirting seriously. Why would I?
Parker Covington hasn’t been in a serious relationship since the day I met him. Heck, he’s the only one of the guys who hasn’t had a dating scandal—something which he always proudly points out to me. He always says he would rather spend time hanging out on the couch with me than wasting it with the girls at the club.
My stomach drops as realization kicks in.
The apartment. The car. The shoes. The doctor. The soup.
Those are just the tip of the iceberg. When I look beneath the surface, I see all the little things that he’s done over time piling up. It’s something you wouldn’t notice unless you added them all together. I always thought Parker was extra because…Parker is extra.
But that’s not it.
God dammit.
Parker Covington is smooth. So smooth, even I didn’t notice what he was doing.
No one else hangs out with me while I binge-watch reality dating shows. No one else takes weekly boxing sessions with me. No one else drinks mocktails with me just because I don’t drink and asks no questions…especially when said person is a champagne aficionado and instead subs it with sparkling apple juice.
Why didn’t I realize this sooner?
I take another sip of soup, Parker’s hawk eyes still watching me.
Where does this leave me?
Do I want a relationship with him?
A real one?
Do I want to risk that?
The only thing I know is that I don’t want to lose my job. Not just because I love working for the guys—even though they are driving me to an early grave—but because I love my job. And being in a relationship with anyone in The System is a direct violation of my contract. There’s no gray area there. The wording is literally printed in black and white.
If I start dating the guy I work for, in a community as small as this, I’m going to be blacklisted. Who would trust a publicist who slept with her employer?
Not that I’ve slept with Parker yet.
Oh God.
Yet?
I contemplate shoving my face into the bowl of soup and screaming.
Now I’m thinking of Parker’s dick.
I’ve seen that monstrous thing way too many times given the fact that I’ve never touched it.
Do I want to touch it?
The fluttering in my stomach says yes.
Could I like him?
Do I like him?
My spoon clinks against the bottom of the bowl and the sound startles me out of my spiraling thoughts. I blink down at the near empty bowl. I hadn’t even realized how lost I had gotten, mindlessly eating the soup while drowning in the mess of my crush-struck brain.
I peer up at Parker who is leaning so far back on the dining chair that it threatens to tip over. He has his phone turned horizontally in his hands, which means he is playing something. Probably the mobile version of Kill Strike.
Sensing my stare, Parker flicks his gaze up and rocks his chair forward, so he is once again level with gravity.
“You feeling okay? You zoned out for a bit there.” He clicks off his phone, standing up and grabbing our empty bowls before taking them into the kitchen.
I attempt to unravel myself from the blanket to help, but it’s wrapped around me like a friggin’ straitjacket.
“Don’t bother. You’re the sick princess today; just stay where you are. I can load a dishwasher, you know.”
“Since when?” The natural quip leaves my mouth before I can stop it. He does have a copious number of stray cups littering his streaming room, so it isn’t completely invalid.
“Since I was fifteen.” His tone is a little too serious. I can’t tell whether he is telling the truth or not. I mean, this is the same guy who still gets his underwear dry cleaned.
I give up on untangling myself and resume my earlier admiration as he bends down to place the bowls on the bottom rack of the dishwasher.
It is a pity he doesn’t wear sweatpants more often. The man has a dump truck.
“Admiring the goods?” Parker stares at me upside down from between his legs with a smirk.
Heat crawls up my neck. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say something snarky back, to deflect the conversation like I always do. But for the first time, I don’t. For the first time, I take my head out of the equation and just listen to my heart.
“Yep.” I say with a pop on the ‘P.’ “Sure am.”
He stands straight and gives me a soft smile. “You are feeling better. That’s good.”
I give him a shrug, averting my gaze again. I can’t keep my confidence high around him for long when he looks at me like that. Especially now that I’m looking more closely and can see the genuine relief and care detailed in the fine lines of his face.
Put me in a room full of the press shouting questions and berating me, and I’m a steel wall. Throw me in front of a flirty British man, and the steel warps.
I do feel better compared to an hour ago, but I still feel exhaustion pulling at my bones. Instead of it being like I’ve been run over by a train, it’s more like I was clipped by a bike while walking. The pain is there, but it’s more of an inconvenience than something debilitating. I can function and form coherent thoughts, which I couldn’t do yesterday.
“All righty, then.” Parker comes back over and scoops me up again in one fell swoop and carries me back to the couch.
“I can walk, you know,” I squeal, my heart racing. All my earlier thoughts are coming back with his face mere inches from my own. The blanket is thick between us, but somehow his fingers still burn through.
“Nah, I told you, Syd. Today you’re under my care.”
Instead of just dropping me onto the cushions, he sits down with me in his arms. My ass and feet are on either side of him. My back is supported by his arm as he cradles me to his chest.
I eye the disappearing orange hue outside.
It has to be late afternoon by now.
Parker leans forward, crushing me even closer to his body as he grabs the remote from the coffee table. My heart rate spikes to obscene levels.
Crap.
I am definitely screwed.
He flicks on the TV and starts scrolling until he finds the reality show I’m currently watching and pops on the latest episode. In my sick haze, I am now three episodes behind, which means I have a tasty three hours’ worth of content to drool over.
The classic opening sequence plays out with its signature song, and my body calms in a practiced response. I find myself snuggling deeper into Parker’s arms, laying my head on his chest as I watch the couples flirt and squabble on screen.
Sometime during the second episode, my eyes start to flutter shut. I push myself to keep them open, but the screen keeps getting fuzzy and my brain swims. Eventually, I give up and just let my body do what it wants.
