Chapter 13 #2
A woman has needs and having a whole house to myself for the first time in months, there’s only one thing on my mind. The mood is set; lights low, a glass of wine left over from the other night, doors locked (of course).
And a Scream marathon is about to start on TV.
The microwave beeps, and I hurry into the kitchen to dump a fresh bag of popcorn into a giant plastic bowl. I step over to the sink to wash the butter off my fingers—and find a face staring at me through the window.
The shriek I let out rattles the windowpane.
Popcorn goes flying.
And then I realize who’s standing there.
“Jesus, would you stop doing that?” Parker yells from the enclosed porch.
With a hand on my heart, I unlock the back door and fling it open, stepping aside to let him in the rest of the way.
“Stop sneaking up on me and I won’t have to. That’s it. I’m buying you a bell.”
“Or you could just leave the door unlocked.”
I’ve listened to far too many podcasts ever to do that again. “Yeah, that’s not happening. So … what’s up?”
“Oh, uh … the plumbing in the cabin is acting up again. Tabitha said I could shower here … didn’t she tell you?” He crouches down to help me gather the spilled popcorn from the tiles, and that’s when I notice the towel he’s holding.
“She must have forgotten,” I say, knowing she one hundred percent did this on purpose as payback. But then I look up and realize how close Parker’s face is to mine, and my brain goes offline for a beat.
“So … is that okay?” he asks, lifting his eyebrows. Oh god, how long have I been staring at him?
“Oh, right. Of course,” I sputter, going for casual and missing it by a mile. Smooth, Sloan. “Obviously, you’re welcome to use the shower.”
He gives me a strange look like he’s trying to figure out if I’m serious, and eventually, I wonder what he’s waiting for.
“I’m not a bridge troll; I’m not going to make you answer a riddle first or anything.”
He shakes his head, looking more baffled than annoyed. “There it is again.”
“There’s what?” I ask, his brown eyes holding mine hostage.
“Every time I think I have you figured out, you go and say something like that.”
The air in the kitchen feels thick, a hyper-awareness zinging through me from head to toe.
Dropping the last handful of popcorn back in the bowl, he pushes to his feet, leaving me crouched, frozen on the floor until the bathroom door upstairs clicks shut.
Somewhere in the ten minutes it takes him to shower—during which I am not thinking about him upstairs—I pull myself together and relocate to the couch before the water shuts off.
“I’m coming down, don’t freak out,” Parker calls from the top of the stairs a few minutes later.
I hit the mute button. “I’ve got a firm grip on my popcorn this time, just in case.”
He pokes his head around the wall, the corner of his lip edging up. “Thanks for the shower. I won’t smell like horses for at least ten hours, now.” He nods in the direction of the TV. “I guess this explains your greeting. Sorry I made you miss the beginning.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve seen it at least twenty times. Here, I’ll walk you out to lock the door behind you.” I’m halfway to standing when I pause, and the next thing that pops into my head is off my lips before I can think it through. “Unless you want to stay and watch?”
He seems as surprised by my question as I am, but after a beat of indecision, he nods and sits on the opposite end of the couch, literally as far away from me as he can get.
“Beer?” I offer.
He nods.
I bring him one from the kitchen and trade it for the wet towel and toiletries kit on his lap, which I set down on the coffee table for him.
He looked unsure of what to do with them, and I don’t want to watch him awkwardly hold them for the whole movie as he tries to decide whether he’s allowed to put them down.
Unmuting the TV, I settle in again on my side of the couch, studying him from the corner of my eye.
He doesn’t seem as comfortable in this part of the house as in the kitchen.
Mentally, I file ‘respecting boundaries’ away as another item in the pro column for Parker, an area where Tabitha’s other staff have been sorely lacking.
He opens the beer (good, it was a twist-off—unless he’s just that freakishly strong) and asks what he missed.
“I can’t believe you’ve never seen Scream,” I say after explaining the first half hour of the plot.
He takes a handful of fresh popcorn when I offer him the bowl and shoves it all in his mouth, talking through it. “I can’t believe someone as jumpy as you watches horror movies voluntarily.”
The truth is, I know exactly why I watch scary movies and listen to true crime podcasts.
I’ve never told anyone—not Lyla, my parents, or even Tabitha.
Somehow, Parker is different. Whether he’s being his usual, infuriatingly grumpy self or uncharacteristically gentle, something freeing about him lets me open up and tap into the parts of myself that I always keep locked away because I’m trying to be reasonable. Likable.
I certainly haven’t tried to hide any part of myself to get Parker’s affection. Yet, here he is, watching a movie with me.
“It’s like a test,” I say finally, the movie forgotten in the background. “I’m not brave. I’ve never been a risk-taker. But I’d like to think that if it ever came down to it, I would be when it counted. I guess it’s my way of holding my finger over the flame.”
He’s quiet for a minute, letting my confession settle between us. “You mean your hand.”
“My hand what?”
“The saying. It’s holding your hand over the flame, not your finger.”
I kick out my right foot that’s tucked under me and drive my big toe into his side.
It catches him off guard, causing him to double over, and my god, the smile that splits his face as a peel of uninhibited laughter bursts out of him is a thing of beauty.
I want to take a picture to freeze this moment and capture it forever —this precious smile I somehow get for free.
No, not for free. I’ve earned this smile.
After a weeks-long battle that I still don’t know the rules to, the constant needling, holding my ground when he wanted to push me away, I thought I was still trying to figure him out. But maybe … I already have?
