3. THE ONE WITH WEST FUCKING PARKER
CHAPTER THREE
THE ONE WITH WEST FUCKING PARKER
HexedHeroine: Sorry, I can’t go out *coughcough* Hex dropped a new dark romance rec
Comment: All hail Hex. She never misses!
Comment: I bet she’s ugly af under that mask lol that’s gotta be why she wears it
If this man doesn’t turn his hat back around and look the other way…
Men always look better in backwards hats.
Frankie slaps me on the arm when she realizes what I do—West Parker is about to make me his next victim.
“I’ve done a lot of shows and had my fair share of people who don’t find me funny, or hell, have walked out mid-show,” West starts, his eyes never leaving mine.
“But never have I ever.” He holds up five fingers like the whole room is playing a college drinking game, and to my surprise, people follow his lead and hold their hands up too.
“Had someone in the crowd look like they’ve stepped out of Salem and are here to hex me.
” West folds his thumb against his palm. “Until now.”
People laugh, but if they only knew… I’m shocked at how spot-on he is.
I exaggerate the roll of my eyes, hoping he can see it from the stage.
We aren't in the front row—thank all the gods for that—but our table isn’t far enough away to be safe from West and his crowd work.
If Frankie would have told me we were this close, I would have faked my death and never spoken to her again.
Dramatic? Definitely. But that would have been easier than whatever is about to happen here.
Maybe if I don't respond, he’ll get bored and move on to someone else.
The slow, sideways smirk spreading across his lips tells me everything I need to know… West Parker doesn’t back down in the face of a challenge. “She looks like she’d make me crawl to her,” he says, sinking to both his knees at the edge of the stage without missing a beat.
The crowd hollers like they’re watching a strip tease.
West’s voice is deeper when he speaks again, whispering into the mic. “And baby, I would if you wanted.” The people in the front row follow his gaze straight to me.
I ignore the look the girl who tried to steal his hat gives me. He’s all yours, sweetheart, I try to tell her with my witchy telepathy.
Frankie’s cackling beside me, completely ignoring my death glare to fist pump along to the crowd's cheers.
This bitch is supposed to be on my side!
“What’s your name?” West asks me, but I look over my shoulder, pretending to search for the person he’s talking to.
He chuckles this deep, throaty laugh, and it sounds nothing like the others he’s forced tonight. “Oh, come on. Don’t make this so hard on me.” He steeples his hands like he’s praying.
Something dark inside me sparks to life.
Jesus fuck, I’ve been reading too many dark romances. I mentally move a cheesy rom-com up to the top of my To Be Read pile.
I shake my head, using my hand to warn him to cut his losses before it’s too late
“Do you want me to beg?” West asks, batting his eyes. “I’m already on my knees.”
The girl in the front row finally turns her attention back to him. “You wouldn’t have to beg for me!” Her table laughs, hyping their friend up.
I’m a girl’s girl, so it takes everything inside me not to tell her she looks desperate, but she probably already knows that—and clearly doesn’t care.
“Darling, please. Mommy and Daddy are talking.” West still hasn’t taken his eyes off me.
Did he just—
“Her name’s Jo!” Frankie cups her mouth and yells.
I gasp. My best friend, now my biggest traitor. She’s grinning like a kid who was given an extra scoop of ice cream by their dad after mom said no. “I’m going to kill you.”
Frankie leans in, her smile never faltering. “See you in hell when you get there.”
I open my mouth to say something else, but someone interrupts me.
“Jo,” he repeats.
Why does my name in his mouth sound like a feline’s purr?
I whip my head around to see him rising from his knees.
“Well, listen Joey—mind if I call you that?” West asks, but before I’m able to tell him that I do, in fact, mind if he calls me that, he’s talking again. “It hurts to look at you.”
My jaw catches slack and falls open. Excuse me?
“For starters, because you’re hands down the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my entire life, and I can’t stop looking at you.” He wipes his forehead like he’s sweating. “But also, because you seem absolutely miserable. Are you not having a good time?”
