Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
PARKER
If she thinks I’m just going to let it go, she should know I’ve climbed mountains. Small ones but still.
The text. The brush off.
Thanks, I’m good.
I don’t think so.
If it wasn’t for Sunday night dinner at dad’s house, I would have tracked her down and been standing on her doorstep.
But whenever the Armadillos have an early game, Sunday is reserved for family.
It’s a late dinner so the kids are asleep.
Dad can’t stop talking about how I’ve turned the corner and he wants Anna to come work with his players.
My face turns beet red thinking about how much I enjoyed pleasing her last night and how I feel something special happening between us.
Monday, Jenna leaves me a message canceling my appointment.
WTF?
I’ve spent my entire life chasing things that move—footballs, pucks, expectations—and Annika just made the mistake of thinking she could outrun me.
I’ve got a headline for her.
She can’t.
Not when it’s taken me so long to figure out how to catch what matters.
Her office lights are still on when I pull into the lot.
It’s late.
Too late for clients.
Not too late for me.
I stare at the door for a good beat, hands firmly on the wheel like I’m about to rob a bank.
This feels different. Not like chasing a win.
It’s something I can’t quite name yet.
I push the door open and head inside.
Jenna looks up from the desk covering her mouth, trying to hide a yawn. “Well,” she says, perking up. “This is unexpected.”
“Is she here? With a client?”
Jenna smiles like she knows something I don’t. “She’s by herself.”
“Good.”
“She’s not expecting you.”
“Even better.”
She tilts her head. “Should I warn her?”
“No.”
Jenna grins and taps her pen against her lips. “I like you.”
Good. I don’t wait for anything else. I walk straight back to her office and knock once before opening it.
She’s not with a client but I see a shadow behind the frosted glass office of her office. That door is open. I inhale and stand inside the doorframe. She’s beautiful, looking exactly like every other time I’ve been to her office.
Glasses on.
Pen in hand while she types on her computer, but I notice her hands trembling.
Something’s off.
I don’t know what it is yet. I can feel it.
“The session's canceled,” she says without looking up.
“Good thing I don’t listen.”
Her eyes drift up. Annoyance and something else she tries to bury that I can’t put my finger on.
“You can’t just show up unannounced.”
Her lips press together and I remember how tight her face got when she was on the cusp of an orgasm.
“Yet I’m here.”
“Where’s Jenna?”
“She was filling the bowl of candy. I slipped by,” I joke. There’s no sense throwing Jenna under the bus. I have a feeling I’m going to need her.
I close the inside door of her office. Now it’s just us, no one to overhear.
“You don’t need a session.”
“I do.”
“No you don’t. This isn’t how it works Parker,” she asserts, exhaling a sharp breath while pushing her glasses up and rubbing her eyes.
“Then how does it work?” I ask. “Because from where I’m standing, you ran.”
“I didn’t run.”
I thread my fingers through my hair trying to figure this woman out. “You’re running from me like your life depends on it.”
“I have work to do.”
“You’re avoiding me, right when we… we—”
“I’m setting boundaries,” she snaps.
I take another step closer and sit on the edge of her white distressed desk. “Call it whatever you want. You’re hiding from your feelings. I thought shrinks would know better.”
“I’m not a shrink or a doctor.” She closes her laptop and moves her fingers in circles over her temples.
I reach for her hands and at first she’s tense then lets her hands relax into mine. “You can’t go from enjoying every minute of our time together to somehow thinking it’s wrong.”
She stills, just for a second. The hush of the empty office stretches between us.
“It’s wrong. You were my client.”
“I’m still your client.”
“No, you’re not. It’s unethical.”
My eyebrows draw together as I shake my head. “I am your client. I’m the man you slept with two days ago. The man that made you come. The man you laughed with. The man you had faith in.”
I stand and come around the desk and crouch beside her. We’re eye to eye when I take her glasses off, and cup her face in my hands. “Trust. Isn’t that your magic word?”
