Chapter 14
Anya
As it turned out, really great sex was exactly what one needed to take an epic nap. It was three hours later when I sat up, eyes bleary and my body already feeling the effects of Parker screwing my freaking brains out. He was still sound asleep next to me, and I lightly traced the skin underneath his eyes, hoping this would help those dark circles disappear a little.
I exited the bed carefully, not wanting to wake him up. It was still light out, and after peeing, I slipped on some of his joggers, rolling them a couple of times at my waist, and an oversized T-shirt that I found draped over the arm of a chair in the corner of his room.
It smelled like Parker, and I pulled the neckline of the shirt up to my nose and inhaled. Just a little.
Lord. I could get high as a kite off that man’s smell, and I wasn’t even mad about it.
Spike was sitting on an ottoman when I walked into the family room.
His eyes were so judgey.
“Oh, you knock it off,” I whispered. “Believe me, you would’ve slept with him too.”
Meow.
Spike hopped off the ottoman and wandered toward the laundry room where I’d put his litter box. I shook my head and got a glass of water, then sat at the dining room table in front of my sketch pad.
I bit down on a growing smile and decided not to think too deeply on what I was going to draw. It wasn’t for any book ideas—Vida had sent me a few new scenes, and I hadn’t touched them yet. This was just for me, to help me make sense of what was happening in my brain. I just let the pencil skim across the fresh, new page.
Someone else might have dove into their own thoughts, dissecting past choices and the things they did and didn’t regret, but I didn’t want to do any of that. I was sick of doing that. Of wondering why my normally strong gut instinct failed me so spectacularly. Of wondering why things with Parker felt so different. By nature, I wasn’t an overthinker, but I think I’d forced myself to be one as I got older. It felt safer than the alternative, and look where that fucking got me.
No. I didn’t want to wheel those things through my head again and again and again.
Instead, I slammed the lid down on all those thoughts and just … felt.
It was him, of course. The sharp line of his nose, the strong eyebrows and intense eyes. The razor-sharp line of his jaw took shape next, and warmth crept into my cheeks when I moved to his lips. Before I knew it, I’d spent a solid hour sketching Parker’s face. And Parker’s chest. And his abs. And his arms.
Ohhhh, this was bad.
Spike had returned at some point while I was drawing and stared down at the paper, then he looked back up at me.
“Don’t you start,” I whispered. I set the sketch pad down and shoved my fingers into my hair. It wasn’t like anyone set out to be cliché, right?
Have good sex, fight against ooey, gooey, heart-eyes feelings about the man who delivered an axis-tilting orgasm. I ripped the pages out of the sketch pad, realizing I was losing my light anyway. After I threw them away, my phone dinged from where I’d left it in the kitchen when Milicent arrived.
A text from Vida had me shaking my head.
Vida: Ummm, HELLO HOTNESS. What is this eye-fucking we’re doing over at the Wilder house?
Me: What? How did you know?
Vida: Wait. How did I know what?
Me: … Nothing.
Vida: WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? I meant the Instagram videos, but your ass is about to confess something good. I can feel it in my bones.
My phone rang, and I was laughing as I answered. “Oh my word, you are relentless.”
“Did you have sex with your hot husband? Please say yes.”
I covered my eyes with my hand and took a steadying breath. “Maybe?”
The sound she let out was borderline inhumane, and Spike’s head tilted to the side.
“And?”
I missed my friend so much, and I desperately wished she was sitting in front of me. “Really, really good,” I whispered like his cocky ass might hear me.
“Yeah, it was. That man looks like he’d break the damn bed.”
I laughed. “The furniture survived.”
“Did your vaj survive?”
“If he broke that , we’d have a whole different set of problems.”
“True.” Vida sighed like she was the one who just had bed-breaking sex. “Man, I feel great right now. I knew this would happen the moment I saw him nibbling on your fingers five minutes after he sat down. Only men very confident in their abilities do that shit.”
My face was on fire, and I laid my forehead on the cool table. Spike batted at my hair, and I shooed him away with a gentle nudge of my hands. “I didn’t know this would happen.”
“Are you glad it did?” she asked.
“Yes,” I answered tentatively.
“Yeah, it sounds like it.”
