Chapter 19
NINETEEN
PARKER
I’ve straightened the house twice. Which is ridiculous because I paid Paulina, my niece, to clean it two days ago.
But now it’s sparkling like a showroom. Counters are wiped down.
Floors vacuumed. Couch pillows arranged two on each end.
Noelle bought them and told me where to put them.
One candle burning that Sutton gave me, smelling like bourbon and oak.
From the look of my house, she might think I have my act together.
I don’t.
It’s an illusion.
I step back into the living room, scanning everything one more time and put my hand behind my neck.
This isn’t a date. She messaged me and asked if she could see me.
This is a session and I assume it will take place in the living room.
Me lying on the couch spilling my fears. Her in the chair writing them all down.
My home is ready for a professional house call.
Except nothing inside me right now feels professional.
Nothing about the way I’ve replayed our night together is professional. But her text, Thanks, I’m good, like she could easily shut the door and walk away from what is happening between us personally.
No. Not happening. For the first time in years, I’ve felt drawn to a woman. So much that I can’t stop thinking about her.
A knock at the door. Two sharp taps.
I take a breath, not rushing. I walk over and open the door like I expect a girl scout selling cookies.
When I open it, Annika stands there, bag on her shoulder, hair pulled back, and a composed expression.
Too composed. Like she had to build up a wall on the way over.
“Hi,” she says, nervous.
“Hey.”
We just stare at each other for a second, not knowing who should speak first.
She exhales, “I’m sorry.”
Well, that’s the last thing I expected.
“For what?” I ask.
“For trying to drop you as a client,” she says while fiddling with her keychain. “If you think you still need sessions…then we continue.”
I grab the doorframe with two hands, and a devilish grin on my face. “You’re taking me back?”
“I never actually dropped you,” she says quickly. “I just…”
“Ran. Hid.”
Her lips press together. “I set a boundary.”
“Mm-hmmm.”
“Are you going to let me in or are we doing this out here on your front porch?”
I step aside. “Come in.”
She walks past me, that same controlled energy back in place as she takes a quick glance at my space. “You cleaned.”
“I always clean.”
She raises a brow, not convinced.
“Okay, my niece cleaned. I straightened up.”
She almost smiles. Almost.
“So,” I say, closing the door. “Are we back to being professional?”
“Yes.”
“Strictly?” I ask.
“I think it would be best not to confuse the matter.”
“Good,” I pause. “Because that worked out well.”
She exhales through her nose, but there’s a trace of something lighter in it. “You played great.”
“I did.”
“You were consistent. That’s what we were striving for, right?”
Did we set clear goals when I first started sessions? I don’t think we did.
“I was consistent for three quarters. The fourth got messy.”
“But you adjusted.”
I shrug and saunter towards her. “Maybe I had the right motivation.”
Her gaze flicks to mine. She didn’t make a professional house call for a session. We can pretend that’s what she's doing but it’s not why she’s here. I’m unsure if it’s to continue what we started or if she just needs to talk.
“What does that mean?” she asks as her fingers skim along the back of the couch.
“Means dropping the ball wasn’t what was on my mind.”
“What was on your mind?” she asks, her chin lifting.
Our eyes meet.
I take a stuttering breath. “You. I was thinking about you.”
“That’s not sustainable,” she says, her voice carrying a softer tune.
I love this vulnerable, and tender side of Annika as much as I enjoy her fight and grit and the constant banter. So instead of saying the reasons why it could be sustainable, I reply, “I only meant it worked.”
We could have sex again and see if it works twice or three times, but there’s something going on and I want to be here for her.
Prove myself to her.
She looks away first.
“So,” I say, changing the subject before she can raise her walls again. “I heard you met my sister.”
“I did. She found me in the library.”
I feel my mouth pull into a grin thinking about our college study sessions together and how even back then Annika interested me. She didn’t care who I was, what I played, or how well I played it.
“Sounds like Noelle.”
“How did she recognize me?”
My lips tug at the corners. “Anyone playing with an O’Ryan head is going to be researched… thoroughly.”
Her mouth drops open just enough for me to want to explore it all over again.
“Oh. So, your family knows everything about me.”
“Not everything,” I wink. “They don’t know that you have a freckle on your inner right thigh. Or a scar on your stomach.”
Annika’s head pulls back like she’s shocked that I noticed. “Hockey injury,” she says, but I can see in her eyes, she’ll move the conversation in another direction.
