Chapter 11 #2
He pulls into the gas station at the edge of town, bright lights illuminating the pavement.
Parker opens the center console between us and pulls out his wallet and a Salem Stables pay stub before telling me he’ll be back in a minute and heads to the ATM beside the ice cooler and bags of chopped wood.
I lean back against the seat and remember what Parker managed to distract me from as soon as I laid eyes on him tonight—I’m screwed.
Unless I was wrong, Veronica’s friend is the same Lucy Cooper who has a popular lifestyle blog and 100,000 Instagram followers, but I didn’t search very far.
What if I was wrong? Hope flutters in my chest as I fumble for my phone to do a more thorough search, only to realize my battery is running low—I must have forgotten to plug it in while I was getting ready.
Remembering that Parker keeps his cell in the glove box, I pop it open, hoping to find a charger so I have enough juice to call Tabitha in case Parker decides to leave me stranded later.
I realize my mistake as soon as I lay eyes on an envelope full of cash.
That definitely wasn’t in here earlier.
I stare at it for a few long moments, wondering if I’m seeing things, before I spot movement through the windshield. Slamming the glove compartment shut, I lean back in my seat as far away from the money as possible.
The driver's side door opens, and Parker climbs back in, turning the engine on and pulling back onto the road, driving us to a part of town I’ve never been to before. When we pull into a small residential area a few minutes later, I can’t take the silence anymore.
“Where are we going?” I ask, the truck rumbling beneath us.
“Uh, I have to drop something off for my dad.” My neck jerks sharply to the left, and he chuckles at my reaction. “Don’t worry, you can wait in the truck.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure where my disappointment is coming from. “Not gonna lie, I wouldn’t mind seeing you next to Parker Senior. Do you look alike?”
His expression fades a little, and he gives a slight shake of his head. His expression becomes unreadable in the shadows that keeps flicking us into darkness between streetlamps. “Same hair color, but that’s about it. No, my inheritance consists mostly of every bad decision he’s ever made.”
I want to ask him to elaborate, but he stops along the curb in front of a fifties-era house with a small yard surrounded by chain-link fencing.
The screen door is slightly crooked, and even in the near dark—a single bare bulb illuminates the porch—it looks pretty run down.
Is this where Parker grew up? No wonder he calls me a princess.
“Stay in the truck, okay? I’ll only be a minute.”
I watch him reach across me for the second time today to open the glove box, but instead of grabbing his phone, he takes the envelope and hops out of the truck. He stuffs a few more bills inside as he walks up the overgrown yard, then knocks on the door before letting himself inside.
He’s in and out in less than a minute, coming back to the truck empty-handed and looking like he just went through hell. The smell of cigarette smoke now clings faintly to his clothes.
“Are you okay?” I ask carefully.
“I’m fine.” He shoves the keys in the ignition but doesn’t turn it on, gripping the wheel with both hands.
“Is your dad okay? Because I’m not in a rush, you know. If you need to stay—”
“I don’t,” he says firmly, then winces at how harsh his words sounded. “Sorry. It’s just that I know my dad. When he’s been drinking, he gets agitated if I hover too much, and I don’t feel like starting our night by getting yelled at for how much I look like my piece of shit mom.”
Whoa. That was a lot.
“Parker,” I start, not knowing what to say.
“Sorry,” he says again, deflating. He presses his eyes shut, leaning his head back. His hands are still on the wheel, like he’s anchoring himself. “That wasn’t directed at you.”
“It’s okay if it was,” I say after a beat. “If it makes you feel better, you can tell me how much you hate my outfit again.”
A soft breath escapes him that sounds dangerously close to laughter. “That comment wasn’t about you, either. You look … nice.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “I’m sorry, was that an actual compliment?”
This gets a real laugh out of him, and for some reason, I feel relieved. Unbuckling my seatbelt, I open the passenger door and hop down, rounding to his side of the truck. I open the door and gesture for him to get out.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m driving. Come on, out you get. It’s your turn to be the passenger princess.”
He stares for a beat, making me wonder how often people go out of their way to help him.
After a pause, he wordlessly changes places with me, quietly letting me orient myself until I start driving.
Thanks to his directions and gentle prompts about his truck's quirks, he navigates us to the bar without issue.
The bar is full when we get there, with a group on the dance floor and most of the tables already spoken for, where groups of people are chatting and laughing over drinks.
