30. 30 Parker
30
30 PARKER
(YOU DRIVE ME) CRAZY
A week later, I sat on the couch in Gigi’s living room, surrounded by a mountain of textbooks and notes. I was supposed to be studying, but my eyes kept finding Gigi where she sat cross-legged on the floor. Her head was dipped low, her short hair a coppery curtain shielding her face as she played her guitar.
It was the first time I’d seen her play, and I couldn’t look away from the way her fingers danced along the fretboard, or the way she strummed with her other hand. The music she created swirled around the room, casting a spell I couldn’t keep from falling under.
Or maybe that was just her.
The last few days had been bananas as Gigi and I searched for our rhythm, a balance between our vastly different schedules. We squeezed our time together between classes and studying and bar shifts. A hurried kiss here, a clandestine make out there. Last night, I’d actually set an alarm to wake up at three a.m. and drove to Gigi’s place, just so we could sleep in the same bed.
Not that I was complaining. A few stolen moments with Gigi made up for the sleep I’d missed.
But it wasn’t sustainable, and we both knew it.
Hence our current situation.
I desperately needed to study for an upcoming exam, but I wanted to see Gigi almost as desperately. So, here we were, in the same space. Me, with my books and her with her guitar. It was the perfect compromise. If only I could stop staring.
As if she could feel her eyes on me, Gigi looked up. “Aren’t you supposed to be studying?” she asked with a teasing lift of her brow.
“I am studying.” I let my gaze drift over her face and down her neck, to where her off-the-shoulder t-shirt revealed the soft slope of her breast.
She cleared her throat. “Eyes up here, Samuels.”
I smiled shamelessly as I looked back up. She shook her head, but her lips lifted in a grin of her own. “I’m gonna have to send you home if you can’t get your work done.”
“Sorry, sorry, sorry.” I tossed my hair away from my face and straightened my spine. “I’m focusing now.”
“Mm-hmm,” she murmured, giving me a wink before returning her attention back to her guitar.
I plucked my glasses from the top of my head and put them on, then tapped the trackpad on my laptop to wake it up. With a quick, bracing exhale, I dove into my work.
Hours—or maybe minutes—later, I closed my laptop and set it aside. “Hey,” I said, dropping my feet to the floor. “Did anyone ever die on one of your cruises?”
Gigi’s head whipped up, fingers frozen on the neck of her guitar. “What?”
Undeterred by her shock, I forged on. “I read somewhere that more people die on cruises than we would think.” I leaned forward, elbows on knees. “And that, if they run out of room in the morgue, they’ll give away all the ice cream to make room in the freezer for the dead bodies.”
I could feel her judgment from across the room as she stared, unblinking. Then, slowly, she shook her head and went back to strumming her guitar, the melancholy chords punctuating her lack of response.
“Gigi!” I leapt up from the couch and knelt in front of her, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her. “Come on!”
Laughing, she sat her guitar aside. “Okay, okay.” She pulled my hands from her shoulders and held them in her lap. I sank onto my butt, sitting cross-legged in front of her, waiting like a rapt kindergartener during story time.
“There was this one guy,” she began. “Cassius, I think his name was.” She stared off into the distance, squinting as if trying to recall the details. I leaned in, elbows on knees, and waited. “He had to be, like, ninety. Had this big old cloud of white hair, and an age spot that was shaped like Luxembourg on his forehead.”
I nodded, letting the thread of Gigi’s store pull me in. I could picture him, the little old man. Probably in a Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops.
“Cassius was flying solo on this cruise. His lady love had passed the winter before—this was smack in the middle of summer—and they’d planned to take this trip together. So, he brought her along.” She shook her head. “He carried that urn everywhere he went.”
My mouth dropped open. “He didn’t.”
“He did.” Her brown eyes widened. “I can’t tell you how many times I serenaded sweet, ashy Martha over the course of those five days. Her favorite song was ‘I Fall to Pieces’.”
I snorted, then covered my mouth, shame prickling my skin. “Sorry,” I said, clearing my throat. “That’s not funny.”
Gigi’s lips twisted. “It kinda is, though.” She picked her guitar back up and strummed, singing a few lines from the song. Her voice really was pretty. Especially when only backed by her guitar.
“Anyway.” Abruptly, she stopped singing and laid the guitar flat in her lap. “The very last night of the cruise, I got onstage, expecting to see Cassius and Martha right down in front, like they’d been every other night. But…their table was empty.”
My body moved closer of its own volition. “What happened?” I whispered, my heart beating faster. Silly question. I knew how this story ended. Yet, I was pulled in as if it was one of life’s greatest mysteries: what happened to Cassius?
“Dunno.” Gigi shrugged. “Some say that Martha fell overboard, and he went in after her. Others say he went peacefully in his bed, clutching Martha tight.”
