Trademarked: Bad Boys Need Love Too

by Misti Murphy

  “Not planned.” I put my hands up in surrender. Although I might have had several messages from Tim earlier today suggesting we meet up for a drink, but I didn’t know Bree would be with him.

  He tries to hide his smirk, the schemer. Tim might be the best friend I’ve ever had with the way he’s trying to orchestrate chance meetings between Bree and me. “Can I help it if the place I wanted to try tonight also happened to be where the man of the hour is whetting his whistle?”

  Bree gasps. “You’re totally stalking Parker on social media, aren’t you?”

  He shrugs and picks up his drink. “Someone might have mentioned seeing him here on Twitter.”

  “I should apologize,” she says to me. “My friend is an A-grade stalker of celebrity dick.”

  “I don’t mind.” Drinks in hand we move away from the bar. There aren’t many places left to sit, except next to Dutch and the girl attached to his torso like a slap band, her mouth suckered to his face like she’s trying to impregnate him with her alien baby. Her friend has moved on or gone home, thankfully, but I’m not in the mood to keep him company. I head toward the edge of the dance floor instead. “It means I get to hang out with you.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Bree

  Parker guides us toward a corner near the dance floor. It’s darker here than it was at the bar. He probably wants the anonymity it affords. After all, his face is as famous as the bulge in his crotch. Women notice. Like that crazy eyed chick who was glaring daggers at me while we were at the bar. Either she was jealous she couldn’t get his attention, or she had it before Tim and I arrived.

  I like his attention. Like, really like it. More than I should. Enough that the idea of him with that other girl clings like a leech, sucking the happy out of me.

  Parker rests his hip against the wall beside me and carefully moves my hair away from my ear. My skin hums. “I know we weren’t supposed to see each other until tomorrow, but I’m glad I bumped into you tonight.” He rubs the hem of my tulle skirt between his finger and thumb. “This is sexy.”

  You’re sexy. I grasp his hand to push it away from my skirt. My fingers slide between his and our palms clasp together. Tingles shoot up and down my arms. My ribcage is like the butterfly sanctuary at the zoo, my nerves abuzz. “Mind giving me my hand back?”

  “No. I think I might keep it.” He grins.

  I can’t help smiling back. “For how long?”

  “I don’t know,” he says. “How long can I have it?”

  I suck on my straw like it’s full of powdered sugar. I like the way he holds onto my hand, and doesn’t try to make any other moves. I like how normal he is despite his fame, and how he’s wooed Tim. He isn’t being pushy, or self-absorbed, or expecting me to fall at his feet. His gaze drifts between my face and my bare shoulder, and he scrapes his teeth against his bottom lip like he wants to do wicked things to that spot, and I like that too. Maybe I want him to do wicked things. Fuck. Maybe I want to know what those full lips feel like. Get a bucket, nether regions, you’re turning my panties into a puddle.

  Tim faces the dance floor and ignores us as we continue to hold hands. He’s on the hunt for some nookie tonight. Nothing serious. He’s into the right here, right now. He’s a perfect fit for Parker in that way. Unlike me. I’m The Neverending Story to Parker’s Fast and Furious, but he’s hanging around like Jack in Speed, when we can both see that this thing between us is a bomb. Great, now I totally want to watch all three movies.

  A server wanders past with drinks on a tray and Parker buys us multicolored shots, which we toss back. He orders another round and draws small circles on my hand with his thumb to mollify me when I try to pay.

  “It was supposed to be my treat,” I grumble after Tim bounces off to the dance floor. He has more energy than Tigger. And now I’m all alone with Parker. There might as well be no one else around.

  He clasps my jaw and murmurs his lips across my cheek. “Think of this as a date. A date I asked for, that your schedule cleared up room for. Which makes it my treat.”

  My belly flip-flops as I breathe in his scent. He smells like tall, dark, and handsome got lost in the woods and found a beehive full of honey. “You’re treating Tim as well. Does that mean you’re on a date with him too?”

  He chuckles. Warm breath hits my skin and leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “He’s found his own date, hasn’t he? The guy with the Death Star T-shirt?”