Her dry tone had me rolling my eyes. “Yes, I’m glad it happened. I feel … good. But it’s complicated, Vida. I asked for straightforward and easy. A simple business arrangement. And he agreed. My furniture-breaking husband does not want love.”
“You don’t either, do you?”
Instead of answering, I stared down at the fresh sheet of paper. A million possibilities of what could come next. “I don’t want to get hurt,” I told her. “I’ve met my yearly quota, thank you very much.”
“Then don’t fall in love with your hot, emotionally unavailable husband. You can still keep things straightforward. Just bang the hell out of him and move on when your time is done.”
“You missed your calling as a motivational speaker. That was beautiful.”
Vida laughed. “You saw the videos, though, right?”
“I didn’t. I was too busy banging the hell out of my husband.” I tilted my head. “Actually, I think it was the other way around.”
She made another squealing sound. “I know you saw stars, didn’t you?”
I sighed, tilting my head back. “The entire freaking cosmos, Vida.”
“Attagirl. I sent you the link.”
A text popped through on my phone, and I navigated to the link while Vida waited patiently. Milicent wasn’t dicking around, was she? Two hours earlier, she’d posted the first couple shots, along with the caption: Voyagers nation, I hope you’re ready for a new royal couple. Because Parker and Anya Wilder are officially IT.
“Holy shit,” I whispered, scrolling through the pictures.
“That’s what I’m sayin’. You two are hot, hot, hot.”
Milicent went through those freaking pictures with one goal in mind: choose the ones where Parker is looking at Anya like he’s imagining her naked. And holy shit, she did a bang-up job. Gold star. A+.
I pressed my thighs together, my weak-ass traitor brain choosing that exact moment to shove a memory forward: Parker sucking his fingers into his mouth and grinning.
What an unhelpful little bitch my libido was. It was tempted to go straight back upstairs and wake him up in a variety of creative ways. There was a list as long as my arm of positions I’d like to try, and I swallowed down the disappointment that I might not be able to.
Use your head, Anya . This wasn’t a game. And it wasn’t just for fun.
It wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t just orgasms and incredible kisses and no-strings-attached anything.
We had more strings than a friggin’ puppet show. And now they were on display for the entire world to see.
The comment section was overwhelmingly positive.
OMG, she’s gorgeous! Well done, Wilder.
I can’t even be mad at him about that dropped pass anymore because this is a fucking win right here.
DAMN SON, you married up.
She’s so sweet. brB sobbing.
I can’t even hate her because she’s like an actual angel.
Max Bridges is a fucking idiot. Why would you ever cheat on her??
Never, ever getting over these two.
I set my phone down and covered my face with my hands. “Vida, I’m kinda freaking out a little,” I admitted. “This is … this is bigger than I thought.”
“It’s pretty big, babe,” she agreed. “What’s freaking you out?”
The words stuck in my throat, and I forced them out simply because it was Vida, and she’d know if I was lying anyway. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” I whispered. “In the moment, it was easy, right? It always is with him. But how do I trust that any of this isn’t going to come crashing down on top of us?”
“You can’t know that, Anya.” Her tone was gentle. “There’s always that risk in a relationship.”
“This isn’t a relationship,” I answered firmly. “It’s … it’s an agreement. A temporary one.”
“Even temporary ones are relationships. You just have to talk to him.”
I ran a hand through my hair. “Yeah. I will when he wakes up.”
“Ahh. The post-sex coma. It’s a real thing.”
I rolled my eyes. “Apparently.”
“You’ll be okay,” she promised. “This will die down. Get into the season, and they’ll just be focused on the football. You and I will be hard at work. I’ll spend all your money?—”
“Oh, that’s another thing,” I interrupted. “Parker’s giving you three million dollars.” The beat of silence on the other end of the phone was heavy. My brow furrowed when she didn’t make a sound. “Vida?”
“I-I’m sorry, what did you say?” she asked faintly.
“He said it during the interview, and I think he meant it.”
“That’s more than double what you’re giving me,” she said in clear bewilderment.
“It’s like he can’t help himself from trying to be the actual perfect man. It would be so much easier if he was ugly. And mean. Maybe he’s secretly mean and he just hasn’t shown it yet.”
She snorted. “If he was mean, would he be donating three million dollars to the charity of your choice?”
