by Misti Murphy
Who am I kidding? Who would ever get over him? I’m never going to get over him. God, please don’t make me have to.
“We should do something. I’m going to pull over.” He guides the car onto the shoulder.
“No,” I all but shout. “No. Don’t. We should keep going.”
His brow furrows as he shifts the car into park and unstraps his seatbelt. “We should at least make sure they’re okay.”
“You don’t understand,” I insist.
“Call 9-1-1. I’ll just be a moment.”
“Look.” I grab his arm as he opens the door. Pointing to the station wagon with surfboards racked on top that’s pulling onto the shoulder, I say, “Someone else just stopped. Let them handle it.”
“What’s gotten into you? We should make sure they’re okay.”
“A woman just crashed because of you.” I grip his arm tighter. I probably sound like a terrible person. It’s not that I don’t want to help. I do. But... “You’re going to make the situation worse.”
“Now that’s ridiculous.” He climbs out of the car and rushes toward the woman struggling out of her car. She’s shaking and wobbly at the knees. Under blunt platinum bangs her eyes are round with shock. The hood of the car is bent and twisted up on one side. Another man, in boardies and a sleeveless shirt, jogs toward her from the other side of the wreckage.
Parker has no idea what he’s walking into. I jump out and follow him, dialling emergency at the same time.
“Oh my God, you’re Parker Kent,” I hear the woman shriek while I’m still a couple yards from them.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Parker asks.
“Okay?” She turns to inspect her car and wails, “My new car.”
“Are you all right?” The other guy asks, joining them. His Thor blond locks are shoved into a man bun that accentuates a killer jaw. “Should I call emergency?”
“I-I’m fine,” the woman says, tears welling in her eyes.
“Are you sure?” Parker asks.
“This is all your fault,” she says. “You and your perfect smile, and your really good abs, and your...” She gestures at the super cock. “Your. Your. Incredible package.”
“I’m sorry.” Parker gapes at her. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head? We best wait for the paramedics to check you out.”
“I want compensation for my car. This is all your fault. You should fix it.” She closes the distance between them, reaching out to touch his chest. “You owe me for making me crash my car. Your chest is so hard. It’s like granite.”
He gathers her hands up and peels them off his chest. It’s totally wrong that I find this amusing, right? Poor man needs saving. But come on, my boyfriend’s billboard is a disaster. There’s a small sense of satisfaction in him finding out how much of a problem it is. Still... I should jump in and help him.
“I didn’t make you crash your car. I had nothing to do with it. We just pulled over to make sure you were okay.”
“Actually,” the other guy says, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. “Your billboard has been causing crashes along this stretch ever since it went up. Even though they’ve slowed down to one every couple weeks, it’s still a pain in the ass.”
“What?” Parker’s eye bulge in horror. “My billboard? The Calvin Klein ad?”
“You are so sexy, Parker.” The woman twists in his arms and pushes her back against his chest, rubbing against him like a cat. “You made me crash my car. The least you can do is take me home. Compensate me. I don’t care how. Perhaps in your bed.”
The man smirks, and Parker doesn’t know what to do. He’s trying to be nice. A concerned citizen. But his billboard promotes crazy. Grabbing her biceps, he manages to put an inch between them.
“Emergency are on their way.” I squeeze between Parker and the woman. “What’s your name?”
“Tasha,” she says, her starry-eyed gaze stuck on Parker.
“Tasha.” I take her arm and lead her away from my boyfriend. “Is there anything I can get you? Do you need some water? I have some in the car. We should get you a blanket just in case you’re in shock.”
“I’ve got a big beach towel,” the surfer guy says. “I’ll go grab it.”
“I’m not in shock,” she says, glancing over her shoulder as I lead her back to Parker’s car. She wraps her arms around her tiny waist. “That’s Parker Kent. The real Parker Kent.”
“Yes.” I open the passenger door for her. “Why don’t you sit while I find that bottle of water?”
“This is his car, isn’t?” She slides into the buttery leather seat and runs shaking fingers over the dash. “He’s so much prettier than his billboard. I would have his babies in a heartbeat. Such pretty babies.”
Babies with Parker Kent? Gorgeous little cherubs with his perfect Nesquik eyes and dimples? The idea isn’t unappealing. Parker’s pacing a couple yards away, his phone stuck to his ear. I find the bottle I carry in my bag for emergency purposes—mostly hangover emergencies but this definitely qualifies—and pass it to her.
“Here’s the towel.” Thor guy pushes the terrycloth into my hands.
“Thanks... I don’t know your name.”
“Micah.” He shrugs then bends to offer Tasha a grin. “Shock got you good back there.”
