Jesus.
I listened to his words, not thinking for a minute that they were actually about me. But I saw the simmering anger. I saw the confusion written in his eyes. I saw everything he was trying to hide, like he’d stripped naked in front of me for only me to see.
And when he was naked, exposed, vulnerable, my heart latched a little tighter onto him.
I couldn’t turn him away any more than I could accept what he was saying.
I was stuck in some limbo zone, fighting internally with how to accept his words.
Because if I accepted it, if I let him in, I would slowly drive him away from me until all that was left was a shell of a man who had to leave me in the middle of the night because he couldn’t deal with the trouble he’d made.
I knew he wasn’t my ex, but damn if I knew how to protect Parker. Because protecting him had become the most important thing in the world to me in the span of the three minutes he’d been standing in front of me.
And maybe the best protection would be holding him close. Keeping him safe. Keep your friends close but your enemies closer, right? Maybe my enemy was myself, and maybe if I gave myself over to Parker and held him close, that would be the best way to keep him safe.
It was worth a shot.
I had nothing to lose.
Parker was the one who had everything to lose.
“What do you want me to say, Parker?” I finally asked, breaking the spell that held our eyes captive to one another.
“I want you to give me a chance. Give me your number. Let me take you out. Let me kiss you like I’ve wanted to kiss you since the day I first saw you. Prove to me that waiting for you—that passing up all of the women I could’ve had over the past six weeks—was worth it.”
If that wasn’t a sick and demented way to earn your way into somebody’s good graces, I didn’t know what was.
But damn if it didn’t work anyway.
“I get off work tonight at eight,” I finally said, my voice small.
“Eight?” he asked incredulously, like I’d handed him the hidden secrets of the world.
I nodded once.
“I’ll be back at 7:57,” he said, his voice full of authority that managed to kill a part of me at the same time it sparked everything inside of me. “Just in case you decide to sneak out early.”
I chuckled, and he walked out of my store.
nine
The day lagged in a jagged haze of nothingness. I spent more time trying to figure out what I really wanted to do with my life than I did anything else that day.
Normally I loved my job. I’d never really aspired to anything else.
But some strange thought crept into my head that there had to be more out there for me than working at Vintage for the rest of my life. I couldn’t seem to push out Parker’s words from the night we’d met when he had asked me why I worked there. I didn’t need to work. Surely my talents could be used somewhere else. I’d been complimented on my singing talent. I had my mother’s flair for fashion.
But I didn’t want to be my father or follow in his footsteps. And Lord knows I wanted nothing to do with my mother’s footsteps.
I think the reason why I couldn’t settle on any single ambition was that my God-given talents were those of my parents. I wanted my own life built my own way. I just wasn’t sure what that looked like anymore. And even as I thought it, I knew I’d use the money my father had given me to get to the ultimate end goal. Wherever that was.
But as I stood in the break room of Vintage, staring down at that old, grooved kitchen table, I had a feeling my future wouldn’t be folding t-shirts for much longer.
My personality and my family background made me more of an employer than an employee. I didn’t have the credentials to own a business, but I had the money to. I’d just never wanted to before.
Was it Parker that was doing this to me?
I wasn’t sure, but I was definitely thinking in a new way and feeling a lot of new things.
Things I’d never felt before.
It was actually 7:52 when I felt his presence in the store again. Ordinarily my days at Vintage passed in a whirl because I enjoyed it, but I was anticipating this meeting. Every passing tick of the clock felt longer than the last.
I felt him first, and then I saw him before he saw me this time. I’d been checking out a customer at the register when he’d slipped into the store, and I saw him looking around for me. I took a moment to drink him in while the man I was helping ran his debit card through the reader.
Every part of him screamed that he was a musician. Strong arms that looked like they could shred the shit out of a guitar. Hands that worked hard strumming strings and caressing microphones. He was dressed in all black again, except he was missing his trademark backwards hat. My guess was because he wanted the one he’d left with me. He was hoping he’d get it back. I saw the tattoos peeking out from his short-sleeved shirt again. I was curious about his selection of ink. I’d seen it courtesy of my Google searches, but I wondered why he’d chosen the images he had.
I had a feeling I’d find out someday.
“You’re early,” I called from behind the register. His head whipped around in my direction.
A smile tipped up the corners of his mouth. “And you’re gorgeous.”
I felt heat creep up my neck, an unfamiliar sensation. I wasn’t used to feeling out of my element, but Parker managed to constantly do that to me.
I put the man’s purchase into a bag and handed him his receipt. “I thought so, too,” the man said to Parker. “But I’m guessing you’ve got a better shot than me.”
I stood mortified, shuffling some paperwork on the counter behind me to gain my bearings. The man was absolutely right. He had no chance. Not when Parker was looking at me with all of that heat in his eyes.
