by Misti Murphy
“It’s not hives,” I mumble. Witch hazel is Bob’s answer for everything. Acne, sunburn, bad moods, cleaning the house. Everything.
“It’s definitely sunburn,” Mom says. She smells like herbs from her garden. Earthy and fresh. “It’s so bad, honey. Come into the kitchen. We’ll put some aloe on it.”
“Seriously, Mom. I’m okay.”
“Are those cupcakes from Molly’s?” Callan asks, his blue eyes dancing with humor under his dark hair, but like a good brother willing to divert our parents for a sugary treat.
“Yep.” I hold the box up as a barricade to more babying from my mother. “I bought carrot cake for you, Bob.”
“With the cream cheese frosting?” His eyes light up.
“Sit down, Bob. You can’t have cupcakes,” Mom starts on him, which is exactly what I need to get her attention off me. A couple years back Bob had a heart attack. It was minor, but Mom is like a hawk when it comes to things that aren’t nutritious. Bob’s as healthy as a horse though, especially with the diet and exercise regime Mom has him on. And he adores cupcakes.
“Come on, Stella. It’s an itty-bitty cupcake. It’s not going to hurt me. I’m strong as an ox.” He thumps his chest with his fist as he sits back down.
“I’m trying to look after your health, love,” Mom says. She’s already wavering thanks to him giving her big puppy dog eyes.
“I know, gorgeous. I know.” He threads his hand into her dirty blonde hair. (I have my father’s hair, I think, because the rest of Mom’s family are blonde too. The tinge of red that runs through mine must have come from him.) “I love you for it, but a man has to get some enjoyment out of life too, doesn’t he?”
“Okay,” she relents, leaning over to kiss him. “But I’m scraping off half the frosting.”
“That a girl.” He slaps her ass as she walks away from him.
“Gross,” Callan says under his breath.
I don’t know. I like the way our parents adore each other. Their mutual affection is sweet. I can’t pretend that I wouldn’t like that for myself at some point.
Mom grabs the box from me and takes it inside to fix Bob’s cupcake to her liking.
“Come on, you two,” Dad says. “Are you going to stand around all day like two daft ducks, or are we going to have brunch?”
***
“About this nobody,” Callan says as we walk down the front steps after Mom closes the door on us. “What’s he like? Is he a nice guy? Does he have his shit together? How much do you know about him?”
“He’s nice,” I tell him. “But it’s new, Cal. I don’t even know if it is anything, so can we save the inquisition until next weekend?”
“I’m just looking out for you.” He shrugs, stopping at the gate where we’ll go our separate ways for another week.
“I know.” I hug his barrel chest.
He casually throws an arm around my shoulder. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“I’m fine, Cal. Seriously.” I can’t blame him for worrying about me. I’d dated a guy named Ty when I was seventeen. He was one of Callan’s friends, and even though my brother advised me not to get involved, I’d let my heart lead. Callan had spent weeks watching action flicks peppered with horror movies and eating ice cream with me in our parent’s basement when it had all fallen apart. I’ll always appreciate that and the fact that he didn’t rub my nose in it after he’d warned me not to date the jerk in the first place. I’d had my heart broken, and he’d lost a friend. It’s an experience I have no plan to repeat. “I’m not falling into anything. I’m not losing my head. And if I need advice you’re the first person I’ll come to.”
“Good. Because the last time was rough.” He kisses the top of my head and lets me go so he can open the gate. “I better get to the bar. I’ll see you next week.”
“Yep. Next week.”
“Don’t bring those cupcakes. I don’t want to be subjected to another make out session between our parents.”
I roll my gaze to the sky as he walks away. “One day a woman is going to knock you on your ass, and you’ll be the one giving us a sickening display.”
He flips me the bird over his shoulder, and I grin as I turn and hurry toward the train station. I have an appointment with my waxer and then I have to meet Tim for coffee.
***
“There’s my dirty stop-out. Fun night?” Tim grins as I drop into the chair opposite him at our usual table.
