One Good Reason (A Boston Love Story Book 3)

by Julie Johnson

It’s true; he did offer. Twice.

  I objected because I felt like being obstinate at the time. But that was ten blocks ago, when we were still in the Financial District and I was feeling high and mighty. Now, all I’m feeling is cold and I have the beginnings of a cramp in my side from lugging the heavy bag all this way.

  I sigh again.

  If I ask him to carry it, he will in a heartbeat.

  I won’t though — I’d rather suffer in silence than give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right.

  Ass face.

  “Want a piggy back ride?” he offers, dropping my hand and doubling over like a parent offering their six-year-old a lift. His eyebrows waggle in an obnoxiously cute way.

  I roll my eyes and brush past him.

  His long-legged strides catch up to mine in seconds. “Not even a smile. Jeeze. This is my best material.”

  “This is your best material?” I ask skeptically.

  “I take it back — my best material involves a lot less talking and a lot fewer clothes.” He winks.

  I make fake gagging noises.

  He bumps his shoulder into mine in retaliation. “If I were a lesser man, I’d be offended that you don’t laugh at any of my jokes.”

  “Playboy, you don’t seem to be offended by anything I say or do, so—”

  My words are cut off by the sound of my phone buzzing noisily in the side pocket of my bag. I pull it out, glance at the screen, and frown when I see it’s Luca calling. I don’t want to ignore his call — he’s insufferably overprotective about my “safety” — but I also don’t want to talk to him while Parker West’s side is fused against mine like superglue.

  Just putting Luke and Parker in the same sentence makes me uncomfortable. I can’t imagine what would happen if they were ever in the same room — the cage-fighting UFC-hopeful and the cavalier billionaire, breathing the same air.

  Nothing good, probably.

  “I’ll call him back later,” I mutter absentmindedly to myself, hitting a button to send the call to voicemail. Glancing up, I find Parker staring at me.

  “Boyfriend?” His tone is light, but his eyes are sharp.

  I shove the phone back into the side pocket. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “Yes,” he says immediately. “That’s why I asked.”

  I roll my eyes. “Can we focus? You were supposed to take me to your house. Not for a stroll along the marina. It’s pretty fucking cold out here, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “Hey, anytime you want to come a little closer, just say the word. You won’t hear me objecting, darling.”

  “How thoughtful,” I snap sarcastically.

  He smirks as we round a bend in the path and I suck in a breath.

  Twinkling white lights and red bows adorn every tree in the park. There’s a man in a Santa hat collecting money for a local charity — every few seconds the sharp peal of his bell rings out, followed by his voice.

  Merry Christmas! Ho, ho, ho!

  A family walks a few yards ahead of us, the little girl holding both her parents’ hands. She looks up at them with pure love in her eyes as they pull her toward the nearby carousel, which is blaring holiday music from every speaker. All three of them are signing off-key.

  It’s the most wonderful time of the year…

  I drop my eyes and try to breathe through the stinging ache inside my chest.

  “Seriously,” I ask Parker when I think my emotions are under control. My voice cracks a bit, despite my efforts. “Are we getting close?”

  I don’t know how much more of this I can take.

  He nods. “Yep.”

  “And?”

  “Which part of yep did you not comprehend?”

  I shoot him a look. “Just tell me where we’re going.”

  “Sorry, I left your copy of the day’s itinerary at home.”

  “I don’t need an itinerary. I need basic facts.”

  “You are really fucking terrible at being spontaneous, you know that?”

  “Spontaneity is irresponsible and overrated.”

  “It’s also something else.”

  I raise my brows. “Reckless?”

  “Fun.” His eyes narrow. “You ever do anything just for fun, Zoe? Ever let those wheels in your head stop spinning for long enough to enjoy yourself?”

  No.

  I look away. “That’s none of your business.”

  “Guess that’s my answer.”

  I scowl. “I have fun.”

  “Oh, yeah?” he asks. “Doing what? Plotting world destruction? Overthrowing governments? Sabotaging corporate businessmen?”

