Chapter eight
Parker
“Um, what are you doing?”
The sound of a voice coming from my bedroom doorway almost makes me drop the iron on my foot. Unfortunately, I let out an embarrassing shriek instead, lifting my empty hand to my chest to cover my racing heart. “Holy fuck, Cashlynn! You scared the shit out of me!”
She holds her coffee cup in front of her chest, her hip cocked to one side. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention. But, um…” Her gaze drops to the ironing board. “Are you ironing your socks?”
I glance down at the perfectly pressed dress socks and then back up at her, catching the way her ring sparkles on her left hand—the ring I gave her last night that made all of this real. Clearing my throat, I try to shake off the burst of adrenaline coursing through me. “Is that a problem?”
Her mouth parts slightly. “Uh, yes…”
“Why?”
This woman is staring at me like I’m some blue alien with the largest dick she’s ever seen. “What kind of person irons their socks?”
My eyes dart back and forth between Cashlynn and my socks that are cooling off the longer we stand here. “They’re dress socks.”
“So?”
“You don’t iron yours?”
Her eyes widen like I’ve just suggested she eat her cereal with a fork. “No, Parker. I’m normal.”
Rolling my eyes, I go back to my task, not in the mood to argue with this woman about yet another thing. “What can I do for you, Cashlynn? As you can see, I’m getting ready for work.”
She chuckles and then takes a sip of her coffee. “I just came in to say hello.”
It’s Monday morning. Cashlynn and I barely spoke after we got home from my mom’s house last night.
After giving her the ring I picked out, my chest felt tight.
Once I slid that ring on her finger, I knew there was no turning back from my decision.
And watching her with my family last night was something else.
For once, I wasn’t the only single person in the room. Hazel doesn’t count; she’s in a league of her own. But I’m used to being the one everyone feels sorry for. They know why I haven’t dated in four years. They know my feelings about being in a serious relationship again.
But last night, I had Cashlynn beside me, and for a moment, I didn’t feel so fucking alone.
Then I woke up this morning and went through my normal routine, forgetting there’s another person living in my house now. That is, until she just scared the shit out of me and is now judging me for my totally reasonable sock-ironing habits.
It’s not that weird, is it?
“Well, hello.” I take both of my wrinkle-free socks and place them on the bed next to my button down shirt, slacks, and tie. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get dressed.”
Her eyes dip down my body before she begins to back out of my room. “Of course. Sorry.”
Heading toward the door to close it, I say, “No problem. I’ll be out there in a few minutes.”
After I dress, style my hair, and clean my glasses, I find Cashlynn sitting on a barstool by the island, scrolling through her phone, and that’s when I finally take a moment to look her.
Her hair is messy—like she hasn’t brushed it yet—and she’s wearing an oversized T-shirt that barely skims the top of her thighs over fitted pajama pants that showcase curves I can’t help but appreciate.
She looks so relaxed and comfortable, but I know what she’s hiding beneath those clothes, and that thought has me snapping out of my perusal and heading over to the coffee machine for my second cup of coffee this morning.
“Are your socks nice and stiff?”
“Ha-ha. Very funny.”
She chuckles as she turns her screen off and leans back in the chair, assessing me. “Why do you iron your socks?”
I shrug. “I’m ironing everything else I’m wearing, so it just makes sense.”
Her eyes widen. “You iron your underwear too?”
“No…” Fuck. Maybe it is weird.
She begins to laugh uncontrollably. “Now I get it.”
“Get what?”
“Why you’re still single.” She stands from the stool, drains the rest of her coffee from her mug, and places it in the sink. I glance at the dishwasher, literally inches from where her mug now sits, and bite back the urge to point it out.
“That is not why I’m still single.”
She rolls her eyes mockingly. “Okay. But seriously, that’s some serial killer type of behavior.”
“Go check my freezer then,” I say, pointing to the refrigerator behind me. “You won’t find anything suspicious. I like my socks to be neat. Big deal.”
Still chuckling, she pats me on the shoulder. “Okay. Whatever you say. I should probably tell someone, though, just in case I go missing.”
I take a deep breath, trying to remember what my life was like before this woman marched back into it.
Quiet mornings free of judgment—that’s what I enjoyed before Cashlynn accused me of being a murderer.
I pour my coffee into a thermos and head toward the door. “I’ll be home around five-thirty. My late shifts are later in the week. Willow’s phone number is on the fridge. Give her a call, if you need her.”