Saturday coffee and catching up on Friday night gossip has been our routine since the first time we went out for drinks together. This is the first time that I’m the focus of the conversation though.
“Nothing to report. Did you order coffee?”
“Yeah. Vanilla Latte with cocoa on top for you. An Americano for me.”
“Great. Awesome.” I toss my bag on the chair beside me.
“Got you one of those bagels you like too.”
“You’re the best,” I gush. “Brunch feels like it was hours ago.”
“Now give me the details, Breezy. Spill. You can’t spend the evening schmoozing with Parker Kent and not tell me all about it.”
“Really it was nothing,” I start, before the server arrives with our order. Tim wiggles his eyebrows at me while the girl puts our coffees and bagels on the table between us.
I pick up my vanilla latte and sip the cocoa from the top. Nothing is the wrong word for the evening I spent with Parker. My chest warms, reminiscing over it.
“Come on, woman. With that smile you have to be holding out on me. I can’t handle the anticipation. Is it really as big as the pictures make out? That whole the camera adds ten pounds...”
“I don’t know,” I tell him.
“You don’t know?” His blond brows form a craggy mountain line on his forehead. “You didn’t sleep with him? You didn’t go home with him?”
“He took me home. To my place. To make sure I got home safely.” I cut my bagel into wedges. “I didn’t sleep with him.”
“But your face,” Tim says and then stops. “You do realize you look like you were attacked by Beardzilla, right?”
“He kissed me. We kissed. A lot.” I press my fingers to my neck. “It’s really bad, isn’t it?”
“Eh. I’ve seen worse pash rash,” Tim says. “On stop signs.”
“Funny.”
“You’re supposed to have a date with him tonight, aren’t you?” Tim pats my arm and grimaces.
“Makeup will cover it.”
“Sure,” Tim agrees. “And if not, at least your face will match your hair.”
“Fuck.” It must be worse than I thought.
“Listen, sweetie.” He sips at his Americano as he finds his sympathy gene, probably located in his big toe with how rarely it breaks the surface. “Parker isn’t going to care. All he’ll see is a reminder that he had his mouth on yours. Men like to see their mark on the person they like. Beard rash, hickies, or any other form.”
“You people are perverted.” I stick out my tongue, but the way Tim put it... Parker’s mark on me... I sort of see the appeal.
“And by ‘you people,’ I assume you mean men,” Tim says.
“Exactly,” I say before popping a slice of bagel into my mouth. “Maybe I should cancel tonight, if I look that terrible.”
“I have an idea,” he says. “Finish your coffee. We’ve got to make a stop and then we’re going back to your place for a spa and movie afternoon. Hopefully by the time Parker comes to pick you up we can take that glow from neon to sexy.”
CHAPTER SIX
Parker
I grasp the bouquet tighter in my sweaty palm as I lift my fist to Bree’s door. Even though we’ve been out to lunch, and I insisted last night was a date, this is officially our first date. A real date with a girl that I like enough to want to spend time with. I’m not sure how to do this.
“Oh God, what did you do to my face?” Bree’s voice reaches my ears through the door. “I look terrible. I have to cancel.”
; “You can’t cancel,” Tim says. “It’s seven. He’ll be here any minute.”
“B-but, I can’t go out in public like this. How did it get worse?” Her distress is clear as a bell.
What the hell is going on in there? I rap my knuckles on her door, torn between curiosity over what’s wrong, and not wanting to give her a chance to cancel on me. She’s been on my mind all day, and the idea of not seeing her makes me irritable.
“That’s Parker,” Tim says.
“Please, Tim…” Her voice drops until I can’t hear it anymore.
Tim opens the door. “Hey, Parker, how’s it hanging?”
“It’s hanging just fine, thanks for asking,” I say, trying to glance around him. “Is Bree ready?”
“Uh, actually, she’s a tad indisposed.” He runs his gaze over my outfit. Bone colored chinos and a short-sleeved dress shirt. Yes, I Googled appropriate date wear. It’s been a long time. I have no idea what I’m doing. Only that I’ll do what it takes to convince Bree to spend time with me.
