Chapter 12
This is the most important decision of my life.
I stare into the glass case, a hand braced on either side of the full-sized jukebox—a freaking jukebox!
—in the far corner of the bar, my face awash in the neon lights framing it as I try to pick the next song.
It’s not hard to tune out the din of the crowd and the music, which is a nice and reasonable volume—unlike the clubs Caleb used to drag me to constantly.
Instead of dark, loud, and impersonal, this place is bright and welcoming, the vibe more like a large house party than anything, where most people seem to know each other and will say hello even if they don’t.
“Get lost on your way to the restroom, Princess?” Parker’s deep, rumbling voice rolls down my spine.
Somewhere along the line, that nickname stopped being an insult, and the box of pesky thoughts I was ignoring must have inched its way back to the front of my brain, because I’m acutely aware of what it’s doing to me.
Or maybe it’s the alcohol talking. That third drink packed one hell of a punch.
I flip my hair over my shoulder and focus on my task. “Shush. I need silence to make this decision.”
I had gone to the restroom, though, where by force of habit, I’d opened Instagram while waiting in line only to be greeted by a photo of Caleb, looking cozy with two beautiful girls draped over his lap at a fancy-looking club, with the caption: Massive thanks to these lovelies for taking care of me this weekend @oppulenthouse_club and reminding me that it’s fun to be single! #overit #findyourbliss
I meant what I said earlier that Caleb and I were not meant to be.
I couldn’t care less about him being with someone else.
But can you blame me for trying to numb myself from remembering that a few weeks ago, I was trying to move in with that asshat?
As it turns out, Long Island iced tea makes that truth go down a little easier.
It’s also doing a pretty damn good job of letting me forget that I have to call Veronica in the morning and cancel on her, since there’s no way I can pull off an impressive enough event for her Instagram-famous BFF.
But none of that is important right now.
“I’ve got it narrowed down to three options,” I tell Parker, nodding toward the juke box.
I focus on the machine instead of Parker, definitely not noticing how he props an elbow on top to lean against the side of it, or what the move does to remind me of his height.
“S Club Seven, ‘Bring It All Back’, Miley Cyrus’ ‘Party in the USA’ and ‘Take Me Home, Country Roads.’”
“I say this with all due respect, but back away from the jukebox.”
I gasp loudly. “How dare you. I’ll have you know, I have excellent taste in music.”
“Not to this crowd, you don’t.”
I frown, instantly annoyed. I don’t need the reminder that I’m the outsider here. “Stop calling me that.”
He frowns. “Calling you … what? I didn’t call you anything.”
I wave my hand in front of my face, annoyed that he can’t keep up with my logic. “No, before. Princess. I’m not a princess. You need to stop calling me that.”
He grabs the finger I’m pointing at his face and lowers it. “You’re right. Sorry.” A beat goes by, and all I do is blink at him. “What?”
“You agreed with me. You never agree with me.”
He tucks a hand in his pocket, brown eyes zeroing in on mine. “Yeah, well. I didn’t know about your bad luck streak or the whole business thing until tonight. I assumed …”
“That I was some spoiled rich girl flitting around, content to let someone else take care of her?” I finish for him.
He drops his gaze briefly before looking at me again. “Something like that.”
I fold my arms, cocking my hip as I stubbornly wait for him to elaborate.
He rolls his eyes but continues, nonetheless. “Tabitha has a big heart and probably a lot of family money. I wanted to make sure you weren’t only here because you were using her.”
I’m about to let loose a hailstorm of insults when I register what he said. He was worried about Tabitha? Huh. That’s … amazing. And not at all what I was expecting. But then my thoughts catch on something else.
“Wait … how do you know she has family money?”
He shrugs. “Horses are expensive, and she’s an artist. She runs the barn with all those animals and somehow pays me, too, so I logically assumed she inherited money along with the farm when her parents died. Your grandparents, I guess.”
“Yeah.” My eyes go glassy as I think about them. I used to think I shared my grandmother’s blue eyes, something I know now to be impossible. An unfamiliar numbness starts in my fingertips, creeping up to snake around my entire body.
“Sloan? Are you okay?”
Parker’s voice sounds further away than it did a minute ago. He takes half a step closer, his hand resting on my elbow. The concern in his eyes is too much, making the sudden tightness in my throat worse and I have to look away.
