10. Parker
Parker
“Dr. Matthews. Just a quick update.”
The estate attorney’s voice is too cheerful for what comes next. “The estate’s representative will be arriving on Tuesday.”
I freeze mid-pour, coffee sloshing over the edge of my mug. Tuesday. That's only four days from now. It's also the day of the big annual carnival and blood drive at the hospital.
Shit.
“Arriving where, exactly?”
“Palm Beach. He’d like a brief meeting with you and your wife.
Nothing formal, part of our standard verification process.
Right now, the plan is for him to arrive around seven on Tuesday and, if your schedules work, you three can sit down and talk for a bit Wednesday morning, and then he can fly out. ”
Right. Nothing formal. Just a stranger with a clipboard and a built-in bullshit detector.
“Anything specific we should do to prepare?” I ask. “We can give him a tour of the island if he'd like, if there's time on Wednesday before he flies out. Is there anything else?”
“No need for a tour. Set aside an hour. That should suffice. Be yourselves,” he says, which is either sarcasm or a death sentence. “You’re legally married. You’re cohabiting. He’ll be looking for alignment with the terms.”
Alignment. Like we’re a quarterly report.
“Understood,” I say, though my pulse is already pounding behind my eyes.
He says some other things, but I have no idea what. All I can think about is this meeting. It's our first, and possibly most important, show.
The call ends.
I stand there, coffee forgotten, staring at the marble backsplash like it’s going to give me answers.
Tuesday is in four days, but if we don't meet until Wednesday, I've got five days to prove a lie. Or get caught in it.
I don’t have to be at the hospital for a few hours. I’d planned on a quiet morning, maybe a run later. That’s gone now.
I need to move. I need to sweat this out before it buries me.
The treadmill hums beneath my feet. The steady drone is good for me, like white noise for my brain.
Sweat slides down my spine as the sharp scent of rubber and salt air clings to everything in here.
Outside, the marina’s dotted with sailboats bobbing like they don’t have a care in the world.
Must be nice .
I’m half a mile in when the door swings open behind me. And like that, focus becomes a memory.
Her hips swing like she owns the place, and I swear the room temperature spikes. Suddenly, my entire body is overheated, and I’m certain it’s not from the run.
She’s in leggings that I’m pretty sure are designed for maximum distraction. Oh, shit, and that cropped tank top that highlights her trim waist and round ass, I'm done. It should be illegal for women to parade in front of men in these clothes.
She glances around the room, probably looking for an open treadmill, scanning through the other four people in here. The second she spots me, her mouth quirks up in a half-smile with her eyes gleaming.
“Well, well,” I call out quietly, slowing my treadmill to a slow jogging pace. “If it isn’t my beautiful wife, the vision of marital bliss.” I turn on the show hardcore. It's half practice, half performance.
She makes a face but saunters over, clearly amused.
“If this is what ‘wifely glow’ looks like, I want a refund.”
“Oh, you know you’ve got that glow.”
She shoots me a look, reaching over to wipe a bead of sweat from my forehead with her thumb. “Credit the organic turmeric shots, lovey. That’s what fuels this radiant glow.”
“I like it.” I smile to myself at her natural-seeming wifely duties. She's good.
“I may be falling flat on my face in life, but at least I’ll look good doing it.”
“Looking great, actually.” I let my gaze travel over her, from her high ponytail to her toned arms and legs. “I mean, if the goal of those products is to look as hot as you do, you should be selling out. ”
She laughs, but I catch a flash of uncertainty. Her confidence is always rock-solid, but I can see the tiniest crack when she talks about her business. It hits me that there’s more riding on this than I realized.
"Mind if I join you? Thinking about some elliptical time today. We can talk grocery lists or weekend projects and lean into the domestic bliss."
“I would love that.”
She’s all breathy sarcasm, and I like it more than I should. I stay focused on my pace, watching her from the corner of my eye.
While I run, my mind drifts to an old flame who’s now a semi-famous wellness influencer. She hawks collagen powder and retinol serums like gospel. Maybe she’d be into Adair’s line. A little promo in the right place could do wonders.
But I file the thought away. No need to overstep yet.