That truth settles as deep as the blood in my veins as his hand closes around my ankle and stills my foot. My world narrows to the sound of my heart hammering in my eardrums and the feel of the soft pad of his thumb on my exposed ankle.
Can ankles even be an erogenous zone? It’s never been one for me, but Parker is making me feel all the things I never have before. No wonder women used to have to keep them covered up. For the first time, I get what all the fuss was about.
It’s a night of firsts. This is the first time I’ve seen him relax since I got here.
The first time he’s let his guard down. His hair, still wet from the shower, curls slightly above his ears, his clean, forest green T-shirt clinging to his still-damp skin.
It’s also the first time we’ve had any prolonged physical contact.
The movie keeps playing and we stay like this, my foot propped in his lap.
Eventually, his thumb begins to move. Tiny, gentle brushstrokes over my skin, giving me a reassuring squeeze when I tense up at the scary parts, even though I know they’re coming.
During one of the last commercial breaks, an ad for Scream 2 pops up, starting next.
“There’s another one?”
“Yeah, a bunch, actually. You chicken?” I hold my breath, waiting. If he takes the out, it’s possible he’s still touching my foot because I haven’t removed it from his lap. In which case, I’ll have to schedule a lobotomy first thing Monday morning.
“Sure. I’m in.” He leans forward, reaching for his beer on the coffee table, holding my foot in place as he drains it.
No longer (as) afraid to pop this bubble we’re in, I stretch my other leg out when he leans back, resting it on his lap. His hand hovers for a second, then two, before it settles back into place.
“So … what did you decide about the event?” he asks as the commercials continue to play.
His voice is a low rumble I can feel through my leg. Heat pools in my core, and I do my best to ignore it.
“I haven’t canceled. Yet.” Last night, Parker’s words had bolstered my confidence, but the cold light of day has brought back all the doubts that had me twisted up in the first place. “I want to do it, but I’m not sure I could handle it alone. My friend, Lyla, she—”
“Bailed on you. Yeah. I remember.”
“‘Pressed pause’ is how she worded it,” I correct, though the last few times we’ve talked, she’s changed the subject almost immediately whenever I ask her if she wants to start planning for a new launch date.
“I’m great at coming up with ideas, but I’ve never been the decider, you know?
Lyla always knows which idea will work, even when it’s half-finished and looks like we’ve made a horrible mistake. ”
“But I mean, you could. Right?” he presses.
I sigh. Suppose I was a bolder person, yes.
But to be bold, one must be confident. That’s an area I have always lacked.
“I’ve always been part of a team. It’s safer that way.
” My words are small when they make their way out.
“Because if I fail, it’s not just my fault.
Not because I want someone else to blame, it’s just that … ”
The words catch in my throat. On screen, blood splatters against the glass of the AV room as Courtney Cox screams from the other side for her boyfriend. But neither of us is watching TV anymore.
“You don’t want to let anyone down.”
How about that? Without me even trying, he seems to have figured me out. I nod.
“Listen, Sloan. About what you said before …” He swallows hard, staring at my feet. “I think you’re braver than you give yourself credit for.”
His chin lifts as he turns to face me, his brown eyes meeting mine.
“I know we said we were starting over, but can you at least pretend to hate me?” I say, my voice shaking slightly.
The air thickens, my blood pumping faster as I sit trapped under the intensity of his gaze.
I jump up. “Let me grab you another beer.” I would have preferred amputating both feet to removing them from his grasp, but I’m short on time.
In the kitchen, I don’t bother turning on the light. The yellow glow from the fridge is all I need to find another beer buried at the back, and I stay there several seconds longer than I need to, letting the cool air lower my body temperature. It might be October, but I am on fire.
Closing the fridge, I let out a strangled yelp when I find I’m not alone. Parker takes one step closer, then another, backing me up against the fridge door, moving every time he goes to say something and can’t find the words.
And boy, do I hope he never speaks again. My skin is electrified from how he’s looking at me right now, the way our thighs brush when he closes the gap between us completely, his chest bumping mine.
“I don’t hate you,” he chokes out. His big arms frame either side of my head against the stainless steel. “Far from it.”
His eyes dart to my parted lips and he leans closer.
My back arches, but he stops me. As his left hand drops to my cheek, his forearm rests against my shoulder, blocking me from getting any closer.
But not like he’s pushing me away, more like he’s trying to keep his distance.
He strokes his thumb over my jawline, eyes dipping to my lips.
“Sloan, I … need this job. I can’t do anything to risk it.”
I hear the fear in his voice, but the words don’t match the burning look he pins me with next.
Heat licks my skin from head to toe, my mind racing as I imagine what he’ll do next.
Imagining his hands lifting me against him, wrapping my legs around his waist, his hips pressing hard into mine.
My hips rock of their own accord, the pressure doing little to ease the growing ache between my thighs.
A curse falls out of him, and I witness his resolve break in real time as he leans closer, our mouths a breath apart.
The slam of a car door has us jolting apart, and we both blink as laughter rings out on the porch.
In the same instant, my brain registers it’s Tabitha coming home, he’s moving away from me and into the living room.
I’m still propped up against the fridge, grappling with his words, when he passes me again with his belongings.
He meets my eyes for one last lingering look, his own full of something I don’t recognize, before he slips out the back door, leaving me stunned in the cow-filled kitchen.
What the hell almost just happened?