He shakes his head and tsks. “Such a shame you’re not into men. What a waste.”
“Is Bree okay?” I try again to get a glimpse around him.
“Yeah. Yeah, she will be. Just a bit of a rash.” He runs his hand over his cheeks, jaw, and neck. “If you know what I mean. Someone was a little too rough on our best gal last night.”
Is he blaming this on me? “I’m not sure what you’re suggesting.”
“Look, she’s cancelling your date because she can’t go out in public right now. People would mistake her for a street lamp. You should probably go. I’m sure she’ll call you when she’s feeling up to it.”
“Or you can let me in, and I’ll take care of her.” I push past him before he can tell me no. If Bree isn’t well, I’m going to do what I can to help her feel better.
Her apartment is small and smells like wontons. A devilish black cat glares at me through slanted yellow eyes from its perch on the arm of the sofa. Tubs and tubes of creams and salves and other cosmetics are scattered over a glass topped coffee table and the faux sheep skin rug underneath.
“She’s not going to like this.” Tim follows me, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Leave it to me,” I tell him, putting the bouquet down on the table. “I promise I’ll take good care of her.”
“Well, I do have a date of my own.” Tim glances longingly at the door.
“Perfect. You go on your date, and I will look after Bree.” I shove him toward the door. “I’ve got this.”
I close the door on him before he can argue that I probably don’t have this situation under control. Bree’s somewhere in the apartment, and my every move is being watched by a feline overlord who stares at me with derision. Did I mention I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing?
I need to make sure Bree’s okay. Crossing the apartment, I knock on the closed door where I assume Bree is hiding. “Can I come in?”
“Parker?” Her voice comes softly back to me.
“Yeah.” I lean my head against the door.
“Where’s Tim?”
“I kicked him out,” I say. “Is there anything I can help with?”
“N-no,” she says.
“Do you wanna tell me what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” she says, and it sounds like she’s drifted closer to the door. “It’s kind of embarrassing.”
“I won’t laugh,” I promise.
“You will,” she says. “And I won’t blame you. I don’t know how it got so much worse.”
“What did, babe?” Babe? It felt so natural rolling off my tongue. I want to say it again and again. But only to Bree.
The door cracks open an inch, enough for me to catch her peeking out at me. One beautiful green eye full of worry peers up at me. “I, uh, had an allergic reaction. On my neck and face. Tim tried to help and now...”
“Can you show me?” I ask her as gently as I can. “I want to see if there’s anything I can do to help you feel better.”
Her whole face comes into view as she allows me to push open the door. Her neck and half her face are red and covered in angry welts.
Fuck.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she asks through swollen lips.
I liked how swollen they were last night. But this... I slide my arm around her and pull her close to my chest. “Babe, it’s not so bad. It’s hardly noticeable.”
“You’re just saying that,” she says. “I look like a clown.”
“No, seriously.” I thread my fingers through her hair and gently tug her head back. I’m scared touching her face will cause her pain. “Babe.” I really like the way that word trips through my lips. “You’re gorgeous no matter what. A total babe whether you’re wearing those prim little suits you favor for work, or that sexy tutu thing from last night, or in your pajamas like you are right now. A little rash isn’t going to change how beautiful you are.”
“Damn it.” She groans as she relaxes against me. “I really didn’t want to like you.”
“Does that mean you do?” My chest swells with warmth. Hell yeah. I give myself a mental fist bump.
“It does,” she says, gazing up at me. Her smile is everything. I will do anything to see it as often as possible.
“I want to kiss you,” I tell her, carefully touching my thumb to her bottom lip. “But I won’t because this looks painful and I don’t want to hurt you.” She makes a strangled sound in the back of her throat as I press my lips to her forehead in the softest touch I can manage. “How about we see what we can do to make you feel better?”
