My body buzzes with potent memories. I can still feel his breath in my ear and his tongue along my neck. The fading bruise he left behind pulses with its own recollection. My core hums, my heart revs, and my thighs clench as I roll my gaze over his slack posture. Parker’s right leg bounces restlessly, and I try to hide my perusal with the palm of my hand, hoping I’m shrouded by Amelia and her veil of black hair.
But as I unwittingly memorize the number of holes in his belt, replaying the sound of it unlatching in my hands, I feel his focus shift.
He’s looking at me. He knows I’m watching him.
It’s in my best interest to keep my eyes off his, to ignore the weight of his attention prickling me with a thousand tiny daggers, but it’s impossible. I’m pulled into his spell in the same way the crest of a mighty wave would yank me down into the deep, dark sea.
Inevitable.
Our eyes meet for the first time since that night—since he walked away from me with that troubled, woeful expression etched across his face. The one that portrayed more emotion in a single moment than I think I’ve ever seen from him.
The one I can’t stop thinking about.
The instant we find each other, everything else seems to disappear. The lights dim, and the voices fade. It’s just us. And I think that’s how it’s always felt between us—that swirling energy, that magnetism. I was hoping we had gotten it out of our systems, but the magic in the air tells a different tale.
Fire rips through me, leaving kindling in its wake. I can feel every bite, scratch, thrust, and moan, and my body reacts the same way it did that night, all hungry and needy. Hopelessly bewitched. I cross my legs and squeeze tight to offset the pool of warmth pulsing between my thighs, silently cursing my physical reaction to him.
Parker’s eyes flick over my face, his eyebrows creased together in that same worried way, and then he pulls his gaze from me, focusing straight ahead while his throat bobs with a drawn swallow.
My neck flames, radiating up to my ears. I jerk my head forward. God, I’m ridiculous—getting turned on by a single glance after Parker ghosted me the whole week, all while Stacy with a Y ugly-cries about her ailing grandmother in hospice.
Pathetic.
Ms. Katherine wraps the meeting up, and I’m grateful for the coming reprieve. The air is too thick and stifling with him so close. She clutches her journal to her chest as she says a few final words, her sweet smile almost enough to overpower the confusion funneling through me as I anxiously bob my knees up and down. The brown leather journal is worn and jaded, well-loved, and I can’t help but wonder what’s inside. She never talks about it. She never opens it up or decorates the pages with scribbles and notes.
“Did you guys… do it?”
Amelia’s voice drags me away from my musings, and I spare another glance to my left, avoiding Parker on the opposite side of her. When her question sinks in, I flush, my heart fluttering. “What?”
“You and Parker,” she says, low and hushed. “I’m feeling some interesting energy in the room today.”
Lord, am I wearing some kind of badge of sexual infamy?
Fidgeting with the super interesting edging of my romper, I duck my head. “That’s kind of personal, Amelia.”
Her grin is wide. “I knew it!”
Parker raises his head but doesn’t look my way, and Amelia continues with a weary sigh. “I’m never having sex. I’ll die a virgin.”
“Oh… well, that’s not necessarily true. You’re still so young,” I tell her, eyes dipping.
Why are we talking about sex in earshot of Parker? There are so many alternative topics to choose from: astrobiology, the evolution of sloths, bagpiping, underrated serial killers, the best Beatles albums.
“I’m good,” she continues. “There are a lot of off-putting fluids and weird smells, you know?”
I purse my lips through a blink.
“Besides, sex leads to babies, and what if I don’t want the baby just like my parents didn’t want me?”
Oh.
My heart seizes with a jolt of grief. “Amelia…”
She smiles, shaking her head with a dismissive chuckle. “Sorry, that was really dramatic. Never mind.” Amelia hops up from her chair before I can say anything else, giving me a little wave. “See you next week.”
And then she’s gone, leaving me reeling with equal parts heartbreak for her and palpable realization that there is nothing left as a barrier between Parker and me. I can’t help my eyes from floating to him briefly, noting the way he ducks his head back down, staring at the floor, the tendons in his neck straining as he rolls his jaw.