They said more words to each other, but I tuned them out. I couldn’t hear over the roaring embarrassment in my ears, anyway.
“Seven minutes.” His voice was low and close to my ear. I wasn’t sure when he’d moved in so close behind me, but I could feel his heat.
And fuck did it turn me on.
I’d known the guy for all of a couple of hours with six long weeks peppered in, but he seemed like the kind of guy who would walk into a place and my clothes would supernaturally fall off.
In fact, I was sort of surprised I still had clothes on.
“Until what?” I finally asked, turning around to face him.
Big mistake.
Because I almost took my clothes off in the middle of Vintage.
His eyes were full of lust. That’s all this was. This was a game of desire, and he was winning.
“Until we get the fuck out of here.”
“And then what?”
“I think we both know where this is going.” His voice was sinful. Dangerous.
But so fucking warm.
“I’d love it if you could spell it out for me.”
“I’m going to do things to you that I’ve thought about doing for six endless weeks.”
“And what might that be?”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if he was trying to hold himself back from something. He glanced up at the clock. “Six minutes. You’ll find out in six minutes.”
My heart stuttered a bit on his quote about “six minutes.” It reminded me of my thoughts earlier that day about six minutes feeling longer than the six weeks he’d been gone.
And this six minutes was going to be the death of me.
“Who says I’m going to let you do those things to me?”
“You do. With the way you’re eye-fucking me.”
I laughed. I couldn’t really argue that. He seemed to instinctively know that we were on the same page.
A customer came up to the register to check out. She set a Madonna record in front of me, a collector’s item, and her friend looked at Parker the same way I did.
She was eye-fucking him, too.
And I didn’t like it.
>
His eyes were still on me, watching my every move as I rang up the purchase.
“Excuse me,” the friend of my customer said. She was looking at Parker, but he was still staring intently at me.
“Are you Parker James?” she asked.
I glanced over at him, and he slowly turned to look at the girl. “I am.”
“Oh my God! I’m such a huge fan!” She was gushing. Annoyingly. Obnoxiously.
“Thank you.” It was a simple statement, and he turned his attention back to me. My hands shook slightly as I bagged the record.
“Can I get a picture with you?”
He sighed and leaned in close to me, touching his lips to my temple. A shudder ran the length of my body at his touch and the implication of it. He was showing this fan that he wasn’t interested in anything more than a picture. I respected that. It made me actually believe his words about his lack of action during his tour. He’d given me no reason to think he had lied, but I was a disbeliever by nature.
“Sure,” he said, stepping around the counter to fulfill his duties as the lead guitarist in an up-and-coming band.
A smile tipped my lips watching him. He maintained his distance even though she didn’t. He was respectful but direct, making it clear from the way his eyes kept moving in my direction that he only had eyes for one woman in the store that night.
It lit something inside of me that I’d never felt before. It made me feel cherished, treasured.
I’d never been treasured before. I’d been used, neglected, ignored, recycled, mistreated, possessed, obsessed, infatuated. But I’d never felt that special value of someone revering me. Wanting me. Loving me.
Parker gave me that, and he didn’t even know me. In some ways, he’d given me more in the couple of minutes we’d interacted than Damien had given me the entire time we’d been together.
Damien and I met in high school. He was a year older than me, a senior when I was a junior. He’d transferred in from another school, and we passed each other in the hallway on his first day. His piercing blue eyes had met mine, and I’d felt a strong pull to him like nothing I’d ever felt before him.
That’s how I knew that this connection to Parker was real.
I’d felt a pull at first sight before with Damien. But it was different. With him, it was all about friendship first. Feelings came later. Addiction came later.
But with Parker, the emotions I’d been missing for so long came first. They came before I’d ever even seen his face. They surged through me when I’d heard his voice in the alley defending me, and they’d implanted in my blood the moment our eyes met across the room.
My first words to him had been sexual, so it didn’t surprise me that he had certain expectations. I wanted it, too. I wanted to give myself over to him—eventually—even though I knew we would be bad for each other.
I’d be honest with him, and if he decided to risk it anyway, there wouldn’t be anything I could do to stop him.
I wished I was stronger than I was. I wished I could protect him.
But I was only human. My humanity had no chance against his sex appeal.
“Time’s up, Jimi.”
I glanced over at the clock. Eight o’clock on the dot.
“Let me just run in back and punch out. I’ll meet you back here in a minute.”
He nodded, allowing me to do my thing.
I headed to the break room and stamped my timecard through the machine. I yelled a hasty goodbye to Tim.
Poor Tim. He looked longingly in my direction. He had no idea that he just wasn’t cut out for me. He had no idea that I was leaving with another man and that I wanted to let Parker fuck me for the rest of the night.
I grabbed my purse and my keys out of the drawer where I stored them in the back room and headed toward the front to meet Parker.
