25. I’ll Wait
I’LL WAIT
ANDERS
The next morning, I wait until I know he’s left for morning skate to head downstairs.
I usually have something small for breakfast. Some eggs and coffee. A bowl of oatmeal and chai.
This morning, the first thing I see when I come down the stairs is a brown take-out bag from my favorite breakfast place.
Delores’ has always been my favorite place to go because they make the most incredible egg-white omelette with vegetables they grow on their own patio.
Inside the bag, I find not only an omelette, but also some pancakes with house-made blueberry syrup, and my favorite morning mocktail.
Everything house-made. Everything in glass containers, which is odd considering the fact that each time I’ve ordered take-out, it comes in those cheap plastic take-home boxes.
There isn’t a note, but it’s obvious it’s Parker’s doing.
I leave it all on the counter and have a pop tart instead.
Two days later, I come home from class to an empty house. Parker’s in California I think. Or maybe it was Seattle. I’ve stopped keeping track.
“Aww. This is cute,” Charlie pouts, picking up the coffee mug that’s been left on the kitchen island. It's one of those handmade mugs you only find at farmers' markets. She holds it up to my face. “Same color as your eyes, too. Where’d you get it?”
“It’s his,” I mutter. “, probably. Fucker loves .”
My eyes drift off across the kitchen, landing on the coffee maker. There’s another sitting beside it on the counter. This one, though, is an icy blue color.
That same afternoon is the first time he texts me.
Pet’ka
This one is cute
I leave him on read.
Less than a day later he texts me again after his game in Vegas.
Pet’ka
I miss you
Game sucked. We lost
But at least I get to come home tomorrow
I miss you so fucking much angel
He comes home the next evening. I have a conspiracy theory that he timed it perfectly. By the time I get home from working out with Lee, he’s already in the kitchen cooking dinner.
All the air leaves my lungs the first time I set eyes on him. Freshly showered, hair brushed back, and cleanly shaved.
It isn’t fair how hot he is. This is literal torture.
“I’m making a new recipe,” is the first thing he says to me. As if everything is fine and he hasn’t broken my heart into a million pieces…
Fine. Whatever. If he isn’t going to act like this is a big deal then I’m sure as hell not going to either. “What are you making?”
“Zucchini noodles,” he mutters.
That fucker.
The corner of my mouth betrays me, curling into a smile, but I quickly shake it off.
He doesn’t laugh or anything, but his expression softens. “Beef stroganoff, but I used, like, protein noodles so it’s healthy.”
I nod, pressing my lips into a hard line.
“Do you think it looks done?” Parker asks. He steps away from the stove to give me space.
Reluctantly, I take my time walking over.
The steam hits my face the moment I look down at the cast-iron skillet. “Yeah, it looks fine—”
He takes a step closer, filling the space between us. His body’s warmth is the first thing I notice. Next is the lavender body soap he uses.
“You sure?” He murmurs softly.
Something cool climbs down my spine, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stick straight up. “I’m sure,” I mutter weakly, my voice cracking in the most obvious way possible.
Parker reaches around me to turn off the burner.
For a second I think he'll step away. Instead, his arm settles around my waist as though he's done it a thousand times. I can feel his breath on my skin as his mouth hovers over my temple. He swipes his thumb across my chin before turning my head to the side. The intense look he gives me is sobering. He cracks a smile, but his eyes somehow get lost in mine. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look more relieved to see me.
And this feels like something different from the other times.
Before, it was like we rode on the high of passion. But now…he’s looking down at me the way I’ve always wanted him to.
It’s too late. It’s too late. It’s too late.
He leans in closer. My lips part against my will.
“One more chance,” Parker whispers. His nose brushes over mine and I swear a jolt of electricity flashes through me.
“No,” I whisper back, even though that single word causes a world of pain. “You’ve had three years.”
He doesn’t flinch.
“I want you.”
I attempt to shake my head. “No you don’t.”
“You want me,” he tries again. “Have me. I’m yours.”
I close my eyes and exhale through my nose. “I don’t…no, Parker. No.”
“Mmm. Can I kiss you?” Fuck. I’m fucking screwed. “A real kiss,” he tells me softly.
“N-no,” I stutter. “It’s too late.”
He takes me by surprise when his expression doesn’t drop. He just nods, accepting it. “That’s okay,” he murmurs. “You waited. Now I’ll wait.” And then he gently steps back and carries on with his cooking without uttering another word.