  “Maybe I find that stuff fun.”

  “Maybe.” He pauses. “But I have a feeling you’ve never really had fun in your life.”

  I slam to a halt and, since our hands are still interlocked, he stops too. “You don’t know anything about me! And, for your information, I have plenty of fun.”

  He looks skeptical.

  “I…” I trail off. “I run. Three times a week. That’s fun.”

  “Running isn’t fun.” Parker shakes his head. “It’s a mandatory activity one partakes in so they can continue to eat copious amounts of tacos.”

  I smile, despite myself. “Well, I do other fun things.” My mind spins as I try to think of something — anything — I do for pure enjoyment. “Like… I do graphic design on the side, sometimes.”

  “A useful skill,” he says, looking unimpressed. “Not a fun one.”

  “Well…” I trail off again. I feel a humiliating blush creeping up onto my cheeks. “Just… Give me a minute, I’ll think of something.”

  “Wow. You really don’t do anything for fun.” His voice is incredulous. “That’s just sad, snookums. Pathetic.”

  “I do so!” I protest. “And I am not pathetic!”

  “I didn’t mean you were pathetic,” he corrects softly, his eyes going gentle in a way that makes me nervous. “I meant it’s a pathetic state of affairs that someone like you doesn’t have a single moment of her day reserved for pure, unadulterated joy.”

  “Not all of us have time for hobbies, playboy.” My voice may be a tiny bit defensive. Caustic, even.

  He doesn’t seem to notice. “We’re about to make time.”

  “What?”

  “Come on,” he says, tugging me after him once more.

  “Wait!” I drag my heels but it’s no use. “Would you just stop! You promised you were taking me to the flash drive.”

  “I am,” he calls over his shoulder, never breaking stride as he leads me off the path onto one of the marina docks jutting out over the water. “Two birds, one stone, darling.”

  I sigh. Fighting with him is exhausting — especially since he seems to enjoy it so much. Then again, I’d be lying if I said there isn’t a certain amount of attraction — Shit, I mean amusement — in arguing with the man.

  “Oh, cheer up.” He slows his pace a bit until I’ve caught up. “Humor me with this one, tiny detour, and then you’ll get your flash drive back and be rid of me forever, snookums.”

  I turn my head to glare at him.

  “I mean Zoe,” he corrects, grinning unabashedly. His cheeks are red from the cold. His eyes are gleaming again. He’s annoyingly good-looking.

  “Fine,” I mutter because, honestly, it’s easier to cave at this point.

  He pumps a fist into the air, victorious, like he’s Judd Freaking Nelson in The Breakfast Club.

  “One tiny detour,” I add in a threatening voice. “That’s all I’m agreeing to.”

  “Of course,” he agrees readily — he’s so full of shit — before tugging my arm so I stumble into him. We collide, our interlocked hands trapped between our bodies, our sides pressed together as we walk along the dock.

  It feels distinctly couple-esque.

  Definitely crossing into PDA territory.

  And yet… he’s warm. Like a human space heater.

  At least, that’s the reason I give myself for sta
ying close to him as we make our way down the docks. There are only a handful of boats in the harbor this time of year — it’s too cold, even at the heated marina slips, for most to remain in the water. We eventually come to a stop at the end of the row, where a massive sailboat is docked. Its hull is starkly white in contrast to the lapping gray waves. It must be at least sixty feet long.

  I eye the vessel warily. “Please tell me we’re not going deep sea fishing.”

  He laughs. “You can’t go deep sea fishing on a sailboat.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” I murmur. “I’ve never been on one.”

  “A sailboat?”

  “Any boat.”

  I don’t do boats. I don’t know how to swim. Hell, I’ve only been to the beach a handful of times in my entire life, and frankly I would’ve rather eaten a bucketful of sand than actually enter those shark-infested waters.

  Um, hello? They filmed Jaws in Martha’s Vineyard for a reason.