When my consciousness starts to return, the first thing I notice is that I’m still held in Parker’s protective arms.
Slowly, I open my eyes. The apartment is coated in darkness, and there is a chilly breeze sweeping in through the open balcony door. I blink a few times, adjusting to the darkness. Parker’s chest moves in shallow breaths under me, and in the silence, I hear the short puffs of breath leave his lips. It’s stupidly comforting.
I’m careful not to rouse him as I tilt my head up to look at his sleeping face.
His lashes look even longer from this angle, and the shadows of his cheekbones are darker in the moonlight. There is the faintest smattering of stubble along his chin and above his upper lip. I try to think of the last time Parker wasn’t clean-shaven and fail to come up with an example. Even during their annual twenty-four-hour stream, he was more put together in the last hour than he is right now.
His platinum hair is sticking up in eight different directions, and I have the impulse to run my hands through it to smooth it back into its regular perfection.
My chest aches again, and the emotions swirling inside of me are so strong all I have is the urge to cry. I want to cry over this pretty boy because what I feel for him is inexplicable. I would say it’s the exhaustion talking, but I’ve spent the last two days sleeping. So if anything, it’s the clarity of getting enough rest that is making me see things in a new light. It’s forcing me to face the reality that I’ve been stubbornly ignoring within an inch of my life.
I’ve been gaslighting myself.
God dammit.
I’m not just attracted to Parker.
I like him.
I like this frustratingly handsome man with his panty-melting accent and disregard for money.
More than I can admit. More than I’m willing to acknowledge.
I’ve spent so long closing myself off to Parker, to the idea of him, that I blocked out the truth that was already there. That’s always been there. The truth that’s been threading itself together bit by bit over five years until it became strong enough that even I can’t deny it.
I like him.
I like him, and I have no idea what I’m going to do about it.
Do I play this forbidden game?
Do I take Parker’s hand and step over the line, leaving it blurred in the sand behind me?
I hear my brother’s voice in my head. A voice that brings me happiness and pain at the same time.
“You have to live for yourself, Syd. No one else is going to do it for you. We can’t be perfect. You can’t be perfect. Something is always going to go wrong, so just embrace what you can. No regrets.”
My brother lived life by the seat of his pants. He was a force of nature that attracted everyone into his light. He was the sunshine to my grump. I miss the way he pushed me to loosen my buttons, to break out of my shell. I miss everything about him. Every day. But so much time has passed that I’ve grown used to being without the part of my soul that disappeared alongside him.
No regrets…
Would I regret not trying this thing with Parker?
Would I look back on this moment five years from now and think “what if?”
I stare blankly out the windows, letting my eyes get lost in the looming darkness outside.
I want to scream.
I want to go to Jax’s and let loose a hundred punches against the bag.
I want to get rid of this feeling inside of me because it’s tearing me apart.
It’s tearing me apart because I know what I want and I’m scared of it.
I’m scared because I’ve twisted the lid and the feelings for Parker that I’ve kept bottled up are starting to leak out. I can’t keep living in this state of confusion where I’m kissing him one moment and avoiding his touch the next. I need to reseal the lid or take it off completely.
Parker stirs under me, and his head lolls forward before it snaps back up and his eyes open. Startled glaciers blink around the room. When he looks down at me, I see the unfiltered adoration crinkle the corners of his eyes as a sleepy smile spreads across his face.
“Hey.”
There’s a gravely deepness to his voice that I’ve never heard before, and the way it sends a zing to my core is the final straw.
“Hey,” I whisper back, the knowledge of my decision making my voice small.
He leans forward and places a soft kiss to my forehead. “I didn’t want to risk waking you earlier, but let’s get you into bed.” His arms readjust under me, and he jostles me in the air before standing up with me in a princess carry.
It’s a little ridiculous at this point. I feel lifetimes better than I did hours ago, let alone yesterday. The worst of the flu has passed, and there’s nothing but a slight sore throat remaining.
He softly lays me back in bed, removing my blanket cocoon and tucking me under the sheets. It’s pretty cute, and I once again just want to cry.
Maybe I’m getting my period early because my emotions are haywire.
He places a quick kiss on the tip of my nose before his thumb brushes over my cheek. When he goes to move away, I tear my arm free from the sheets and throw it out to grab onto any part of him.
“Wait.” My fingers curl around his T-shirt. “Don’t go.”
Even in the darkness I see his eyes widen, the whiteness growing around his baby blues. There’s a beat before he lets out a soft laugh.
“I won’t go anywhere if that’s what you want, love. I’m just going to shut the balcony door.”
I let go and suck my arm back under the covers so I can clutch it to my chest. Embarrassment threatens to send a flush over my body, but I push it away and just give him a nod.
He smiles and leaves the room. I count the seconds, listening for the telltale click of the door shutting and his returning footsteps. Part of me is worried he will leave because what good have I done?
He told me he liked me, and since then all I’ve done is make out with him on the beach and use his body as my own personal humping device before kicking him out of the room when Aleks showed up.
God.
Parker appears in the frame of my door, and my heart stutters as he comes to crouch at the side of my bed.
“What do you need, Sydney?”
It’s a simple question on the surface, but it has more layers than an onion. It swims in his eyes, and I know that, no matter what I say, he’ll give me a smile because that’s Parker. He’s been so patient with me.
I have my answer, but my throat closes and the nerves choke me.
No regrets.
The words ring out and give me that split second of confidence I need.
“You.”