“Noelle had a baby strapped to her chest and still managed to interrogate me.”
Laughing, I admit. “Yep. That’s Noelle.”
“She’s nice,” Annika says, like it surprises her.
“She’s the best. My favorite person.”
Her lips fold over teeth, shimmering just enough to draw my attention to her mouth before she says, “Your brothers may take offense to that.”
“Believe me, they already know.”
That earns me a genuine smile.
“She told me some stories about you.”
“I’d bet the most embarrassing ones.” I shake my head thinking a million memories that will make me turn red from head to toe.
“The one where you stood in a hallway like a bodyguard.”
I groan, “She told you that?”
“She seemed proud of it.”
I don’t know what to say to that. “Just protecting my sister.”
It’s quiet for a minute. I’m recalling my childhood. Chances are, she thinks I’m a dork because my sister doesn’t come off as the type that needs protecting. But Noelle needed to know I was there to defend her no matter what.
Annika finally breaks the silence. “She also told me the one where you sat outside of her door after your mom died. And when you heard her crying, you would crawl in the bed with her and hug her.”
It hits differently. A pinch of pain in my heart. “I was little.” I shrug, knowing my voice came off too strong. “One thing you’ll learn about the O’Ryan family is we’re overly dramatic. It’s required, if you want to be heard.”
I don’t dare look at her face. I can’t be the only one spilling my guts. But I can feel Annika slipping into shrink mode.
“I don’t think she was being dramatic… at all. It’s traumatic to lose your mother.”
I’m the one to shift, clapping my hands once like okay I’m doing this. “Anyway, you want to see the backyard?”
She blinks. “The backyard?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Trust me.”
She hesitates then nods. As she follows behind me, I hear her muttering, “Trust me. I hate it when you use my words against me.”
Annika steps out onto the patio, pausing just inside the doorway like she’s deciding if this is the line she should cross.
Too late. We crossed that line last week.
Hundreds of stars dot the midnight sky as flames flicker, low and steady. The fire’s soft crackle fills the quiet space.
By Texas standards, it’s getting cool at night and sitting outside is one of the things that relaxes me.
“Do you bring all of the professionals that help you out here?”
I raise a brow. Does she think I have to hire hookers? If so, that cuts deep.
“You know, like your nutritionists, trainers, chefs.”
A boisterous laugh erupts from my core. I can’t help it. She thinks she knows me. Even after everything Noelle told her, she still believes I am someone other than who I am. I don’t have any of those professionals except the trainer for the Armadillos.
“Only the important ones.”
She steps forward, her eyes darting around the backyard.
“Sit,” I say, grabbing a bag of marshmallows and a couple of skewers.
She looks between me and the skewers. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. When’s the last time you roasted marshmallows?” I ask, because no one is too old to make s’mores.
“Never.”
“Never?”
She shakes her head as I push the marshmallow on her stick.
I hand it to her and hold her hand to show her. “Just hold it steady and rotate it until it’s browned.”
Sitting on the patio with Annika feels like this is how life is meant to be. I just need to get her on the same page.
“So is this like meditation to you?” she asks.
“It’s my personal treatment plan. When a girl blows me off,” I say, letting her know that’s what I feel she’s doing to me. “I come out here and burn my marshmallow instead of putting my hand through a wall.”
She exhales, a hint of laughter exposed. “Then you physically couldn’t catch.”
“Exactly.”
Her marshmallow catches fire. “Oh no.”
“Just blow it out.”
She puffs out her cheeks and blows, but it doesn’t go out so I lean over, our mouths only inches apart. “Together. One, two, three.”
Her lips make an “O” and my cock twitches. She claps like a little girl doing something for the first time. She attempts to remove the marshmallow but jerks her fingers away. I slide it off the skewer, gooey, slightly charred. The fire casts a warm glow, softening the edges of her control.
She looks different out here.
On my patio.
By my fire.
With the marshmallow melting between my fingers, I rub it over her lips. “Open up.”
Her lips part and damn, every part of me wants her to be mine. Her body. Her mind.
“Mmmm,” she says.
My knuckles lift her chin and bring her mouth to mine. I lick her sugary lips before gaining entrance. Our lips overlap again. The purr that slips from her lips sends a shiver skittering up my spine.
When we part, she drops her head and touches her lips. I hand her another marshmallow, and she pushes on the skewer. “This time I want a s’more.”
“I’m not good enough?” I ask, chuckling.
“Just want what I never had.”