She just stares, her eyes holding a film of water.
“Tell me what’s really wrong?” I ask, knowing there’s more to her story than she’s trusting me with.
“I’m fine.” She looks away but I keep my hands steady on her face.
“You’re not fine.”
That’s when I see it, an envelope half tucked into the opening of her purse. Plain white. Opened. I reach for it on instinct.
Her reaction is immediate. “Don’t.” Her hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist.
Too fast.
Too sharp.
We both freeze.
Her fingers are warm against my skin, but it’s not the touch I notice. It’s the fear.
Real.
Unfiltered.
I lower my eyes to her hand still wrapped around my wrist, then back to her face. “What’s this?” I glance at the envelope.
“It’s private.”
“So is what we did in New Orleans. Private. Between us.”
Her breath hitches. “That’s different.”
“How?”
She lets go of my wrist like she just realized she’s still touching me. “Because that was a mistake.”
Her words throw water on the fire in my chest, so I fire back. “Didn’t feel like a mistake.”
“I can’t cross the line again.”
“Okay.”
“You’re just… okay with that?”
“No.” I stand back up. And she stands too like she’s going to escort me out of the office. “But I’m not going to argue about what happened. It happened and we both know it was fucking incredible.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Originally, because you left when you said you would stay.” I glance at the bag and the envelope that keeps pulling her attention away from me. “But now, I know something is wrong… other than me being a mistake.”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Annika.” Her name rolls off my tongue. No challenge. No push. Just letting her know I’m here to listen.
“I’m fine.” She swallows. “It’s not your problem.”
“Maybe I want it to be. Maybe I want to help you overcome your fears like you’re helping me.”
My words land. I can see the crack in her armor. It’s small but it’s there. She steps back, putting distance between us.
“You said yourself, it wasn’t my techniques that helped you. It was the sex.”
“I was joking. But it didn’t hurt,” I wink. “Don’t push me away the minute this thing between us gets real.”
Her shoulders tense. “It didn’t get real.”
“Right, because you have casual sex. You don’t strike me as the casual sex type.”
“You don’t know me.”
I let out a breath. Over the years, I’ve learned from my big family that sometimes you have to let things go and approach the subject later. Being the fourth of five children, I’ve learned patience and I have a feeling she’s going to test mine.
“Why are you shaking?” Damn, I didn’t mean to go there, but there’s no taking it back.
“I’m not.”
“You are,” I mutter.
With her hands curling into fists, her voice breaks. “I don’t do this. I don’t lose control. I don’t—”
She cuts herself off.
I move closer, careful and cautious.
Like she might bolt.
“Hey, look at me.” I keep my voice low, hoping she’ll confide in me.
She shakes her head, glancing at me briefly. I see the fear swirling in her eyes, but I don’t think it’s about me. It’s about that damn letter her eyes keep darting towards.
“What happened?”
“Nothing you would understand.” Her lips press together.
“Try me. I’ve been through more than you know. And I said I’m not going anywhere.”
Her shoulders ease.
The air is heavy. Real.
We stand there, neither of us move. Seconds pass and she peers into my eyes with what seems like a plea for help.
“You don’t quit, do you?” she murmurs.
“No, I don’t.”
A restrained smile flickers across her lips. “Of course, you don’t.”
“Not when it matters.”
“And this matters?” she asks.
My hands skim down her arms. “You matter.”
I erase the space between us, leaning down and placing a simple kiss on her lips. And for a second it feels like she might tell me what’s in that worrisome envelope. Like she might trust me.
She pushes me away gently. But her walls snap back into place.
“Session’s over,” she says.
“You want me to leave?”
“I do.”
I nod, focusing on her eyes, and head toward the door, before I leave I glance back. “I’m leaving but I’m not letting you go.”
Disbelief flashes across her face. Then a half-smile. Something that looks like she knows I’m right. And that might scare her more than what’s in the envelope.