I pause the treadmill and stretch out my calf.
“Question for you, Holistic Beauty Queen,” I tease, looking up to her as I bend down.
“Do you think the other club members are buying it? Our grand romance? Should we, I don’t know, turn it up a notch?
Just in case the estate attorney starts sniffing around, interviewing people around town? ”
It’s half a joke. We both know social proof matters, especially if anyone starts digging.
She smirks, stepping off the elliptical and grabbing a mat to stretch, putting it down between our two machines.
“You made an impression. Everyone’s buzzing about Dr. Matthews and his surprise declaration of love. I’ve heard it from multiple customers at Citrine.”
“Oh, nice,” I grin, watching her bend and stretch. “I’ve never really thought of myself as the romantic type, but maybe I’m a good method actor. We need everyone in this town convinced. Call it insurance.”
She raises a brow like she’s not sure whether to roll her eyes or flirt back. “Insurance, huh?”
“Oh, right. You know, if all else fails, at least Hattie and Samuel believe in our love.”
She snorts, but her cheeks are pink. “I'm still healing from that one. It was a crash course in feeling like my love life is under a microscope.”
“Not the worst thing,” I say, turning to face her. “Letting people think I’m crazy about you.”
Her eyes flick to my mouth. It’s quick, but I catch it. And like that, the tension between us is elevated.
She straightens and tilts her head, mock-inspecting me. “Hmm. The optics are solid.”
She stands up, and I lean on the handrails to meet her gaze head-on. Her face is inches from mine. Her ponytail swings slightly with the movement.
“But brand loyalty takes work. You’ve got to reinforce the messaging constantly.”
Her fingers trail lightly along my chest as she flicks off imaginary lint. “Engage the target audience.”
She stands on her tippy-toes, her mouth is a breath from mine now. “Maintain visibility.”
I look around to see if anyone else is noticing our dry run. Luckily, everyone has on their AirPods and are focused on their workouts.
“Visibility,” I echo with a suddenly dry throat.
“Mm-hmm,” she purrs. “And I’m thinking we could use a little internal alignment.” She gives me a wicked once-over. “For credibility.”
I lean in close enough to smell the citrus in her shampoo. “Are you saying I’m not convincing?”
“Not saying that,” she replies, tilting her head slightly, teasing. “I'm saying you constantly have to reinforce. Listen up, Dr. Matthews.”
My pulse races, and it isn't from the running.
“Got it.”
She shrugs one bare shoulder, feigning innocence. “Just saying.”
Her entire face as she turns and saunters toward the back hallway, the one that leads past the family locker rooms and toward the private steam suites. She doesn’t look back or offer an invitation. She doesn’t have to.
I trail after her with my brain on fire. This is insane. This is perfect.
When I catch up, she’s already standing in front of one of the spa doors, the ones only members use, tucked past the locker room corridor.
Without a word, she flips the small sign on the door from “Unoccupied” to “Occupied.” Then she glances back at me, one brow arched, eyes glinting with a challenge.
Her hand curls around the handle, she eases it open slowly, and the stream curls around her like an intro to a porn intro. Then she steps inside.
And I follow her.
The door clicks behind us, sealing in the steam and all the sensual possibilities. She locks it as her back hits the tile wall.
I’m already closing the distance, not thinking, wanting.
Her eyes sparkle, wicked and sure. “So tell me, Dr. Matthews…”
She reaches for my shirt and slips it up. Her palms graze across my skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Should I stop you when you're performing your brand reinforcement?”
I shake my head once. “Wouldn’t let you if you tried.”
She grabs me by the waistband, yanking us flush. “ That’s what I’m talking about,” she groans against my mouth.
“I've got to prove my commitment to the role,” I murmur as my hand trails down her waist to the swell of her hip.
She smirks, tilting her face up to mine. “I admire your commitment.”
I don’t even respond before she pulls me down, mouth crashing into mine, her tongue thrusting deep like she’s starving for it.
“God, you’re so sexy,” I whisper against her lips.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, and a second later, she flips us, pushing my back against the wall. She presses her hips into mine, every inch of her sharp and soft and fire.
It’s heated and reckless, but there’s something else underneath it, something real. Something I'm not supposed to feel.