“Um … yeah, I …”
I don’t need to dump this odd and confusing bit of personal trivia on him, especially not when I’m buzzed.
We might have gotten past the initial threshold that’s had us at each other’s throats, but we’re not quite at the secret sharing point in our relationship yet.
Nor do I think we ever will be. I catch sight of a familiar mop of shaggy blond hair and latch onto the opportunity for distraction, calling Sam over.
If my sudden shift in demeanor throws Parker, he doesn’t say anything.
“What’s up, party people?” Sam says, bouncing up to us.
“There’s a jukebox,” I say, reaching behind to place a hand on the glowing machine. “A real jukebox.”
Sam grins. “Cool, right? You should pick a song.”
Parker groans. “Don’t encourage her.”
I half turn to see him closer than I remember, and an idea pops into my head.
“We should take a picture!” I exclaim. This is the perfect opportunity to give Caleb a taste of his own medicine.
And the only thing better than a photo with one guy?
A photo with two. I reach for the little black purse at my hip, hunching over it as I try to fish my phone out.
I let out a breathy exclamation when I manage to find it, straightening triumphantly.
As Sam leans in, I scooch sideways, press my back into Parker’s chest, and stretch my arm out to take the photo.
I feel more than hear his sharp intake of breath, and his hand comes around to rest on my hip, almost as if to catch me.
But I didn’t stumble; the move was intentional.
I pretend to fumble for a few seconds before I take the picture because, for whatever reason, I don’t want his hand to move.
I like it there, the warm, steady weight on my body, sending a pleasant heat through my core.
But I’m not that drunk, so after a few fake fumbles, I take the picture of the three of us with the jukebox in the background and lower my hand, putting a tiny bit of distance between me and Parker as I pretend to examine the photo.
I can already imagine the look on Caleb’s face when he sees this on Instagram, his only news source.
“Hey, do you mind if I …?” a bearded guy in unironic plaid points at the jukebox.
“Actually, I was about to—”
“It’s all yours.” Parker catches me by the elbow, pulling me a few steps away. Someone else calls Sam’s name and he disappears behind more plaid.
“But I was almost ready to pick!” I complain.
“No, you weren’t. You were going to be there all night.”
I peek at the time on my phone and realize how late it is already.
I’ve been having such a good time that I didn’t bother to wonder if Parker might want to leave.
He was supposed to be meeting Sam here for one drink.
He finished his one drink an hour ago and has been nursing an empty bottle since then.
“Sorry. We should go. You have an early morning.”
“I do, but I’m not ready to leave yet. Besides, you’re supposed to be celebrating.”
I wince. In addition to sharing my plan with him to get Tabitha back in the barn more, I may have also bragged to him earlier about the event I thought I would be hosting.
“Turns out I may have been a bit pre-emptive about that.”
His amusement shifts to concern. “How come?” he asks, and I could throw my arms around his neck and hug him for taking me seriously right now.
I manage to refrain, explaining in as few words as possible that the bride-to-be isn’t a regular bride, but an uber-famous blogger whose expectations would be impossible to meet, let alone exceed.
“So, what … you’re just not doing it?”
I shrug. “There’s no way I can pull it off.
The whole point of doing it was to get some closure for the business that—let’s face it, I probably won’t ever open.
” I’ve come to accept that if Lyla and I can’t make it work now with no kids or other responsibilities getting in the way, it will never happen.
“I’ve already failed to launch the business; I don’t need the only event I host to be an epic failure too. ”
“Why are you assuming you’ll fail? Sloan, you’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met. If you want to crush this event, you’ll find a way to make it happen.”
I grab his shoulders, feeling much too drunk to convey the severity of this situation.
“Parker, you don’t understand. She’s not a regular bride!
She has like a million followers. A bad review from her would forever tarnish my reputation.
Forget ever starting my business, my side hustle would be history, too. ”
He mirrors my pose, his hands settling on my shoulders. “Isn’t every bride-to-be supposed to feel like the most important person in the world?” he asks.
“Well … yes.”
He lifts a brow. “Then why would someone famous be any different?”
I let my eyes travel across his features, the alcohol coursing through my veins, meaning I don’t bother to worry about the fact that he’s watching me do it.