“No,” I said in a glum voice.
“I think I’m going to come bang the hell out of your hot, emotionally unavailable husband.”
My eyes narrowed. “Try it. See what happens.”
She cackled in delight. “I gotta go, babe, someone else is calling in.”
“Love you,” I told her.
“Love you too. And have fun.”
The knowing tone in her voice had me rolling my eyes, but as soon as she ended the call, reality hit me like a slap across the face.
I speared my hands in my hair, elbows braced on the table, and decided to raid the candy cupboard before he woke up, and we’d have to talk.
That was what he said, right? Nap first. Talk later.
I could only imagine what he’d say. This was a mistake. We shouldn’t have. It was great, but…
My insides coiled dangerously because I couldn’t imagine anything worse than having to face him while he said anything of the sort. Not that the alternative was any better. Vida made it sound so easy—but it was anything but, and I didn’t really have the bandwidth to process a better alternative with a visit to his family on the horizon.
Shove it down. Think about it later.
A dinging sound came from a small screen in the kitchen, and I dropped my hands. It was an alert from the camera system that faced into the fenced-in area at the front of the house. There was a knock on the door, and I walked to the camera to see if it was a delivery. The paparazzi had backed off today, but it was hard to say what they’d do now that we were apparently “eye-fucking for the whole world to see.”
The gate was slightly open, and just before I was going to call for Parker, I saw a young woman walk out of the frame, then hesitate, looking back at the door for a few seconds. She wasn’t wearing a uniform signaling her as a delivery person, but a large sweatshirt swamping her frame and some jeans ripped at the knees.
Curiosity sank its claws into me, and I jogged to the door, pulling it open with a friendly smile on my face. “Hi. Can I help you?”
She froze, her eyes wide. “No. I … Are you … are you Anya?”
“I am. Did you need to deliver something?”
Her bottom lip trembled, and I noticed for the first time that she really didn’t look great. There were bags under her eyes, so much bigger, so much darker than Parker’s. And she was thin. Lank hair and a lost look in her eyes. “You seem like a really nice person,” she whispered. “It’s better this way. He has you, and this … this is better for everyone.”
My brow furrowed, and I took a step outside the door, chest tight with worry. Maybe I should’ve gotten Parker, but she didn’t look like she was going to hurt me. “Are you okay? Can I help you with something?”
A tear slid down her cheek. “You already are.”
Before I could say anything else, she turned and fled. “Wait,” I called out. But she was gone. I rubbed the back of my neck and let out a deep sigh. “Huh. That was weird.”
Past the fence was the sound of a car door, then an engine cranking up as she drove away.
Spike meowed from behind me, and I turned to give him a look. “What do you think, Spike? Did I just survive my first stalker run-in?”
He ignored me, though, winding past my leg to sniff by a potted plant just next to the door, nose up in the air as he smelled something. I called his name again, and he refused to turn in my direction. There was a sidewalk leading from the front door into the large enclosed space, two big planters on either side holding white flowers and bright green vines. The cat’s tail twitched as he sniffed just on the other side of one of the planters.
“Spike, come on .”
A small cry let out, and the hairs on the back of my neck lifted. It wasn’t Spike.
It wasn’t an animal at all.
Just beyond the large black pot was a car seat. And in the car seat, wearing a striped hat and covered in a light green blanket, was a baby.
A baby. In the front yard.
“Holy shit,” I breathed. Heart hammering, I bolted back to the door. “Parker ,” I yelled. “Parker, get out here.”
I crouched in front of the car seat and checked the temperature of the baby’s cheek. He had big eyes and a little button nose, and he couldn't have been more than two months old.
“Parker,” I yelled again, louder this time, and when I heard the sound of his feet pounding down the steps, I breathed a sigh of relief. A diaper bag sat next to the car seat with an envelope with Parker’s name scrawled on the front.
I’d just tugged the note out of the envelope and skimmed the first couple of lines when the door shoved open.
I felt Parker behind me, and I stood slowly, my stomach knotted with the enormity of what just happened.
“What the fuck is that?” he breathed. He’d pulled on joggers, but his chest was bare. His face was pale as he looked down at the car seat.
We both looked down at the baby, and with numb hands, I handed him the letter. “I-I think it’s your son.”