  I glance around until I spot Tim with his arm thrown around the shoulder of a buff guy in a black Star Wars T-shirt. “Looks like Tim’s planning on crossing over to the dark side tonight.”

  The group at the next table vacates, the bubbly college age girls dragging their boyfriends toward the dance floor. Parker leads me over to claim their seats as the server comes back with our drinks. She puts them down on the table between us, her gaze running over Parker in a way I’m not a fan of. Tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear, she smiles at him. “You’re the actor on the Calvin Klein billboard, aren’t you? The guy from Doing Bad Things.” She drops her gaze to his crotch and tugs on her lip. Another woman who’s all about flirting with Parker’s cock. “You’re really great.”

  “Thanks,” he says, squeezing my hand. He’s probably trying to reassure me that he’s here with me, but I feel like I’m a million miles away. Parker Kent is in a whole other universe. One where women fall all over him, and I’m not even going to try to compete.

  “I’m not supposed to do this. I usually wouldn’t, but my sister is such a big fan of yours. Could I trouble you for an autograph?”

  “Sure.” He grins at her. “Have you got a pen?”

  “I do.” She flicks an absent gaze my way while she pulls a pen and a notepad out of her apron pocket before fixating on Parker again. “Thanks so much for this.”

  Parker flips through the notepad until he finds an empty page to scrawl his signature across and hands it back to her. “Say hi to your sister for me.”

  “Oh, I will.” She says breathlessly, hugging the notepad to her chest. “She’s going to love this.”

  How much more obvious could it be that the sister in question is the woman currently cradling Parker’s signature to her bosom? I take a long hard drink from my martini glass. This was such a bad idea. Hanging out with Parker outside of our professional relationship isn’t for me. I finish off my drink and put the empty glass back on the table as the server finally buzzes off.

  “Sorry about that,” Parker says. “I don’t like to be rude to my fans, even though I would have preferred if we hadn’t been interrupted.”

  “That’s okay.” I get it. I do. Interacting with his fans is important and something he clearly enjoys. But I’m not sure I’m cut out for his lifestyle. Freeing my hand from his grip, I say, “I’m going to go.”

  “Don’t leave,” he says. “I doubt we’ll be bothered again tonight. Everyone’s too busy having a good time. Let me buy you another drink.”

  “It’s been fun, but I’m going home.” I slide out of my seat and push my way through the crowd before Parker can follow me.

  Ducking out of the exit, I draw in a deep breath and slow down. Across the parking lot is a food truck. The aroma of fried food, burgers, and pizza scents the air. Why is it everything smells so much better after a few drinks? My mouth waters as I’m drawn toward the truck by the promise of carbs and the possibility of soaking up some of the alcohol I’ve consumed. It’s probably a good idea to grab something before I head home.

  Tim’s still inside. Hooking up. He probably has no idea I’ve left. I send him a quick text as I line up to order, letting him know that I’m bailing and to make sure he’s good finding his own way home. All I get in return are winky faces and eggplant emojis, so I know he’s fine.

  “Are you okay?” Parker asks, catching up to me in the line for the food truck. He grazes both hands down my arms and the fine hairs there stand to attention.

  “Sure.” I nod. “Why wouldn’t I be?” It’s not
like there was another woman coming onto the man I have the hots for. Oh wait... that’s exactly what it was like. I need a badge that says, “Been there, done that, not interested in doing it again when it comes to guys who sleep around.”

  “Because you raced out of the club like you were Cinderella. Next time you do that, do you want to leave me your glass slipper or something?”

  “I was hungry,” I say, backing that up by ordering a hot dog, a burger, and fries.

  “Me too,” he says.

  “Nuh-uh, you get your own.” I mock glare at him. If I had the food in my hands I would hug it to my chest just to get the point across.

  “Do you have any cookies?” He asks the guy waiting to take his order.

  Crooking a dark bushy eyebrow under his white hat, the man shakes his head. “No cookies.”

  Parker rubs the back of his neck and peruses the menu boards above the man’s head. “I guess I’ll have to go with a burger and fries then.”