I release an exasperated breath, deciding to bolt. He clearly doesn’t want to talk to me, and sitting here is awkward and emotionally daunting.
Throwing my purse strap over my shoulder, I jump to my feet and breeze right by him, eyes straight ahead, chin raised with an illusion of detachment. I keep moving forward, my pace quick and desperate, until the tepid early evening air skims my face, and I can breathe.
“Melody.”
I stop breathing.
My gait slows, unlike my newly galloping heartbeat.
Parker’s hand clasps around my elbow, catching me just as I reach my car. “Hey, wait up.”
Turning to face him, we both glance down at his hold on my elbow—the way his fingers curl around me with a strange mix of gentle urgency, and the way his thumb dusts over my skin for a striking moment before he drops my arm and clears his throat.
Tingles dance along the expanse of skin he’s no longer touching, and I resist the urge to scratch it. “Did you want something?”
“I, uh…” Parker shoves his hands into his pockets, dancing on the balls of his feet. “Fuck, I don’t know.”
A new wave of indignation burns my chest. “Great chat. See you next week.”
He catches me by the arm again, hindering my departure. His eyes slowly close as he exhales, like he’s thinking—like he’s trying to find the words and piece them together in a way that makes sense. His grip on me tightens. “I tried to text you back. I wanted to.”
I inhale sharply. “But you didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t.” Parker’s eyes open as he takes another step forward, until we’re nearly chest to chest. “Because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I don’t know what this is, what that was, or where I’m supposed to go from here.”
“You think I do?” I counter, my voice wavering as the feelings running rampant through me threaten to take me down. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”
His arm falls from mine again as he runs his fingers through his hair. Then he says in a soft, ragged voice, “I thought you wanted me to go.”
All I can manage is a head shake as the emotions start to climb.
“You wanted me to stay?”
A nod.
“Fuck…” Parker spins around, linking his hands behind his head and regrouping before facing me again. “I told you this wouldn’t end well.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because,” he grits out, leaning in a little closer. “You’re so fucking… breakable. And I’m stone.”
Breakable.
Tears sting my eyes, and I clench my jaw, arms folding tightly across my chest. “Gee, thanks, Parker. That’s what every girl longs to hear.”
“Jesus, that’s not what I—”
Spinning away and marching to the driver’s side of my car, I hold a sob in the back of my throat like a burning ball of scorn. Parker reaches for me again, but this time I find the strength to yank my arm free, and I whip back around, hair flying with me. “Don’t. Just don’t.”
He lets out a hard breath. “I’m no good at this shit, Melody.”
“Clearly.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Nothing,” I force out, even though I kind of want to scream, everything. Reining in my anger and confliction, I heave in a shaky breath and glance down at my sandals. “I’m going out t
onight. With Shane.”
Silence permeates the turbulent wall between us, forcing my head up.
Parker just stares at me, that crease reappearing between his brows, his eyes flickering with wounded confusion. “What?”
My stomach sours.
Why is he looking at me like that?
Shane stopped by three days ago to check my pipes. He said it was standard procedure to make sure everything was still running smoothly, but I got the impression he was looking for an opportunity to see me again. It felt like he had checked me out more than the pipes.
Then when he asked me out for drinks, I faltered. My gut immediately declined his offer because I don’t feel anything for Shane—no tingles, no flutters, no heart palpitations. I don’t envision the way his lips would feel pressed to mine, or daydream about his hands sliding over my curves, slick with rainwater, hungry and eager.
My body seems to want Parker and only Parker.
But Parker is unattainable.
And, well… Shane is interested. He’s emotionally available. He appears to be reliable and stable. I’ve known him for a long time, and my brother vouches for him. Shane follows-up, and he says nice things, and he smiles.
I think I need that. I need to feel like there is hope after Charlie.
While I wasn’t prepared to rush into anything intimate, I did agree to go out with him—as long as West and Leah could tag along.
