Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
ANNIKA
Before I’m fully awake, I hear the buzz of my phone. Groaning, I roll over onto my side and squint at the screen. Parker. That alone wakes me up. I get up on my elbows and open the message.
Parker: You awake?
I huff out a breath.
Me: Define awake. It’s 5:30am.
Three dots.
Parker: Eyes open. Not pretending to sleep to avoid people.
A smile tugs at my mouth.
Me: I have a regular job that starts at nine. But yes, my eyes are open.
Parker: It’s Monday, which is my off day, if you remember. That was the day we went ice skating. I need to see you.
Me: But I thought you still have football things.
Parker: I do. Film. PT, but I can move them.
My stomach dips.
Me: Why would you do that?
There’s a pause. Longer than usual.
Parker: Because I want to take you to breakfast.
I suck in a deep breath.
Parker: A real one. Not a-you-showed-up-and-I-fed-you situation.
A real date? I stare at the screen.
Me: Are you asking me on a date?
Parker: I am.
Simple and steady.
My heart picks up.
Me: It’s a terrible idea.
Parker: Live a little. It’s eggs and bacon. You in?
My lids flutter shut. Because I want to. I want to more than anything.
Me: I guess breakfast is safer than dinner.
I hit send too fast and it sounds sexual like I can’t keep my hands off him at night. Which I can’t. I can’t even keep my hands off myself thinking about how he unravels me from my core.
Parker: I’ll take it. Pick you up in thirty minutes. And reschedule your nine o’clock appointment. Don’t argue. You’ll be happy you did.
Me: I’ll see how the date goes.
Men like Parker need to be kept on their toes, or at least that’s my opinion.
I scurry to shower, throw on some buttery-soft lounge pants and a V-neck sweatshirt that hits midriff. My smallish waist is my best quality, and I want him to see it.
He picks me up in his Charger and takes me a half hour from the city to a small diner, Andy’s. It’s not flashy. Not trendy. The kind of breakfast spot that smells like coffee, cherry pie and the cleaning solution used to wipe down tables.
Andy’s is busy but not crowded. Sunlight spills through the blinds of the front windows, warming the tables and catching the mason jars of fresh flowers at each one.
It’s quaint. Normal.
I follow him, but he reaches back and grabs my hand, interlacing our fingers. I take him in from the back. Jeans tight around his butt and thighs. Fitted long-sleeved henley. Baseball cap pulled low and turned backwards.
Kill me now with Cupid’s arrow.
He’s a freaking dream, not at all how I had him pegged in college.
He stands there casually waiting on a waitress to seat us like he doesn’t know what he does to a room just by standing in it.
Or maybe he does.
The platinum-haired waitress waves at us. “Sit anywhere you like. Be there in a sec.”
He turns and a faint curve touches his lips as he takes a few moments to look at me.
“Do you have a preference?”
“A booth.”
“Aww, something else we have in common. Do you want to sit on the same side?” he asks, teasing, I hope.
“No, only old people do that.”
Parker leads us to a booth at the end. We sit and have just opened our menus when the waitress, Becky, says, “Well I’ll be damned, if it isn’t Parker O’Ryan. How the hell have you been other than catching touchdowns.”
I watch Parker’s face. He doesn’t seem to know her but says, “Doing well. How about you?”
“Oh, you know. Do you remember Walter from high school? We got married. I have two kids already and I'm just trying to make ends meet.”
His eyes light up with recognition. “I do. All that matters is that you’re happy. Are you?”
“Yep. Sometimes you have to give up some dreams for your family.”
Of course, I can’t let that go. “If you don’t mind me asking, what is your dream?”
“I wanted to be a travel agent but can’t be gone with two kids and a husband that works his ass off in the oil fields.” I see the wheels turning inside Parker’s head. “But I’m the best damn waitress outside of town. Want to hear the specials?”
He looks at me and I want to hear her list. I can tell she takes pride in her job. He nods and she goes on a rant of specials.
“She’ll have watermelon juice. I’ll have chocolate milk.”
Becky chuckles. “You always got two chocos in high school for lunch.”
“Yeah. Just give us whatever you think is the best thing the cook makes.”
The smile widens across her face. “You got it.” She takes our menus.
“You trust her.”
“I barely know her, but I want to see if she’s good at what she does.”
We sit for a moment. I don’t know whether to talk about work or what. “So… this is weird,” I say.
“A little. I haven’t been on a date where I asked a woman to dinner or breakfast in years,” he admits. “How long since you’ve been on a real date?”
I twiddle a sugar packet between my fingers, not wanting to answer that question.
“Anna?”
“Oh, umm… I guess I’ve never been on a real date. I’ve tried to hide for so long.”
