16. 16 Parker
16
16 PARKER
ONE WEEK
One week.
It’d been one week since my last lesson with Gigi. One week since she’d run out of my apartment without looking back.
After she left, Simon and I had stood in the kitchen, staring at the swinging kitchen door until it stilled.
“Well,” Simon had said, hands on hips. “Clearly, I interrupted something.” He then eyed me, hazel eyes seeing way too much. “I thought you said she was a friend .”
I looked away from his too-knowing stare and began cleaning up the kitchen. “She is,’ I said, taking our glasses to the sink. As I rinsed them out, I added, “And you didn’t interrupt anything.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Simon opened a drawer next to the sink and pulled out a roll of plastic wrap. “Tell that to the astronauts who can see your blush from their space station.”
I brought my hands to my face, forgetting they were wet from the sink. The water cooled my cheeks, which, true to Simon’s word, were scalding.
Simon snickered and crossed the kitchen, where he began wrapping the remaining cookies. “My question is,” he continued, “which one of you idiots is going to make the first move.”
I dried my hands on a dishtowel and draped it over the oven handle. Neither, I thought, because there’s nothing going on.
But, when I went to bed that night, I tossed and turned, fervid with thoughts of Gigi’s breath caressing my lips, the warmth of her body kissing my skin. Even in dreams, I swore I could smell the sea salt and coconut of her skin. I woke up the next morning flushed and exhausted.
Now, one week later, I wasn’t any more well-rested than I’d been then.
Even if , I thought as I stuffed my backpack with notebooks and texts for the day ahead. Even if Simon was right, and there was something simmering that night, it was clearly one-sided. Otherwise, I’d have heard from Gigi by now.
Yet my phone remained absent of messages or phone calls.
I could’ve sought her out. Shown up at Heathcliff’s, as I’d done countless times before. But this felt different. This felt intentional. Like she wanted this space. This distance.
I didn’t know how to feel about that.
Today wasn’t the day to obsess about it, though. I had classes all morning, and a meeting with my advisor this afternoon. My stomach churned at the thought. She was going to ask me about my dissertation. She always asked me about my dissertation. I’d have to tell her, again, that I hadn’t decided on a topic yet.
Then, after that, I had my weekly phone call with my mom, who’d likely ask me the same exact questions my advisor had. And about a thousand more.
Pulling my jacket on, I shook the thoughts away. I’d face it when the time came. Now, I had other things to occupy my mind. After I hefted my two-ton backpack over my shoulder, I reached for a Ziploc bag of cookies and to-go coffee cup. Breakfast of champions: sugar and caffeine. Whatever kept me going.
“Bye, Simon,” I called as I headed for the door. “See you tonight!”
He waved from his giant, cushiony recliner, eyes on the TV screen. He always started his days off with an episode or two of My Boyfriend the Vampire . I asked him once how many times he’d watched the show’s seven seasons all the way through, and he told me he didn’t appreciate the judgment in my tone, and to mind my own business.
So, probably at least ten, I’d decided.
I smiled to myself and closed the door behind me. As I headed for the stairs, I steeled myself for a long day.
And, man, was I already exhausted.
The rest of the week was much of the same. Each day, I trudged to campus, spent hours in classes or at the library, the list of potential dissertation topics growing longer instead of shorter. Each night, I went home, dropped my things to the floor, and flopped on my overstuffed couch, falling asleep with my cat on my chest.
Tonight, the universe had different plans for me.
Anya called right around the time I was leaving the library, asking if I wanted to grab a bite. So, here I was, walking into Heathcliff’s for the first time in over a week.
As soon as I entered, I was hit with a wave of sound. A glance to my right told me what it was: Patti Mayonnaise was set up onstage, going through soundcheck. Frowning, I flipped through my mental calendar. Was it their night already? Had I forgotten? After months of counting down seconds till their shows, had I really forgotten?
“Parks, hey.”
I spun, finding Anya at my side. “H-hey,” I said back, putting a hand to my chest. “Sorry, I was…distracted.”
She smirked toward the stage, where warm, bright lights illuminated Halle as she pounded her way through a solo. “I’m sure you were.”
My cheeks warmed. I pressed my lips together in something like a smile and shrugged. “Caught me,” I said, even though I hadn’t even looked at Halle yet.
The realization was a shockwave. Numb, I watched Halle grin up at Ryan, dimples flashing as she twirled a drumstick between her fingers. This time last week, that sight would have ended me. Ended me. Now…
“…gotta run upstairs for a second.” Anya jarred me from my thoughts. Jerking my eyes from the stage, I faced her as she continued talking. “Then we can get outta here.”
I nodded, relief flooding through me. “Okay,” I said as I backed toward a corner table. In the dark. Far away from everyone. I needed a moment to myself. To process and reflect and…well, I needed a moment.
My backpack hit the floor with a thud and I sighed with relief to be free of the weight. Plopping down into a chair, I sank back. Idly, I watched the band go through their soundcheck routine—something I’d seen a time or ten. But, this time, I noticed the whole band, not just Halle. Tommy, with his lean, long arms bared by the muscle shirt he wore, shaggy blonde hair in his face as he ripped through a solo on his gleaming bass guitar. Olsen on keys, their so-very-’90s bowl cut gleaming under the lights. And Ryan, the guy half of their lead singers, looking like every frontman from every emo band from the era, swoopy dark hair and guy-liner.
Frowning, I searched the stage for a new face. Had they replaced Jas yet? Or was Gigi filling in again? My heart tripped over itself at the thought of seeing her light up the stage. Watching her light up from the inside, that confidence dialed up to eleven, owning the moment like she belonged there.