A double-date of sorts. A group outing.
Something fun and carefree with no expectations.
Only… now I’m doubting my decision because Parker is staring at me like I just ripped the rug out from under him.
My bottom lip quivers slightly as I reply, “I’m going on a date.”
“Why?”
“Because he invited me out to Breaker’s tonight, and I said yes.” His frown deepens, so I continue. “You called me a nuisance. You said I drive you crazy. You didn’t text me back after we…” I trail off, swallowing hard. “You told me to stay away from you, so that’s what I’m trying to do.”
Parker deflates a little, his eyes dancing to the right as he processes my words. A few moments pass before he responds with a quick nod, taking a step back. “Yeah,” he mutters quietly. “Okay.”
He doesn’t look at me again. He keeps his focus elsewhere as he continues to pace backwards, fingers tightening into fists at his sides. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Mostly because I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure how to react to his reaction.
Parker doesn’t deny my claims or attempt to take them back.
He just walks away, allowing me to believe all the things I hoped he’d retract.
I didn’t mean that, Melody.
I take it all back.
Don’t go on that date.
Fairytales.
Shane is an obtainable reality, and Parker is a fantasy.
I watch him storm over to his truck, climb inside, and careen out of the parking lot without a single glance in my direction.
Gathering my wits, I slide into my own vehicle, and when the door is closed tight and my hands are gripping the steering wheel, a single word flashes in my mind…
Breakable.
Maybe he’s right.
Maybe Parker’s right, because all I want to do is shatter.
Breaker’s is loud and crowded, bustling with laughter, pool balls clinking, and clattering glasses as bartenders race to keep up with patrons. Leah’s squeal ruptures through the chaos when West sneaks up behind her and hoists her in the air, his arms snaking around her slim waist.
“You ass!” she cries, but her teeth flash white, and a giddy laugh follows.
I smooth my hands over my red maxi dress, a smile lifting, as Shane gets into position beside me with his cue stick. I’m pretty terrible at playing pool, but it’s a great distraction, considering the circumstances. There’s no one-on-one pressure for deep conversation or intimacy.
“Five ball in the corner pocket,” Shane murmurs, leaning down to aim his shot.
We’ve been here for an hour now, and I’ve been nursing my Old Fashioned the whole time. I haven’t been a big drinker since college—the incident with Charlie’s mother was a one-time offense, and a giant stain on my memory. I’ll have a glass of wine every now and then, but I’ve never needed alcohol to have fun.
And then… I just stopped having fun altogether.
Shane succeeds in hitting the five ball in the corner pocket, and West boos, draping his arm around Leah’s shoulders.
“What do you think, Mel?” Shane remarks, studying the table.
Pulling my lips between my teeth, I stiffen. Only Charlie and West call me Mel. “Hmm, how about the six?”
“That’s a stripe. We’re solid.”
“Oh, right.” The ice cubes clank against glass as I twirl the drink in my hands. “Nine?”
“That’s what I was thinking,” he says with a wink.
He misses the shot, and West assesses his next play after downing his beer.
As I’m gearing up for my turn, I feel two warm palms clasp my waist from behind, and I freeze. Shane’s cologne wafts around me, something aromatic and crisp. Sage and mint. It’s a pleasant aroma, but it causes my stomach to pitch instead of flutter.
I miss the smell of woods and rainfall.
“You look really sexy tonight,” Shane whispers against my ear, leaning down over my shoulder and giving my waist a squeeze.
I inch my way out of his grip, throwing him a small smile. “Thank you.”
“I mean, you’re always sexy. Even that night at the brewery in your oversized hoodie and messy hair… I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
I remember that night.
It was the night I almost killed myself.
Swallowing, I bob my head. A wave of guilt infiltrates me, knowing I feel nothing for this man, despite the fact that he’s kind, attentive, good-looking, and smart. On paper, he fits. Shane could easily be a compatible partner.