“Where do you want to go?” I asked when we walked out the front door together. I felt his hand on the small of my back, and more unfamiliar emotions rocketed through me.
“I know a place. It’s a little bit of a dive.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“You drive a Porsche?” he asked as we approached my car.
I nodded. “What do you drive?”
He nodded in the direction of the car parked directly next to mine. A GMC Jimmy. It looked like it had to be twenty years old.
“Ironic,” I said, a hint of a smile turning up my lips.
He moved in close to me, so close that his body was flush against mine while my entire back side pressed against the door of my Porsche. His eyes never left mine.
“Quite ironic, Jimi,” he said, his voice soft and his breath whispering against my lips. His eyes flicked for one second down to my lips, and he moved in even closer.
“Where are we going?” I asked, breaking the spell between us.
Parker cleared his throat and backed away from me. “Follow me. It’s not far. A little Mexican place in Culver City. You know where Washington is?”
I nodded. I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of Culver City, but chances were slim that I’d run into the only man I knew who lived there.
I followed Parker’s old SUV through the streets of LA until we wound up in front of a taco shop. We both managed to find spots in the small lot behind the building. He met me just behind my car and pulled my hand into his as we walked toward the entrance.
A little shiver pierced my torso.
I should avoid him at all costs. I knew that. I’d only end up hurt again in the end.
Even his goddamn warm hand in mine was comforting.
There was no way I’d be able to stay away.
ten
“Who gets a cheeseburger at a taco place?”
Parker glared up at me over the top of his Coors Light. “I do.”
“Strange.”
“Best burgers in LA. But I guess you’ll never know since you’re a walking cliché with your tacos.”
I held up my drink. “Don’t forget my margarita.”
He smiled.
I was biting into the best shrimp taco I’d ever tasted in my life when the chimes over the door jingled. I glanced in that direction.
An immediate chill floated through the air despite the warmth Parker made me feel.
Three men walked through the doorway. They were all big, burly men. Individually, they would have been intimidating. But together, the three men walking through that door scared the hell out of me.
Mostly because I recognized one of them.
I shifted my gaze down to my plate. I felt my hands trembling, so I placed them on either side of me.
Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me.
“What’s wrong?” Parker asked, alarm in his voice as he set down his cheeseburger. I felt his eyes on me from across the table, but I knew if I looked up, if I made any movement at all, I’d draw attention to myself. So I stayed still as I felt the eyes of the three men at the door roam around the restaurant.
What the fuck were the chances that I’d run into the one person I didn’t want to see who I knew lived in Culver City?
Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me.
I kept repeating my mantra, hoping for its effectiveness.
Unfortunately, it didn’t work.
“Roxanna Price!” My name boomed out of his slimy mouth. He walked over to our table. I kept my eyes lowered. “How’s little CC doing?”
“Fine,” I said, my voice quiet.
“And how’s the old man?”
“Fine.”
“Fine. Fine? You got anything else to say, girl?”
I shrugged.
“You need anything else?” Parker asked, eyeing the man hovering over our table.
Fuck.
“Parker, don’t.” My voice was sharp.
He didn’t know what Randy was capable of. I wasn’t sure I even fully understood it, but I knew that pissing him off was the worst route to take.
“Look at the
macho man defending his little girl.” He looked at me. “You dating this pussy?” He jerked a thumb toward Parker.
I took a deep breath and looked up at him. Randy Marino was a heavy-set, middle-aged asshole who happened to be a bookie.
He and my dad had grown up together. I didn’t know what sort of illegal business dealings they’d had together, but Randy had been around a lot when I was a kid.
He’d always been a dick, but one of the “highlights” of our history was when he hit on me when I was seventeen fucking years old.
My dad had been in town, and I didn’t want to stay with my mom. My dad had a few friends over, Randy included. They’d been playing cards in the basement. My dad had converted the entire basement into a gaming area, complete with a bar. He had asked me to stay upstairs. I knew there were women down there. Even though I hadn’t seen them come in, I’d heard the noises. I knew they were gambling high stakes, drinking, and smoking something that didn’t smell like a cigarette. I wasn’t naïve.
Plus the distinctive smell of pot had wafted upstairs.
I’d stayed out of the way. My dad and his friends had been busy in the basement, so I figured I was in the clear. I’d wanted a beer, and I knew my dad kept it in the refrigerator, so I checked the hall, found it empty, and darted to the kitchen to grab a couple of bottles for myself.
After I’d procured two bottles and turned around, Randy stood behind me. He was fucked up. He reeked of alcohol and marijuana, and his eyes were bloodshot and unfocused. The look in his eyes told me that he was probably high on something other than pot.
A frisson of fear had run through me, but he was harmless. He had to be. I had to believe he was, because believing the alternative was too scary.
“Pretty CC, pretty CC,” he had sung to me.
Vintage Volume One Page 5