I peel her top off first. The tight, cropped, and damp shirt clings like a second skin. Underneath, she’s wearing a barely-there black bra. It's not lace, but it's still sleek and feminine. It's stretchy, designed for movement, but right now, it’s my undoing.
Her breasts spill into my hands, full and warm, her nipples already tight against my palms.
She kicks off her sneakers without breaking eye contact. Then peels off those curve-hugging leggings inch by inch, hips swaying as she steps out of them.
Fuck.
My shorts are gone a second later. She wraps her hand around me, like she already knows exactly how I like it.
Because she does.
A quiet inhale stutters in my throat. She’s not playing, she’s claiming.
I lift her, naked, flushed, breathtaking, and flip her back around, shoving her against the wet tile wall. Her skin’s hot and slick beneath my hands. Her thighs wrap tightly around my waist as her heels dig into my back like she can’t get close enough.
Her nails bite into my shoulders. “Goddamn, I need this today,” she breathes. Her voice is ragged and desperate. “I need you.”
“You have me,” I growl, dragging the thick head of my dick through her wet folds, teasing the slick heat until she’s panting against my mouth, trying to grind down.
I reach blindly for my shorts on the floor at my feet and grab the foil packet from the pocket. She watches, breathless, her eyes heavy-lidded and hungry.
The condom slides on fast, practiced. My hands are shaking with the need to be inside her.
Then I thrust hard into her, reaching deep, pinning her against the wall with the force. She gasps as her head snaps back. Her lips part on a moan so raw it damn near breaks me.
“Fuck me, Parker, harder.”
I obey, thrusting into her, driving in and out.
The sound of skin slapping echoes through the small steam room, drowned only by her cries and the ragged scrape of my breath against her throat. Her pussy clenches around me, tight and greedy, milking every drive like she’s trying to own it.
She bites my neck. I fuck her harder.
Her body arches, and she clenches tightly as she trembles. Then she grinds down hard, pulsing around me. A strangled moan rips from her throat as she shudders, hips jerking like I’ve cracked something open inside her.
“Oh shit, I’m—” she starts, but it’s too late.
She falls apart, and I go right with her, driving deep and staying there as I spill inside her, groaning against her jaw. She’s the only goddamn thing keeping me tethered to this earth.
I don’t move. I can’t. My body shudders as the last of my seed spills out.
She’s still clinging to me, her breath hot and fast against my throat. Her fingers are still tangled in my hair, like letting go might undo whatever this was.
It wasn’t casual. And it sure as hell wasn’t fake.
I hold her, my heart thundering, my body still buried inside hers. The steam-filled air is thick with sweat and sex. I breathe her in because right now, nothing feels more real than this.
She shifts in my arms, her skin wet and still flushed. For an exaggerated minute, neither of us says anything.
Then she exhales against my chest and mutters, “Well, if this six-month marriage tanks, at least we’ve got a solid fallback career in performance art.”
I laugh, startled by the rush of affection that hits me. She’s grounded in all the best ways, even when she’s sending me into a freefall. I catch her wrist, tug her in for one last kiss. It's deep and familiar.
And dangerous.
“You’re right about that. I think we’re selling the hell out of this brand. Thanks for the marketing tip.”
She smirks, but there’s a flicker. It's quick, even almost unreadable, before she turns away and starts pulling her clothes back on like she didn’t wreck me six ways from Sunday.
We laugh like this is still pretend, like the stakes haven’t shifted. But I know everything is different. It's deep in my chest, in my gut. I know because I already want more.
She moves like it meant nothing. And maybe that’s part of the performance. But it wasn't acting. Not for me.
I open my mouth, maybe to joke, maybe to admit something I shouldn’t, but she flashes that smug little smile over her shoulder, the one that says she’s in control. The one that makes me want to lose it all over again.
She grabs her water bottle and straightens. Her eyes meet mine. “You good?”
I nod, swallowing it all down. “Exceptional.”
She disappears through the door, leaving steam and chaos in her wake.
And that’s when it hits me that I still haven’t told her the estate representative is flying in next week.
It will have to be our best performance yet. We’ll have to sell the whole damn show.