I’m not going to answer. I’m going to get up and leave. I don’t have to stay here and listen to—
“She doesn’t think you’re funny!” Frankie calls out again, her tone revealing just how much fun she’s having with this.
What have I done to my best friend to deserve this betrayal?
I gawk, turning to find her wiggling in her seat with so much excitement she might burst.
West holds his hand over his heart, feigning sorrow. “But this is some of my best material.”
That almost gets a laugh out of me because of how ridiculous he looks.
But then that would mean he wins, and I’m not about to lose another battle today.
“She thinks people only find you funny because you’re a hot washed-up hockey player fuckboy with dimples and a nice ass!” Frankie squeals this time, really feeding into the energy the crowd is giving her.
“Okay, too far, Franceska,” I hiss, knowing damn well she’s going to completely ignore me.
Once a performer, always a performer. Frankie was born for the spotlight. It’s why she makes a damn-good musician, although I’m not too happy about her love for attention right this second…
“I’m not even mad about the hot washed-up hockey player comment because it just means you’ve heard of me.
” West bites his lip, and it sends a shockwave down my spine.
“And that you think I’m hot.” His blue eyes are like an ocean, drawing me further away from land.
He grins, breaking my trance. “I can work with that.”
A hot and cocky athlete! Unfortunately, that’s been known to be exactly my type—which is why I’m single now and have been for almost four years.
I’ve sworn off athletes of any kind. Current, retired, washed-up. Doesn’t matter. I’m not interested.
“I think you’re full of yourself, and I wouldn’t be here if my best friend,” I sneer at the title like I’m second guessing it. “Hadn’t dragged me kicking and screaming.”
His eyes travel to Frankie for a second. “What’s your name, best friend?”
“Frankie,” she preens like a sweet teeny-tiny birdie I can’t stay mad at for long.
“Can we get a round of applause for Frankie?” West sweeps the crowd as they cheer—for what? They don’t know. They do it because Hotshot over here says so.
Is this a cult?
Frankie stands and takes a bow, blowing kisses at a few people next to us who are cheering the loudest.
For sure Frankie would be the one to accidentally get initiated into a cult.
“Frankie has done the complete opposite of what every single best friend has told them to do.” He laughs, settling his magnetic stare back on me.
“Besties make a pact to send the dude interested in their uninterested friend down the road with a bruised ego. Frankie? Frankie’s out here adding gasoline to my fire.
” He wags a finger at her. “I like you.”
Frankie gives her best smile and accents it with a head tilt and her hands coming up to cup the sides of her cheek.
She thinks she’s soooo funny.
I glare at her again.
“Joey baby, what do you do for work?” The people around me ooh and ahh at his new nickname.
Me? My traitorous pussy clenches.
I cross my legs and don’t miss the way he stares at them. I run a hand down my tattooed thigh, cupping my knee. “Business.”
He makes a face that has the crowd snickering. “Business?” He lowers his brows and shoots a glance at Frankie. “Is she a drug dealer?”
If I had known what Frankie was going to reveal next, I would have tackled her to the floor and dragged her out by her hair.
“She has five million followers on social media!”
My hand shoots to her thigh, black-manicured fingernails digging into her skin.
Frankie slaps it away, barely fazed.
The small audience stares like they might recognize me if they look hard enough, but unless they study every tattoo on my body and are active members of the bookish community, they’ll never guess.
HexedHeroine, better known as Hex, has been masked since I started posting three years ago. It was a way for me to cope with a messy breakup while remaining anonymous for the sake of my big girl corporate Vice President of Social Media job.
“Five million followers?” West gapes. “So, you’re an influencer?”
“Hardly.” I give a one-word response.
And sure, I know that technically I am an influencer within the book space, but I’ve never monetized anything on a large scale.
If I like a book and talk about it and the author or their publisher reaches out for more posting, I cut a tiny deal—usually signed copies of their books or some other goodies over money.
