Chapter 12 #2
“Why do you care?” I ask, the music and chatter of people around us falling into the background.
He shakes his head. “Because it’s important to you. I think people should do the things that matter to them.”
The music changes, and our eyes widen at the same time.
“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”
I hop up and down, clapping my hands excitedly as the crowd around us sings along, the place suddenly louder than it’s been all night. “I told you it would be the perfect song!”
At the chorus of Country Roads, he leans in closer than he has to for me to hear him.
“Okay, okay. I guess you were right.”
I draw back so I can see his eyes, glinting with amusement.
“Wow, admitting I was right twice in one night? Careful, Parker. You’re making it hard to remember that you hate me.”
He dips his chin so his gaze falls to the floor. Again, he doesn’t meet my eyes, but he leans close to answer. His voice is warm in my ear, my entire body tingling. “I thought I made it pretty clear that I don’t hate you at all.”
My legs wobble. Without thinking, I place a palm on his chest to steady myself.
One arm curls around my waist, his nose grazing the shell of my ear.
He dips his head, the sharp stubble of his cheek rubbing against mine as he pulls me closer.
Bodies surround us, everyone singing along as the song crescendos—everyone except us.
I can feel the heat of his chest radiating through the fabric of his button-down shirt, and all I can think about is how badly I want to sink into him and let him swallow me up.
Then someone jostles me roughly from behind.
We stumble, the fragile spell that had fallen over us breaking.
I take a step back. I need to get my head on straight before I do something stupid.
Something I’ll regret tomorrow. The touching, the sexy things he’s saying—it’s all in my head.
I’m spinning his words, his touch, into something it isn’t, and it will get us both into trouble.
With the tension coiled tightly inside my stomach right now, gathering between my legs, being alone with Parker is the last place I should be.
So, when the song ends and he asks if I’m ready to call it a night, I do what any sane woman would do in my position.
I order another drink.
“Whoa, Sloan, hold up,” Parker calls after me when we finally leave the bar an hour later, but I hardly register it as I peel left and march down the sidewalk to the thing that’s beckoning me.
“Hey! Where do you think you’re going? The truck is that way!”
“Need. Pancakes.” I half-slur, half-shout over my shoulder as I power-walk down the empty sidewalk, the yellow glow of streetlights lighting my way.
Sam laughs and wishes him luck, and I glance back to make sure the quickened steps behind me are Parker before I continue forward.
“Goodnight, beautiful!” Sam calls after me.
I wave over my shoulder without looking back.
I’m mad at him right now. It’s his fault I feel like this; the fog thickened into a permanent fixture in my brain.
It took me two more shots with Sam to finally decide it was safe to be alone with Parker without the risk of climbing him like a tree.
Once I’d walked away from him on the dance floor, I’d been careful to keep a healthy distance between us.
It was enough to clear my brain of the unwanted lust he’d somehow inflicted on me—the bastard.
At this point, I’m sure I’m only feeling this way because of sheer biology.
It has little—to nothing—to do with me being attracted to Parker, specifically.
Let’s face it, my sex life with Caleb hadn’t exactly been anything to write to Cosmo about at the best of times.
At the worst of times, as lately, it was almost non-existent.
Which was mostly my fault. I was busy working long days and late nights that I was asleep before I hit the pillow by the time I went to bed. And everything has been bottling up.
A girl’s got needs. Just not ones that should be addressed by her aunt’s sexy farm hand, who, until three hours ago, couldn’t even stand to be around me.
“For the last time, you won’t find pancakes at midnight.”
I frown, but I’m a woman on a mission, and several paces ahead of Parker, so it’s less than effective. I power forward until I reach the diner, ignoring that all the lights are off as I reach for the door, which doesn’t budge. I try again.
“How’s that working out for you?”
I turn and glare at Parker with his cocky grin. The cold night air and fog in my head leave no room for the pleasant thoughts I was starting to have about him earlier. Good. I give the door one last tug before cupping my hands against the glass and peering inside.
“This is tragic,” I declare.
“My god, you’re dramatic. It’s late. I told you everything closes by nine.”
“Ughhhh.” I slide my back down the glass door until I’m in a sitting position, my legs stretched out on the cold concrete. My bare skin immediately pebbles with goosebumps as a shiver runs through me.
Parker crouches in front of me, his eyes filled with worry. “Whoa, Sloan. Are you okay? Why are you sitting on the ground?”