Judging by how his mouth opens and he sits back against the faux leather booth, he’s surprised.
“Do you hate the date yet?” he asks.
I look down at the packet and mumble, “Not yet.”
“Good.”
We start talking about easy things. Work. Football. Our schedules.
“You were locked in yesterday,” I say.
“Felt like it.”
“You weren’t overthinking.”
“That’s the goal right?”
“Not exactly. The goal is to trust yourself.”
Becky comes back with the juice and milk and asks, “How is it being compared to your brothers all the time? It must be awful. Judy Ann, my sister, she’s a big-time lawyer in the city and I always feel like a failure compared to her.”
He hesitates. “I grew up with them being football legends. I’m just happy to be able to play with Greyson his last year before he retires and for J.D.”
That answer is totally canned. Marketing and communications have told him exactly what to say when asked the loaded question.
“You know Becky. There’s value in every career. The fact that you’re raising your children and working a job is extraordinary. Don’t let anyone tell you differently,” I say.
“Thanks. Those Southwest eggs benedict will be ready shortly.”
Parker studies me. I study him.
Our food comes. He tears into it like he hasn’t eaten in days.
“What?” he asks.
“Do you always eat like someone’s going to take it from you?”
He smirks, “Only when it’s delicious and I jacked off three times last night thinking about you. So yes, I eat fast when I’m starving.”
He says it like it’s normal and maybe it is but, my face turns red as a beet. It feels like a sunburn. I shake my head but I’m smiling. Parker wants me and thinks of me.
I bite into Becky’s special and it’s off the charts delicious. Chorizo layered on top of sweet cornbread, a poached egg, hollandaise sauce sprinkled with pico de gallo and cilantro. “This… this is perfection,” I say with my mouth full.
I look at his plate, and he’s demolished his food, and I’ve only taken one bite. He calls Becky over and asks for another and tells her she’s the best waitress he’s ever had.
While his second helping is cooking, I don’t talk. I eat. And he doesn’t take his eyes off me.
“How would you rate the date so far out of ten?” he asks.
“Eight.”
“Eight? I picked you up, held your hand, let you choose the booth and ordered you your favorite juice and the food… well, it speaks for itself.”
“I’m waiting until I get a kiss at the end of the date.”
“Well, then it will be a ten.”
“Cocky much?”
He grins, awarding me with only half his dimples. “So, will you come to my granny’s birthday party?”
“When is it?”
“Next Saturday after walkthroughs. My dad’s college game is at noon so it worked out perfectly.”
“I can, but won’t it be awkward?”
“No, I plan on telling them about us, tonight.”
I choke on a bite. “Tonight? But this is just our first date and you’re my client.”
“They don’t care. Sutton’s Greyson’s boss but they make it work. Noelle married Greyson’s best friend who’s fourteen years older. They just want me to be happy, and you make me happy.”
My heart races because I make him happy.
“Okay, I’m supposed to go to margarita night with them this week.
But Parker, what you said about being compared to your brothers.
That was canned. You need to be you and not worry about being MVP.
You’re playing football for quite a bit of money and you’re with your family every day.
I’m just saying you’re luckier than most.”
I can never have what Parker has. My mom stood by my dad even though she sent me to America. I always wondered if she sent me to America to save me or to save their reputations.
Sitting back, he seems to mull it over. Minutes pass before he says, “My family is your family. Once you’re in… we don’t let go. For any reason.”
I notice he ignores my comment about comparing himself to his brothers.
“This is moving fast for a first date,” I wink.
“When I know what I want, I go after it.” His eyes lift to mine.
We finish our breakfast and he leaves Becky a five-hundred-dollar tip and writes on the ticket.
Call the Armadillos and ask for Marlon tomorrow. I may have a version of your dream job available.
“What do you have in mind for Becky?”
“The Armadillos make travel arrangements all year round. I may have some pull.” He winks.
“You may?” I lift a brow as we get into the car. “I think Sutton would do anything you ask.”
“Yeah, that’s why I’m going to go to her office when we’re done.”
We drive down several country roads, and he turns into a ranch. “This is my parent’s land. Well, my dad’s. I thought since we have time, we could talk. Get to know each other better.”
A lump sticks in my throat. What does he want to know? I’m not an open book.
We walk down a trail, and a blue lake opens up and we settle on the grassy bank. He takes my hand in his.
He asks a bunch of questions, but when he says, “I had spinal meningitis when I was young. Granny said my fever was one-hundred-four degrees. She threw us young kids in the car. I don’t really remember anything except for when Dad or Granny tells the story.”
My mouth drops open. “How young?”
“Seven.”