I have… had a job I loved that brought in all the money I needed and then some. Why take from the smaller authors trying to make a living?
The only paid brand deal I’ve done is with a sex toy company. I got free goodies and $20,000, which ended up being used to pay for my move to Salem.
“What’s your at?” West asks, pulling his phone out of his back pocket.
“Absolutely not.” I shake my head vigorously, my dark hair flipping over my shoulder as I stare the words I can’t speak into Frankie: keep your fucking mouth shut.
Frankie sips her seltzer, but I note the mischievous gleam in her eyes and know she’s going to do it anyway. “It’s all fun and games, JoJo. Relax.”
I remind myself how much I love my best friend as she beckons him with the curl of her index finger—a come hither motion to summon him our way.
Without pause, he jumps off stage, bringing the mic with him. It feels like slow motion as he worms his way through the tables, taking the shortest route to us.
I silently pray the cord isn’t long enough.
Instead of going towards Frankie, he approaches me, stopping so close he might as well be straddling my fucking lap. I crane my neck to peer up at him.
Oh no, West Parker is prettier up close…
Taller than I thought too, definitely over six feet. I was hoping the small stage just made him look broad shouldered with delicious arms scattered in fine line tattoos.
Unfortunately for me, it isn’t the stage. It’s the man.
“Hi, Joey baby,” he hums into the mic for the whole room to hear. West smiles, slowly dragging his gaze down my long legs, one crossed over the other.
To top it off, his dimply smile is even better this close too.
This is really bad news for me. Especially when he’s looking at me the way he is.
Like he’d make sure I enjoy every single second of it…
I mask my features into neutrality. I will not let this man make me part of his show. “You’re not getting my at, Hotshot.”
He sticks his bottom lip out, giving one of the best puppy-dog pouts I’ve ever seen.
“Run along and go bother someone else.” I nod towards the front row, shooing him with a few flicks of my wrist.
He shifts, and I get a whiff of his cologne. It’s warm and smooth. I inhale, intoxicated by the smell of a campfire and something sweet. “Oh, but I so like bothering you.”
Why is his voice so fucking deep, and did someone turn the heat on? I’m about to look like a glazed donut if he doesn’t turn his undivided attention to someone else.
Frankie extends her arm between us, and West plops his phone into her hand without looking away from me.
“Wanna know the first thing I thought when I saw you?” he asks me directly, the fans in attendance deciding to answer with a resounding yes for me.
West waits for my response.
“I'm sure it was something sexual. That’s what you think is funny, right? Sex jokes?” I raise a brow and uncross my legs, my calf grazing his inner thigh for the briefest second.
West’s jaw twitches, and I’m not sure if it’s from my leg brushing against him or my rebuttal. Maybe both? “That was the second thing I thought, I’ll admit, but no. I thought you looked a lot like my future wife.”
My jaw unhinges for the second time tonight as the crowd loses it. Men howl like they’re rooting for a friend and girls near me gasp like they wish they were me.
Frankie hands his phone back, and that’s when West finally draws his attention away from me. Only to return it back to the screen where he’s met with an identity almost no one knows I’m behind…
The light of his phone reflects against his face in the dimly lit room, colors and the sounds changing as he scrolls.
I can’t read the look on his face, and that freaks me the fuck out.
I was expecting his jaw to drop—shit, like mine still is right now.
I snap it shut, and as if the sound of my teeth clacking together reminds West where he is, his gaze falls back to me in real time. “Joey,” he coos, hitting his thumb on the side of his phone to lock the screen. “You dirty, dirty girl.”
There are five people who know Hex’s identity.
Frankie.
Frankie’s mom.
Frankie’s hot lesbian guitarist friend, Syn.
Hilda.
And now, West fucking Parker.
He returns his phone to his back pocket, gives me a wink that feels personal, and returns to the stage. I glance over at Frankie who’s grinning ear to ear.
I don’t remember much else about the show, only that he looks me dead in the eyes before it’s over and nods his head—as if to say, I’ll see you later, Joey baby.