“Oh, my god.” My hand flew to my chest, eyes stinging. “That’s so sweet.”
“Yeah.” She smiled fondly. “They were the cutest couple I’d ever met.” Reclaiming her guitar, she began playing again. “Rumor has it,” she said as she strummed, “that if you’re real quiet in the ballroom, late, late at night, you can hear him singing Patsy Cline to his love.” Her eyes locked on mine as she sang.
Goosebumps skittered down my spine and spread over my arms as the melody moved through me. I shivered, watching as Gigi finished the song. With a final strum, she looked up, and my heart did a full gymnastics routine. Leaning in, I pressed a kiss to her lips, then sat back. “What about the morgue? Did you ever get to see it?”
“Oh, my god,” she laughed, eyes sparkling. “You are warped, you know that?”
“Not warped, just…curious.” I sat back on my heels and shrugged. “I like knowing things”
Still chuckling, she shook her head. “No, I’m sorry to disappoint you, my gorgeous little weirdo, but I never saw the morgue.”
“Oh.” I sighed, shoulders drooping in a dramatic show of disappointment. “That’s okay, I guess.”
Stretching out one leg, Gigi poked me in the belly with her toe. “Get out of here,” she said, her words tinged with amusement. “Story time is over. Go back to your books.”
With a long groan, I stood and shuffled back across the living room. “Fine,” I grumbled. “If I must.”
“You must,” she confirmed. “I refuse to be the reason you fail your classes and never become Dr. Samuels. I’m still banking on that free therapy.”
I plopped down on the couch and stuck my tongue out. She winked and went back to her guitar. With one last, longing look, I grabbed my laptop and got back to work.
Hours—actual hours, this time—later, I came up for air to find Gigi nowhere in sight. Frowning, I took off my glasses and closed my laptop, setting both aside. “Gigi?” I called as I stood and stretched.
“In here,” she called back, and I followed the sound of her voice to find her in the kitchen. She had her back to me as she stirred something on the stove. My stomach growled once I caught a whiff. I moved closer, peering over her shoulder. “How did I not smell this earlier?”
She smiled over at me. “You were really in the zone,” she said before touching her lips to my temple. “You get a lot done?”
I nodded and rested my chin on her shoulder, watching her stir a mix of veggies and chicken together. On another burner, a pot boiled. “I can’t feel my brain anymore.”
“Aw, baby.” She reached up with her free hand and scritched my head. I leaned in and sighed, closing my eyes. “Go sit. Dinner’s almost ready.”
“You don’t need any help?”
“Nope.” She bumped me with her hip, shooing me away. “I got it.”
Laughing, I took a seat at the island. Gigi gave the food one more stir, then moved to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of Riesling. Once she expertly uncorked it, she poured two glasses and sat one in front of me. I gave her a grateful smile and took a sip, sighing as the sweetness hit my tongue.
“Good, right?” She lifted her own glass to her lips. “People really sleep on Michigan wines, man.”
“I’ll be honest, I didn’t even know Michigan did wine until I moved here.” I took another drink and savored the flavors. “But this is really good.”
Gigi clinked her glass to mine then whirled back to the stove. About ten minutes later, she was seated across from me, plates of pasta and freshly filled wine glasses between us.
“Now,” she said as she picked up her fork. “Don’t expect too much. My culinary skills are very limited, and this is by no means a fancy meal.”
I smiled reassuringly as I grabbed my own fork. “Honestly, it could taste like cardboard and I’d still eat it. I’m starving .”
Chuckling, she swirled pasta around her fork. “I hope it at least tastes better than cardboard.” Her eyes followed my fork as I lifted it to my lips.
As I chewed, I widened my eyes dramatically. Then, I pretended to have a hard time swallowing, wincing before smiling bright. “Mmm,” I said, patting my tummy. “So good.”
Gigi glared, arms crossed, brows drawn together. “You’re an asshole.”
I threw my head back, laughter spilling from me. “Sorry.” I wiped my eyes. “I had to.”
She glowered harder, but I could see the cracks in her armor. The corner of her mouth twitched with a smile she strong-armed back into submission. “Did you?”
I shrugged and dug in for my second bite. “Kinda.”
“I wish I’d known you were a troll before we got involved,” she grumbled, stabbing at her pasta. “And after I cooked dinner and shared my nice wine.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault you were so distracted by my rack to pay attention to the signs.” I reached for my wine and smirked across the island. “They were all there.”
“Can you blame me?” She looked me over with slow intention, gaze lingering on my chest. “You’ve got a fantastic rack.”
My nipples hardened beneath her gaze. I swallowed and gripped my fork tighter as heat crept up my neck and across my cheeks. Gigi followed it with her eyes, a delicious smirk curving her lips.
“Eat your dinner,” she said, her voice husky. “So we can get to dessert.”