Sam is waving across the room at the end of the long bar.
To my surprise, Parker doesn’t jet off without me.
I guess by now he’s accepted his fate and resigned himself to spending one torturous evening with me.
He holds out his arm, gesturing for me to go first. As I step in front of him, his hand rests on my back for a second.
I’m too shocked to say anything. It happens again as we squeeze our way through a group of people, and this time the electric current from his palm on the lower curve of my spine is impossible to ignore.
I’m hyper-aware of his body behind me as we reach Sam.
I hope it’s not bright enough in here to see the flush on my cheeks.
“Hey, you made it!” Sam grins widely as he stands, pulling me in for a friendly hug before he gives Parker a one-armed hug and back slap combo. “I’m so glad he talked you into joining us. Here, sit, sit!”
I climb carefully onto the offered barstool he was sitting on, noting Parker’s eyes flick to my legs before darting away.
“Sorry if we kept you waiting,” I say to Sam.
“Nah, don’t worry about it,” he says easily, drumming the bar's edge while he talks. “A bunch of the guys I work with are here too, so I had someone to talk to while I waited for the main event.” He flashes me a wide, easy smile.
Parker frowns at his friend. “Down, boy.”
“What? I can’t compliment the lady?”
“I don’t mind,” I say, cocking one shoulder in a playful shrug.
Sam grins. “See? She doesn’t mind.”
“I do.” Parker levels me with a gaze and my stomach flips. I ignore it, because the irritation in his eyes has to be a trick of the light. Leaning towards Sam like I’m about to tell a secret, I say, “He minds you calling me a lady, that’s all.”
Sam laughs loudly as Parker lifts his eyes to the ceiling and takes a breath. “Is this how it’s going to be tonight? The two of you ganging up on me? Awesome.”
His friend claps him on the shoulder. “Nah, man. Tonight is gonna be epic. You guys hungry? It’s not a big menu, but they have good wings here.”
“Sloan’s vegetarian,” Parker says.
My head whips to Parker, who stares intently at the drink menu like he didn’t just toss out that statement about me like a well-worn fact. Tabitha only mentioned it once, on my first night here, but he remembered.
“I already ate,” I manage.
“Wasting no time getting to the epic part of the night, then, I love it,” Sam carries on, oblivious to the uncomfortable somersaults my insides are currently doing. “First round is on me.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Parker says.
“No, no, no. I insist!”
Parker reluctantly stays put, and over his shoulder, Sam gives me an enthusiastic thumbs up and a wink as he backs away, mouthing “Epic!”
A laugh bubbles out of me as I watch his mop of tangled blond hair navigate to the bar.
“You know he’s a total ladies’ man?” Parker tells me with a scowl.
“I’m shocked,” I say flatly. “Next thing I know, you’re going to tell me he’s blond and has two legs, too.”
He shakes his head, though his shoulders relax a little. “I’m just saying. He was already checking you out, so don’t let your guard down with him if that’s not, you know…what you’re looking for.”
I shrug. “I like him. He seems nice.”
“He is. Makes it hard to hate the guy,” he admits, a hint of fondness creeping into his voice.
“In that case … when exactly was he checking me out?”
“I said hard, not impossible.” There’s a bite to his words, but he’s watching me with a slight tilt to his lips. Is he … teasing me?
“Why would you care if anything happened between Sam and me? You hate me, remember?”
His expression flickers, like he’s surprised I’m being so direct about it. “I wouldn’t call it hate.”
“No?” I arch a brow. “What would you call it?”
He tips his head back and forth, considering. “You tell me. How should I feel about someone actively trying to get me fired?”
An impatient noise escapes my throat, but the arguing back and forth feels more good-natured than it usually does, and I find myself relieved to see the weight he seemed to carry out of his dad’s house is mostly gone. “I’m not trying to get you fired.”
“You sure about that? Because I’ve been working for Tibby for six months, and suddenly you show up and she thinks I need help.”
I laugh. “You have trust issues. She doesn’t think you need help; she wants us to spend time together, you bozo. Hence, her very transparent plan to send you to my rescue today.”
A tall guy from a group behind me bumps me with his elbow and Parker shifts so he’s standing closer. He stretches an arm behind me and rests it on the bar to keep them from getting in my space again, leaving a few inches between his arm and my back. I resist the pull to lean back into it.