“Thank you.”
With my hand on the knob, I ask, “Do you have plans today?”
I shouldn’t care what she’s up to. I’m not her fucking babysitter, but part of me wants to know. I try not to read too much into that.
“Just some phone calls. I’ll probably go visit my dad, too.” Before I can turn around, I feel her behind me as she places her hand on my shoulder. I spin to face her, her eyes assessing me as I look down at her. “Do you think Friday night would be okay for us to have dinner with him?”
I take a minute to think about if I have any plans, but I’m not sure why. Most of my Friday nights consist of me flipping through Netflix trying to find something to watch, or watching reruns of Friends until I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. “That works for me.”
She reaches up and straightens my tie, the soft brush of her knuckles against my chest sending a pulse of heat through me. “Okay. Friday it is.”
My Adam’s apple bobs as I swallow roughly. Cashlynn’s hands are still on my chest, smoothing my shirt as her eyes dance across my face. She bites her lip, almost like she’s contemplating something before speaking again. “Have a good day, Parker,” she says in a sultry voice that makes my dick stir.
“Uh, thanks.”
Before I can move, she rises onto her toes and plants a soft kiss on my cheek. I stand frozen as she takes a step back.
I feel like I just lived through a movie scene from the fifties: the husband is leaving for work, his wife is kissing him goodbye, eagerly waiting for his return.
She may be my fake fiancée, but I can’t deny that knowing she’ll be here when I get home this evening has my mind racing with what that will feel like.
If things were real between us, I’d storm into the house, rip her clothes from her body, lay her out on the kitchen island, and ravage her pussy until she fucking screamed.
Jesus, Parker. Get a fucking grip. No touching, remember? That was your fucking rule.
She licks her lips and then turns away from me, heading back to her seat at the island. “See you later.”
I don’t waste another second watching her. Like my ass is on fire, I escape to my car, gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles ache.
This woman is going to ruin me. I just hope my self-control can survive the next four months. Otherwise, my dick isn’t the only thing that’s going to suffer from this stupid plan.
***
“What the hell is going on?” I smack the coffee machine because, when something’s not working, hitting it is obviously the first logical thing to try.
But the stupid thing still won’t turn on.
I tilt my head to the right and then the left, looking for any sign of something wrong and that’s when I see it—the damn thing is unplugged.
“What the fuck?” I mutter, just as a chipper voice cuts through my irritation, nearly making me jump out of my skin for the second morning in a row.
“Good morning!”
I whip around, heart racing. But this time, I manage to swallow the embarrassing shriek. Taking a deep breath to steady my racing heart, I turn to face her and interrogate her about the machine, but at the sight of her, the words die on my tongue.
Fuck. Her nipples are standing at attention underneath her oversized shirt and a sliver of her stomach is peeking out from the bottom.
I move my eyes back to her face, but that proves to be just as distracting.
She looks gorgeous in the morning—messy hair, no makeup, completely relaxed.
Call me crazy, but seeing a woman dressed down is far sexier than when she’s all dolled up.
Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the sexy dresses and heels just as much as the next man. But a woman bare-faced and slightly messy turns me to stone in an instant.
And just like that, my dick is awake as well.
Focus, Parker. The coffee machine, remember?
I clear my throat and remember my frustration.
“Good morning? No, it is not a good morning, Cashlynn,” I grumble.
“Because I came in here after my workout and shower, desperate for caffeine, only to discover that my coffee machine wasn’t working.
I just discovered that it’s been unplugged, and I know damn well that I didn’t do that.
” I arch a brow at her. “Care to explain?”
She stares at me blankly before her lips twitch and she dissolves into laughter, covering her mouth with her hands. “Wow. You are definitely not a morning person.”
“Cashlynn,” I warn, pointing to the offending machine. “Why did you unplug my machine?”
She breezes past me, plugs it back in, and then reaches for a mug before pressing the button to start the machine. “To conserve energy, of course.”
My mouth falls open. “What?”
Glancing at me over her shoulder with an innocent shrug, she says, “If you’re not using it, but it’s plugged in, it’s still using a tiny bit of power.” She holds her thumb and forefinger close together to emphasize the point.
This has to be a joke.
“You seriously believe that?”
She nods confidently. “They’ve done studies on it. And I know it’s not much, but I really try to minimize my carbon footprint where I can, you know?”