  The guy calls his order to the chef and we move to the side to wait. I can’t help smiling at his obsession with cookies.

  “We can probably find a late-night grocery store that sells cookies,” he offers.

  “I don’t think so,” I say. “I’m gonna go home.”

  He glances at me, his eyes widening. They’re so chocolaty it’s like I’m swimming in Nesquik. “Oh, did you think that was me asking you stay the night with me?”

  “N-no.” Yes, isn’t that how most evenings with Parker Kent end? I mean, I just assumed from his reputation that would be the case.

  “Phew. Because I wasn’t.” He exhales, and his shoulders drop as though he’s relieved, but he’s grinning like it’s the finest joke. “I’m not easy, you know.” He nudges me in the ribs with his elbow and leans closer as he runs a hand down his torso. “I don’t know how I feel about you wanting to take advantage of all of this.”

  I press my lips together to hold the laughter in. It bubbles up and tears out of me. I double over, holding my stomach. Me, take advantage of Parker Kent; a man known for his dick and his revolving bedroom door? Hilarious. My eyes start to burn. People are gawking at me.

  Parker’s face is split into the hugest grin. “You’re adorable. Do you know that?”

  “I sound like a hyena.” I wheeze.

  “An adorable hyena.” He wraps an arm around my waist to steady me as I try to compose myself.

  “Oh no.” I cover my face with my hands and groan.

  “Hey, listen.” He tucks his fingers under my chin and pries one of my hands away. His face hovers close to mine, his gaze soft. “I like the way you laugh. I’m making it my mission in life to hear you laugh like that often.”

  And just like that he wins brownie points. I don’t know how he does it. Moments ago I was sure walking away was the right decision and that getting involved with a guy like him was exactly what I didn’t want. Maybe I’m a little addicted to guys who aren’t good for me, or maybe, I’m taking a chance on the inkling that he isn’t that bad at all.

  A dimple appears in his cheek. I want to press the tip of my tongue into it. His gaze dances a triangle between my eyes and my mouth and back again. My lips start to tingle. Is he going to kiss me? Do I want him to? I inch closer. My belly flutters and my pulse thrums, and his mouth is my newest obsession.

  His hard chest bumps against my breasts as his lips cover mine. Moving slowly, he teases and nibbles. His tongue seeks entrance and I open to let him sweep inside and deepen the kiss. My hands flutter against his chest, find purchase in his shirt as I get caught up in his taste and the sweet and sour remnants of the alcohol we drank. Fireworks explode in my belly, their heat spreading like wildfire. Our tongues dance and war, thrust, parry, thrust.

  “Hey cookie man, your food’s ready,” someone calls out.

  Parker groans against my lips. It echoes in my chest. I don’t want to stop kissing him. If I could I would fall into his mouth and live there. I would scale the rock face of his body to get to his mouth.

  He draws back slowly, leaving my lips cold and yearning. His voice is low and scratchy as he says, “Looks like our food’s ready.”

  “Is it?” I say, my voice barely a whispered breath.

  “Mmm-hmm.” He takes my hand in his, holding it to his chest for a moment so I can feel how harsh his breathing is, before lowering our joined hands to his side. “We should eat.”

  ***

  The town car pulls up outside the Chinese restaurant I live above, and I stumble out with Parker following. I haven’t changed my mind about letting him near my cookie. Okay, I might have changed my mind. I want more of his kisses. They’re addictive, like Tim Tams or Nutella straight out of the jar. I’m also not thinking straight thanks to said kisses. He might as well have rolled a line of white powder across his bottom lip and turned me into a crack whore.

  “Thank you for a great evening. I can take it from here,” I tell him. The scent of egg rolls permeates the air and everything else that it touches. My cheeks hurt from smiling, and my skin is abraded from his stubble grazing my jaw and neck.

  “Na-uh.” He squeezes my hand. “This date isn’t over until I walk you to your door and see you safely inside.”

  I’m used to walking home alone, but I like this macho protective stuff too. “It’s really not necessary.”