  Still — my aversion to water sports is a rarity, in a place like this. Boston is surrounded on three sides by water. If you grow up here, there’s a good chance you’ll spend your summers tanning at a beachfront cottage on the Cape, sailing between the harbor islands, zipping around on jet skis, tubing or waterskiing off the back of a motorboat.

  Assuming, of course, you have parents who are alive to do those things with you…

  I feel Parker studying me, but I keep my eyes trained forward. I don’t want to see the curiosity — or worse, the pity — in his stare.

  “Well,” he says, his voice softer than usual. “Let’s do something about that.”

  I swallow hard, determined not to broadcast the idea of getting onboard that thing scares the shit out of me. I’ve always been in favor of keeping both feet planted firmly on the ground.

  But… The more time I spend with him, the more I’m getting the feeling Parker lives in total contradiction to that belief. His is a changeable, mercurial existence — flying on wind currents, skimming over waves. He, down to a molecular level, challenges everything about the person I’ve worked to become and the values I’ve tried to instill.

  I’m careful. Cautious. Methodical.

  He’s bold. Brash. Free.

  It’s anathema.

  It’s addicting.

  “Spend one afternoon with me,” he whispers. For once, his voice is totally stripped of that wisecracking sarcasm he’s constantly using.

  I look up at him, straight into his eyes, and feel my heart thudding too loud inside my veins. I don’t want to ask the question — I don’t want to reveal any insecurity to him — but I can’t seem to stop the words from tumbling out.

  “Why are you so intent on spending time with me?”

  “I like you,” he says softly, hazel eyes roaming my face like a detective searching a crime scene for clues. “Is that so hard to believe?”

  “You don’t know me,” I counter.

  He thinks about that for a minute. “Thing is, that’s not really an excuse. Because no one ever really knows anybody. Some people spend their whole lives with someone, only to find out after they’re gone that everything they thought they knew was total bullshit.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. I’m stunned to find… I actually agree with him.

  His hand tightens on mine. “I’ve traveled a lot. Been all over the world. Seen places of immense poverty and immense wealth. For a long time, I wanted to see everything, just so I could say I’d done it. Climbed Kilimanjaro, walked among the moai statues at Easter Island, dived on an underwater volcano in Indonesia, seen the dragons on Komodo. But at a certain point, you realize you’ll never see it all before you die—” He pauses. “—or before some petite, pretty-as-hell hacker frames you for murder and sends you to prison with a cellmate named Nacho.”

  “Diablo,” I correct, laughing.

  He shrugs. “My point is, you can’t see it all. You have to pick and choose. Prioritize the places you want to visit, the way you want to spend your limited days on this earth. Life’s too damn short to waste it with people who don’t make you happy, in places that don’t excite you, doing things that don’t challenge you.” He looks at me — really looks — and I get the oddest sense that he actually sees me. This person who, by all accounts, is nothing more than a partying playboy, a tabloid prince, a paparazzi favorite… somehow understands me.

  Me.

  Zoe Bloom, who’s never been anywhere outside the Greater Boston Area, never even heard of half the places he rattled off with such familiarity.

  “Zoe,” he says lowly, snapping my attention back to him. “You travel that much, you get pretty good at sorting out the things you’ll enjoy exploring from the places that’ll leave your soul empty.” His hand gives mine a quick squeeze. “Only took one look at you to know which category you’d fall into.”

  I suck in a sharp breath.

  Only took one look…

  “So,” he says, before I have time to recover.

  “So?” I echo, ignoring the racing of my heart.

  “Spend the day with me. Let me take you on an adventure. Let me show you what fun looks like.”

  I take a breath.

  Here it is. The tipping point.

  I’ve been putting him off all day, telling myself I don’t like him, don’t want to spend any more time with him than I have to, that lingering in his presence is due to the flash drive, nothing else. Certainly not because I might actually like him.

  That would be crazy. Right?