But his eyes aren’t green like the Everglades. His build is too broad, and he smells like a department store instead of the great outdoors. His hands don’t look like they’ve ever really built anything before, his hair is coarse, not soft like silk, and his voice… his voice doesn’t shoot tingles up my spine and goosebumps across my skin.
I’m ruined.
Leah strolls up to me with two shot glasses, an unidentifiable liquid splashing over the rims. I immediately scrunch my nose up. “Absolutely not.”
“Aw, shucks, fine. Worth a shot,” she teases, handing the extra glass to Shane, who takes it eagerly.
I’m shaking my head at her awful joke when I notice her eyes skip over my shoulder and widen as she sets her sights on something. “What? What is it?”
“Holy hell, babe…” Leah steps closer to me, eyes still fixed on an unknown subject. “Don’t look now, but your contractor is sitting at the bar, and he looks really, really good.”
What?
My heart nearly detonates. “Parker?”
“I think so. Mr. Silent and Tortured?”
I nod mutely.
“That’s him. Shit, he’s looking over here.” Leah jerks her head until she’s fully facing me, eyebrows wiggling with mischief. “He’s hot, Mellie. Poor Shane doesn’t stand a chance.”
Biting into my lip, I blurt, “I slept with him.”
Leah’s eyes bug out, gleaming gold and gobsmacked. Her lips shape into a glossy O, and she instantly snatches my wrist to drag me towards the bathrooms.
“I choked. You’re up, Mel,” West intervenes, trying to call us over before we disappear.
“Be right back!” Leah shouts. When we’re out of earshot of the two men, Leah pulls me towards the far wall across from the restrooms, cupping my cheeks with her hands. Her long, talon-like nails are blood red, matching the lip stain on her mouth—her mouth that quickly curls into a Cheshire grin. “Oh, my God. Shut the fucking front door.”
“It was a mistake,” I croak out.
/>
“It most certainly was not. That man is not a freakin’ mistake, babygirl.”
Amusement forces its way through the swelling anxiety, and I crack a smile before choking it back down. “It’s a mess, Leah. He has the emotional capacity of a spatula.”
She frowns, dropping her hands. “Not ideal.”
“He said he doesn’t even like women.”
“Possibly concerning…”
“He won’t kiss me. He said he’s never kissed anyone before.”
Leah slides her lower lip between her teeth, her gaze flickering across my face with quiet assessment. “But you like him,” she concludes, tender but firm.
I blink, letting her words soak through all the doubts and misgivings. Through the dark clouds and bleak thoughts. If I chip away long enough, maybe I’ll wind up at the meaty center of it all, which basically comes down to: “Yeah… I like him.”
Her smile embraces me like a warm hug. It’s the last thing I see before Shane wanders up to us, his beer dangling in his hand, tapping his thigh as he clears his throat.
“I was wondering where you ran off to,” he says, his blueish gaze raking over me. “It’s your turn.”
Leah gives my arm a comforting pinch, almost like she’s reminding me of my unhindered confession. I gift her with a soft grin, then share it with Shane. “Sounds good.”
We follow him back over to the pool table, and I instantly scour the room for Parker. He’s easy to spot, sitting alone at the bar with no beverage, and only a familiar scowl to keep him company. His knee bobs up and down, his one foot propped along the rung of the bar stool as his hand scratches at the back of his head while he fidgets in place. He looks nervous, uncomfortable. Totally out of his element.
Why is he here?
Did he come because of… me?
As I approach the table, Parker glances my way.
Our eyes lock, my heart skips, and my breath stalls in the back of my throat, causing my feet to halt mid-step. My blood pumps hot, my insides singing.
And that’s when Shane wraps his arm around my waist, tugging me against him and swallowing me up—as if he’s staking a claim and asserting what’s his. I watch the muscles in Parker’s neck distend, veins dilating. His lax posture turns rigid as his eyes dip to the arm curled around my middle. When they lift back to me, they are violent and virescent.
The Wrong Heart Page 19