Because she did, I thought. She belonged onstage like starfish belonged in the sea.
Leaning forward, I searched for a shock of red-orange hair. A pair of dark eyes that saw too much, and yet not nearly enough. A mouth that—
“Hey, creeper.”
I jumped so hard I smacked my elbow on the table. “Shoot,” I hissed, cradling it with my hand.
“Sorry.” Gigi sat down across from me, an apologetic wince on her face. “You okay?”
Rubbing my arm, I blinked back the sting of tears and nodded. I’d hit just the right spot, that spot that made your fingertips tingle. Funny bone, my butt. “Yeah,” I lied. “Fine.”
“Liar.” Gigi stood, moving to my side. “Let me see.”
“I’m okay,” I insisted. “I’m—”
My protest dissipated as she took my arm in her hand, touch gentle as she pulled it away from my body. Softly, she pushed the sleeve of my sweater up and traced her fingertips over the aching joint, eyes narrowed. “I was afraid of this,” she said, looking up to meet my gaze.
“What?”
It was barely a whisper, my voice lost to the sensation of her skin on my skin. My dreams had been haunted by the absence of her touch, and I didn’t know it until this very moment.
Too soon, she pulled away. “You need a drink.”
“A drink.” I frowned, hoping my disappointment wasn’t written all over my face. “For my elbow?”
“Oh, no.” She waved me off, eyes glittering in the dim light. “Ice, maybe, though. The drink is because you had a long day.”
My frown deepened as I struggled to keep up with her. “I just got here,” I said. “How do you know I had a long day?”
“Well, there’s that.” She motioned to my backpack on the floor beside my chair. “Clearly, you came from campus. Also.” Leaning in, she tugged at a lock of hair, her knuckles brushing against my neck. I inhaled sharply, heat flaring low in my belly, pain in my elbow forgotten. “You’ve got your stress curl.”
I reached up, touching the piece of hair she indicated. “My stress curl?”
Her lips tilted. “Yeah. You twist this piece of hair when you’re stressed.” She reached for it again, our fingers tangling. “The longer the day, the curlier it gets.”
“I—” I looked up, something soft and warm spreading in my chest. “How do you know that?”
Gigi shrugged, backing away. “You’ve set up shop in every corner of this bar for months,” she said, “your mountain of textbooks and piles of notes and so, so many highlighters.” Eyes moving over my face, she shrugged again. “I’ve noticed some things.”
What else have you noticed, I wanted to ask. What else have you seen?
But before I could get the words out, Anya sauntered across the bar. “All right,” she said as she reached us. “You ready?”
I pushed my chair back and stood. “Yeah, I—”
“Oh, wait!” She put a hand on my shoulder, her other on Gigi’s. “Do you want to say hi to your drummer girl?”
“What,” Gigi started as I said, “No, I’m good.”
“But it’s the perfect time, isn’t it?” She looked from Gigi to me, green eyes widening. “To put those flirting lessons to use?” There was something in her tone. Something like challenge. Which reminded me of her skepticism over brunch the other day. Was she…testing me? Testing Gigi ?
My stomach plummeted to the floor. I wasn’t ready. I needed more time. More lessons. I didn’t—
“Come on,” Anya said, giving me a shake. “Let’s go.”
My mouth dropped open. I looked at Gigi, I silently urging her to say something, anything, to get me out of this.
She stayed silent.
“I don’t know,” I started, looking from my sister to the stage, where Patti Mayonnaise was finishing up soundcheck. “I think Halle’s kinda busy at the mo—”
“Looks like they’re about done,” Anya cut in. Looping her arm through mine, she started forward. “Come on, Parks. Let’s go say hi.”
I wanted to dig my feet into the hardwood, to drop to the ground and go limp like a toddler having a tantrum. But I’d already proclaimed that I needed to vomit to this woman. She didn’t need to see me behaving like a child, too.
So, I let my sister drag me across the bar, sparing one last glance behind me. Gigi stood where we’d left her, watching as we moved further and further away. Was it wishful thinking, or did she look a little…sad?
“I don’t think I’m ready for this,” I murmured to Anya, mere feet from the stage. “I don’t think I can do—”
“Oh, hey!” Halle jumped down from the stage, tossing her long, dark hair over her shoulder, stage lights glinting off her golden skin. “Parker, right?”
Anya gave my shoulder one last squeeze, then she forged ahead, striking up a conversation with Olsen. I watched her go, my brain buzzing like a hornets nest. One more glance backward told me that Gigi had left her post. There was a drop in my gut, Something cold. Something like…disappointment?
I didn’t have time to analyze, because then Halle was in front of me. The object of my months-long affection.
And I still hadn’t said a word.
“H-hey, yeah.” I smiled, pulling the sleeves of my sweater over my hands. “That’s me, Parker.” Inwardly, I winced. But then, Gigi’s voice played in my mind. Eye contact, she said. Keep your body loose and approachable.
As if she were right next to me, hands on my hips, my body relaxed. Meeting Halle’s eye, I angled my body toward her. “You guys sounded great.”
Her eyes lit up, her smile bursting across her face like sunshine. “Thanks,” she said, putting a hand on my arm. “That’s so sweet.”
I looked down at her hand, short, bare nails and unadorned fingers, and my mind’s eye recalled a very different hand on my arm last week. Fireflies in my stomach and her breath on my lips.
Followed by a week of silence.
Mentally shaking myself to dispel the memory, I focused on Halle. Because she was here. She was so pretty, and she was smiling at me like she could talk to me all night.
So, for now, the mixed signals and scalding chemistry and confusing words could stay put, along with Gigi as she watched me walk away.
For now, I was going to flirt.