  His expression is easy-going as he waits for my answer, but his eyes never lose that intent edge as they stare into mine. There’s something simmering at the back of his irises that I can’t quite define — I don’t know him well enough.

  But I want to, a voice in my mind stuns me by replying. I want to know this man — want to see what lies beneath that facade of trust-fund entitlement and joking nonchalance.

  “Okay, Parker,” I whisper. His eyes flare when I say his name — his real name, not playboy or man-child. “One day. One adventure. You’d better make it count.”

  “Darling… Something to know about me?” He leans closer. “I always make it count.”

  7

  The Bad Idea

  We walk along the side of the boat until we reach a narrow wooden gangway extending over the water. One end rests on the dock before us; the other sits on the rail of the sailboat. It looks far too thin to hold Parker’s body weight, but he doesn’t even blink as he strides out onto the ramp like he’s done it a million times before. He probably has done it a million times before.

  He pulls me along behind him and I have to bite down on my lip to keep from yelling, Wait just a goddamned minute! We don’t all live like you, jumping into things without ever glancing at the ground.

  He must feel my hand go tense in his, because his grip loosens to release it. He stops in the middle of the gangway and glances back at me.

  “You okay?”

  My eyes dart down to the thin piece of wood suspending him over the water. There is no fucking way I’m walking on that thing in heels. “Peachy.”

  His eyes narrow. “Oh really?”

  “Yep.” I swallow. “I just don’t want to plummet into the harbor, seeing as it looks about as warm as the White Witch from the Narnia movies and I’d rather not freeze to death.”

  “Narnia?” His mouth twitches. “Really?”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “Yes, really. Why do you sound so surprised?”

  “I just wouldn’t have pegged you as a kids’ movie fan. I kind of figured you only watched documentaries. Black and white silent films. Foreign flicks with subtitles. Shit like that.”

  “Well, you’re wrong.” My voice lowers. “And for the record, Narnia is not just a kids’ movie.”

  “Whoa.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “Happy to be proven wrong. Let’s have a movie night, you can educate me on all things Narnian.”

  “We’re not having a movie night.”


  “Why not?”

  “We’ve been through this. Multiple times. I’m not going out with you.”

  “Technically, I was suggesting we stay in.”

  “Still not happening.”

  “Uh huh.” His tone is amused. As though he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying.

  Idiot.

  I strive for composure. “Listen. You really need to wrap your mind around this…” I make sure to emphasize every word, so he can’t possibly misinterpret my meaning. “After today, we’re never going to see each other again.”

  He thinks about that for a nanosecond. “You’re very persnickety.”

  “This is me being nice,” I inform him. “If you give me my flash drive back, you won’t have to experience my truly disagreeable side.”

  “But, Zoe… I like your disagreeable side.”

  I look skyward and ask the heavens, “Why me? What did I do to deserve this?”

  “Oh, don’t be so dramatic.”

  My gaze returns to Parker. “I hate you,” I say tiredly.

  “Well, can you hate me from onboard?” He bounces a bit and the whole gangplank shakes like a tambourine. “You’re shivering. It’s warmer inside.”

  My eyes widen. “Don’t bounce like that, you’ll snap the wood.”

  “That’s what she said.”

  I glare.

  He grins. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” He bounces again and the board jumps beneath his feet. “Come on. It’s perfectly safe.”

  “Would you stop that?!” I exclaim, watching the plank rattle precariously. Another good bounce and he’ll be in the water.

  “Why?” he asks, bouncing again. The board slips closer to the edge of the rail. “You worried about me?”

  “No.” I swallow. My eyes are locked on his tread-less leather shoes — sliding again and again — and I feel my stomach clench. “You’re going to fall into the fucking harbor and I am not jumping in after you, man-child.”

  “Aw.” He laughs. “You’re worried about my welfare. It’s cute.”

  I make an incredulous sound. “Only you would interpret that statement as cute.”

  “How much longer are you going to delay getting on the boat?”

  “At the very least until you stop bouncing like a six-year-old in an inflatable castle.”