“Because I can’t get pancakes.”
His pretty mouth flickers. “And … what? You’re going to wait here until they open in the morning?”
I shake my head firmly, then dig my phone out of my purse again and tap the screen to set a timer. “I’m having a five-minute wallow.”
“I’m sorry … what?”
I hold up my phone for him to see. “It’s my rule. When something goes wrong, I let myself have five minutes to acknowledge that whatever is happening is shitty. Five minutes, and five minutes only. Then I pick myself up and move on.”
“You make it sound like this is rock bottom. Trust me, you didn’t see the guy who barely reached the bathroom after doing a tray of tequila shots. That’s rock bottom.”
“I know. And when the timer goes off, I’ll remember that. But until then, I will let myself be dramatic and feel like not getting a pancake is the worst thing that could happen to me right now. After that, I’ll focus on all the reasons it’s not.”
I say this all firmly, without a hint of apology. Not that I need to explain myself, least of all to Parker. But he questions me so much that I want to. Even though I don’t care what he thinks about me, I want him to know that there’s a valid reason behind my actions.
Parker frowns at me. “Five minutes, huh? In that case, take this.” He shrugs his jacket off and gestures for me to move so he can set it on the pavement.
Too stunned to say anything, I settle back onto it, my bare legs now protected from the cold concrete below me, if not from the night air, but it makes enough of a difference.
He shifts, lowering himself beside me with his back against the wall, feet outstretched like mine.
A few inches separate us, but I’m too drunk to feel the chill in the space between my arm and his.
He chuckles. “You are …”
“Obnoxious? Unbelievable? A hot mess?”
“I was going to say … not what I was expecting.”
I swivel my neck to stick him with my best attempt at a hard look. “Why? What were you expecting?”
He thinks about this briefly, tilting his head to one side. “When Tabitha would tell me about you—which was a lot, by the way—she always used the word ‘sweet.’”
I laugh, dropping my eyes. How many times have I heard that in my life? Sweet, nice, quiet, helpful. I’m pretty sure they’ll all end up on my tombstone.
“I’m not convinced it’s true,” he says. “No offense, but I still haven’t seen that side of you.”
I grin at him. “What can I say? I like to defy expectations.” My smile fades, and I drop my gaze to my lap. “No, that’s a lie. Usually, I like to be exactly what people expect. No ruffling feathers, no rocking the boat, no … I can’t think of another metaphor.”
He chuckles softly beside me. “Usually,” he repeats. “But not with me.” It isn’t a question.
His eyes are on me again, soft and probing. I have to tilt my chin slightly to meet them, so my gaze drifts first over his mouth and the stubble that’s a little more pronounced than it is during the day, even in the shadowy light of the darkened street.
“No. Not with you.”
His lips twitch. “Keeps my days interesting, at least. Between you and me, sweet is overrated.”
I’ll give him that. Life has been more interesting since I’ve abandoned my mission to people-please regarding Parker.
Somehow, in such a short time, it’s become the part of my day I look forward to the most. He challenges me.
Instead of shoving the big feelings down when I’m around him, letting out only a fraction of what I’m thinking, it's freeing to say whatever’s on my mind.
Though after a few drinks, it seems my filter is gone entirely.
“You’d be much easier to hate if you weren’t so pretty.”
His eyes snap to mine, eyebrows raised high on his forehead.
“I mean it,” I continue, scrutinizing his face. “Why couldn’t you have had … an eye patch, or a big scar, or something?”
Amusement dances in his brown eyes. “What you’re describing is a pirate, Sloan.”
I click my tongue impatiently, looking straight ahead as I bristle with annoyance. “Whatever. Knowing you, a scar would probably make you better looking, anyway. Dick.”
He laughs again. I peek at him from the corner of my eye, and his smile is contagious.
Shifting, he angles his shoulders so he’s facing me a bit better. “So, to be clear—because I don’t mind saying you are a mystery to me at the best of times—you don’t hate me?”
“No, Parker insert-last-name-here. I don’t hate you.”
“Ryan.”
“I wish I did, though.” I frown. “Who’s Ryan?”
“It’s my last name, genius. Why do you wish you hated me?”
“That’s a first name. Parker is a last name. Your names are backward, did you know that?”
He ignores me. “Why do you wish you hated me?”