Chapter 23 #3
Cheeks hot again, I hiss, “I was not making moaning noises.”
“You were,” Cobb and Parker say at the same time.
Afterward, Parker adds with a grin, “I liked them.”
“Of course, you did, she’s a foxy little piece,” Cobb says, narrowing his eyes at Parker.
“She’s also a sweet kid who’s been through hell with men like you.
Seriously, friend, you heterosexuals have to pull yourselves together and remember how to treat a lady.
Don’t just hook up at a bar. Take her out, plan things, listen when she talks, care about the things she cares about.
It’s not rocket science. It’s just a matter of making a basic effort to show a little humanity. ”
Parker nods seriously. “I agree, sir. I’ve had a crush on Makena since I was twelve years old. If she agrees to date me, I will treat this woman like a fucking queen.”
“Oh my God, I have to go,” I say, sliding off my chair. I take a step away only to spin back and snag the two remaining Slim Jims from my glass. “But not without my road meat.”
“Does that mean I’m coming, too?” Parker says, tossing a hundred-dollar bill on the bar and hustling after me. “I can be road meat.”
Scowling up at him, I whisper-shout, “Stop it! People are staring.”
“No, they aren’t,” he says. “No one cares. That’s why people come to The Brass Monkey—the lack of caring and the disgustingly awesome drinks. Now, about me being your road meat… ”
“You are not road meat,” I say, pushing out the door into the chilly suburban night. “Shit,” I mutter, forgetting we’re way too far out of town for cabs to be readily available.
“At least slip a guy a Slim Jim, then,” he says. “I didn’t get one with my Trash Panda. The bartender said they were out. Probably because he gave them all to the cute blonde he has a crush on.”
Whipping my phone out of my pocket to call a car, I huff, “Cobb is gay. Clearly.”
“So? Doesn’t mean he can’t have a crush.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what it means.
” I arch a brow, dividing my attention between typing my destination and Parker’s still very sexy face.
If anything, he looks hotter in the parking lot lights than in the shadows inside the bar.
I’m sure the same can’t be said of myself.
I’ve been burning the candle at both ends, trying to finally save up enough to buy my own little bungalow and move out of the kitchen, and it’s starting to show.
He shakes his head. “Nah, I get crushes on men sometimes, and I’m as straight as they come. If, like, a guy has incredible control on the ice or next-level stick control, for example?—”
“The hockey party!” I cut in, realizing where he must have seen me. “You play for the Voodoo now, don’t you? I remember hearing something about that when I was back home visiting Dad.”
Parker’s expression sobers. “How is your dad?”
“Still can’t remember me or anything else,” I say curtly as I smash the “call car” button.
That isn’t something I want to talk about.
Not tonight or any other night. “Don’t change the subject.
You were one of the hockey bros at the party I catered.
You’re in the NHL, just like you always wanted. That’s so great.”
“Thanks.” He gives a little shake of his head. “But if it’s so great, why do you sound like someone died?”
“Because my best friend is married to a hockey player,” I say. “And I can’t infringe on her territory.”
“What?” He squints, then blinks. “That makes zero sense.”
“No, it makes a lot of sense,” I say, backing along the sidewalk outside the bar, figuring the driver will be able to see me more clearly if I’m not a few feet away from the smokers sucking down nicotine just outside the door.
“She’s in a precarious position right now, one I can’t risk making more precarious.
Besides, your parents used to pay me to keep you safe.
I can’t take you home and ride your face.
It would be a violation of the trust they placed in me when they put you into my care. ”
“That was over a decade ago, and I’m pretty sure my parents couldn’t give two shit what I’m doing right now,” Parker says. “They’re too busy fighting over who gets the beach house.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, wincing in empathy. “But, at least they’re finally divorcing. That’s good, right? They’ve been so unhappy for so long.”
“I don’t care about my parents’ happiness right now,” he says, closing in on me as I pause beside a weathered bench outside the closed Clip ‘N Curl. “I care about your happiness. Specifically, your happiness after I’ve made you come screaming my name, cuddled you in the little spoon position for at least eight hours, and taken that fine ass of yours out to a skillet breakfast.”
“I love a skillet breakfast,” I murmur, pretty sure I’d love the rest of that, too .
Coming screaming his name sounds top tier, and it’s been so long since I’ve been properly snuggled. Chuck was as shit at snuggling as he was at oral sex. I’m pretty sure Parker, however, will excel at both.
Maybe it wouldn’t be totally crazy to take him home with me…
Or, more likely, go home with him , since I sleep in a twin bed hidden behind a curtain in the back corner of my café…
“Come on, Makena,” he says in that sexy drawl of his.
“You know, kisses like that don’t happen every day.
” He lifts a hand, gently brushing his fingertips along my temple, sending happy prickles rushing across my skin.
“I have my truck here and I’ve only had one drink, so I’m fine to drive.
Let me take you home and show you what my tongue can do to the rest of your beautiful body. ”
I’m tempted…
So fucking tempted…
So tempted, I’m about to launch myself at Parker and beg him to give me a preview before we race each other to his truck. But thank God, my car pulls up at that very moment.
The driver—Antonia, I think her name was—rolls down her window, asking, “Hey, you Makena?”
“Yes!” I say, launching myself at the back door. On my way into the backseat, I exhale in a rush, “Bye-Parker-thanks-for-the-offer-but-gotta-go-bye.” To the driver, I hiss through my teeth, “Drive. Please. Fast.”
“But I don’t have your number,” Parker calls after me.
He says something else, but Antonia is already pulling away. When we’re safely across the parking lot, on the verge of pulling out onto the road, she asks, “Are you okay? Was that guy bothering you?”
“I’m fine,” I say, turning over my shoulder to see Parker still staring after me. “And no, he wasn’t bothering me. He was tempting me. And I just…can’t. It would be too complicated.”
“Are you sure?” Antonia asks, relaxing now that she knows I wasn’t being harassed. “He was pretty fucking hot.”
“I used to babysit him when he was twelve and I was eighteen.”
“Oh, yeah, gross,” Antonia says. “That’s a lot.”
“A lot a lot,” I agree.
As she pulls out onto the street, I turn to face the front of the vehicle, committed to leaving Parker behind me. After all, I can’t have a red-hot fling with the boy I used to babysit, even if he is fully grown and sexy as hell and has an excitingly filthy mouth.
Can I?