“You don’t have to stay,” she says. “This was supposed to be a first date. Not you looking after me.”
“Pretty sure those two things are synonymous.” I take her hand and lead her over to the couch. “Why don’t you get comfy, and I’m going to see what you have in your medicine cabinet. Which way is your bathroom?”
She tucks her legs up under her and pulls a sparkly cloud shaped pillow onto her lap before pointing. “Over there.”
“I’ll be right back.”
What we need is something to help with the swelling. I search her medicine cabinet. She has a bottle of Benadryl tucked in the back behind a collection of feminine hygiene products.
I wander back into the living room with the bottle and twist the lid off before I hand it to her. “Antihistamines will help. Do you have an ice pack?”
“No.” She takes the bottle from me and reads the directions before taking a swig straight from the neck.
“Doesn’t matter, I’ll find something.”
Grabbing the tea towel from the oven door, I scoop some ice into it. There’s a corkboard hanging on the wall beside the fridge. There’s not much on it, a bill and a couple of photos. And thumbtacks. They wind around the outside of the board in a complicated pattern. Girl really likes her thumbtacks. I cringe as I recall my picture in her cubicle and the thumbtacks decorating my crotch. “What’s with the thumbtacks?”
“Ever heard the expression put a pin in it?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I do. Literally. Whatever is on my mind.”
I’ve been on her mind a lot then. I carry the makeshift ice pack into the living room and hand it to her as I take a seat next to her.
She rests her head on my shoulder, holding the makeshift ice pack to her jaw. “Thank you. Sorry I ruined our date.”
“It’s not ruined,” I say, wrapping my arm around her waist.
She laughs and takes another gulp of Benadryl. “Well, I doubt this is what you had in mind.”
“No, it isn’t,” I agree. “But the important thing here is that we get you feeling better.”
“I’m glad you stayed.” She sighs and snuggles into me, her fingers running lazy circles on my torso and that makes this my best date yet. It also makes my dick twitch and stand to attention, but that seems to be a constant when I’m around her, thinking about her, dreaming about her.
“So what products did y
ou use anyway? We should probably try to work out what you’re allergic to, so it doesn’t happen again.”
“Um,” she says.
“What’s um? It’s one of these products, right?” I gesture to the pile on the table.
“Well, they didn’t help.”
My mind flicks back to what Tim had said when I first got here tonight. About someone being too rough on our gal. My gal. “Want to fill me in?”
“Um.” She glances up at me and brushes her fingers over my stubble as she winces. “Well, it’s just that my skin is a bit sensitive and we, uh, made out a lot last night, and…”
“That’s from me?” From my stubble scratching her skin? Fuck, I’m torn right down the middle of my chest. On the one hand, anyone who saw her today and realized it was beard burn knows she’s been thoroughly kissed by me, which makes me want to crow. On the other it’s my fault she’s in pain, and that hits me right in the gut. I grip the nape of her neck carefully so that I can take a better look. “I’m so sorry, babe.”
“It’s okay. It wasn’t so bad earlier. Until Tim decided to DIY my face. I don’t usually have a problem with cosmetics, but my skin was pretty raw.” She sips at the Benadryl. “And this is helping.”
“Good.” I kiss her temple as lightly as I can. “Then how about I get some food. I saw a pizza joint on my way here. I can pick up some slices and we can watch a movie or whatever you want.”
“That would be awesome,” she says.
“I’ll be as quick as I can,” I tell her, getting up. “Why don’t you pick a movie while I’m gone.”
***
It took me a little longer than I planned. I ordered the pizzas then walked an extra couple blocks to find a pharmacy where I could pick up more Benadryl, shaving cream, and a decent razor. If my facial hair is the cause of all this then it’s fucking gone.
I balance the pizza boxes and the bag with the Benadryl and shaving gear in one hand as I knock on her door.
“Coming,” she calls out.
I wish I could get full enjoyment of where my brain takes me with that one simple word. Her naked body, riding me while she screams about how I’m taking her right where she needs to go.