  “How else am I going to know where to pick you up tomorrow?”

  “I told you I’d meet you,” I remind him.

  “Okay, but maybe I want to kiss you goodnight,” he admits.

  My toes curl. My swollen lips want to cha-cha-cha as we take the stairs to my apartment. I’m practically a fondue fountain—melted and bubbly inside—from his heated gaze and his warm hand encasing mine, as he waits for me to unlock my door.

  “So,” I say, loathing opening my door because that means this night is over.

  “So,” he says. “Tomorrow night. Let me pick you up?”

  “Okay.” I rub the back of my foot against my calf. There’s something so palpable between us. An energy that pulls me to him that I’m still not sure how to handle.

  “Great.” Cupping my cheek, he brushes his lips against mine in a feather soft touch that leaves me tingling all over. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  I lean against the door as he saunters back down the short hallway. With bouncy steps that seem to imitate my heartbeat, he disappears into the stairwell.

  Entering my apartment, I shut the door and rest my back against it.

  I like Parker Kent.

  I like him too much.

  Fuck.

  ***

  “What’s with your face?” Callan asks, his solid form filling the doorframe of our parent’s home. His blue-eyed gaze settles on my jaw. “You look like you had a run in with an angle grinder.”

  “Like you can talk.” I jog up the stairs, jostling the box of cupcakes I picked up from Molly’s Bakery and push past my stepbrother. Waking up this morning to my neck, jaw, and cheeks covered in beard rash wasn’t fun. I’d almost considered diving back into bed and pulling my pillow over my head until it died down, but I have standing plans with my parents and then Tim. “Did your lip get attacked by a wasp? It looks painful.”

  He chuckles. “I bet my night was better than yours.”

  “Let’s agree to disagree.” I smile to myself as I step into the house.

  “Hang on.” Callan catches my elbow. “What’s with the smile?”

  Despite our playful banter, Callan is great at the big brother thing. He was six when his dad married my mom. I was barely out of diapers. I don’t actually remember a time before that. Or my real dad. From what I’ve garnered over the years through overheard conversations between my mother and her sisters, he ran as soon as he knew about me. It doesn’t bother me though. Bob is everything I could ever want in a dad, and Callan is my brother in so many more ways than just through marriage.

  “What smile?” I ask, widening my eyes in an effort to appear innocent as I shake off his meaty
hand.

  “Uh-uh,” he tsks. “You’ve been pulling that wide-eyed innocent thing on me since you were three. It doesn’t work anymore. Who’s the guy?”

  “Nobody,” I tell him as we walk through the house to the kitchen. Callan’s a bit of a slut. Okay, he’s a total manwhore but I hold out hope that could change with the right incentive. After all, he’s a great brother; protective, ready to give me advice on guys. Which is why Parker Kent’s name doesn’t leave my lips. I know what Callan will say about Parker; that he’s not a good guy, that he’s a womanizer, and that getting involved with him is asking to be hurt. All of which is true.

  “Well, nobody did a great job of rubbing his beard all over your neck and face.” Callan sniggers. “Unless you want to tell me you’ve finally perfected your contortionism act and…”

  “Shut up.” I punch him in the arm before he can say something disgusting. When I was younger I wanted to join the circus as a contortionist. Callan teased me about it relentlessly, including a few rather crude comments. And by the way, I can still tuck my feet behind my head. “And it’s new. I don’t even know if it is anything, okay? So I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder. “Mom and Dad are waiting for us on the patio.”

  “Can we keep this between us, please?” I ask.

  “Hmmm.” He opens the door and pushes me through it. “You probably should have looked in the mirror if you didn’t want anyone to ask.”

  “Oh, my baby.” My mother drops her playing cards and jumps up when she sees me. “What happened to your face?” Taking my face between her work beaten hands she turns me this way and that while she studies me with eyes the same shade of green as mine. “You’re so red. Did you get sunburned?”

  “I think it’s hives, Stella,” Bob says, getting up. I squint to block out the fact that he’s only wearing Y fronts and socks with his T-shirt. “Get the witch hazel.”