“Mmm,” she responds, staring up at him. “Maybe. But that’s Parker Kent. The real Parker Kent.”
Sirens sound in the distance, quickly growing louder.
“I have to admit myself that he’s a good-looking man,” Micah agrees.
“But you can’t blame him for your accident,” I say. “Not really. He had no idea about the issues the billboard was causing.”
An ambulance pulls onto the dirt and two EMTs jump from the front as Micah jogs over to them. A cop car follows a minute later as the paramedics lead Tasha away from Parker’s car. I spend a few minutes talking to the officer and fill her in on what little detail I know.
Parker’s still pacing, no longer with the phone to his ear. Stony faced, he tromps the grass as I join him. “She’s going to be fine now. I think she’s probably a bit embarrassed about her behavior, actually.”
“I can’t do anything about the billboard. Not one fucking thing. I talked to Brad. There’s nothing I can do.”
“But he’ll pass on the information?”
“Yeah, he said he would.” He glances at his phone again. Frowns. His shoulders slump like he’s carrying the weight of the world. “First I’m corrupting innocent minds and now I’m causing car accidents. What’s next?”
“We go back to my place. Order Chinese food from downstairs. Have sex while we wait for it to arrive.”
“That isn’t what I meant.” He shakes his head.
“I know. But you’re not responsible for a child overhearing their parent’s fantasy monologue, or for a woman who can’t keep her eyes on the road. And it sounds like a good idea, doesn’t it? After dinner I’ll let you eat my cookies.”
“Deal.” The weight lifts a little and a smile peeks in the corners of his mouth. “Except the one that looks like Super Cock. That one’s all yours.”
***
“Morning, Breezy.” Tim glances up from his computer as I slip past his cubicle like I’m James Bond on a mission. His eyes dance with laughter. I’m forever grateful he didn’t catch the duck and roll I had to do as Malcolm came out of his office. “Late again? The billboard menace still causing issues?”
“Um. No. Not exactly.” I drop my bag over the back of my chair as he follows me into the cubicle. It’s still Parker Kent’s fault I was late, a full thirty minutes at that, but it wasn’t his billboard that had me screaming.
Tim smirks as I turn around. I try not to wince at the deep ache in my thighs. At the tightness in my groin and the slightly uncomfortable chafing sensation of my panties rubbing on overly sensitive flesh.
“Damn, Breezy.” He flaps a hand in front of his face. “It looks like you spent a week at a dude ranch. Ride hard, did you?”
“You totally did, didn’t you? You rode a dude? How was it? How’s the cookie?”
I pretend to zip my lip and toss the key over my shoulder as he takes a seat on my desk.
Tim rolls his eyes, pushes a coffee cup across my desk. “I got you your favorite.”
“Thanks.” I reach for it.
“Not so fast.” He grins as he pulls it away. “I need details, woman.”
“Fine.” I huff. I’m going to tell him anyway. Everything that happened this weekend is bubbling up inside me. Like I could keep it from my bestie for long. “The super cock is huge.” I try to show him the length and girth with my hands.
His eyes widen as he gets the picture, and he lets out a low whistle. “The camera doesn’t make a difference then. The man’s hung. No wonder he insured it.”
“And trademarked it.” I grin. “But that part was a joke.”
“Figured. I mean, who trademarks something as ridiculous as their cock? But back to the topic. He was good to you, right? He’s not an asshole?”
“So good. So, so good.” I lean forward to whisper, “I think I’m in love with sex. With orgasming. With the way he gives it to me.”
“With him,” Tim says, handing me my coffee.
“No, I...” The vanilla sweetness and the bitter of the coffee slide over my tongue. Maybe. I don’t know. Is it too soon? “He called me his girlfriend. He introduced me to Dutch Daniels as his girlfriend.”
“You met Dutch Daniels? Is he as dirty horny as everyone says he is?”
“I don’t know. We played football. He was friendly.”
“You have to get me in a room with that man. I’ve had a crush on him since he hit the screen in The Daddy Deal.”
“What about your guy that you’ve been seeing?”
“It’s Dutch Freaking Daniels,” he exclaims, like I don’t know anything about the bad boy movie star. “Ruben will want to meet him too.”
“Ruben, huh?” I tease.
“Yeah, Ruben.” He gets a silly little lovesick grin on his face while he fiddles with my thumbtacks. “I really like him, Breezy.”
“I’m happy for you,” I tell him.
“So you and Parker? Is it love? Are you the one who breaks all his bad boy ways and makes him turn his back on that lifestyle?”
“I don’t know.” I hope so. I’m falling more and more each day, but we’ve been keeping things quiet. Just between us. The world still sees him as a bad boy. I want to believe that he’s not. But...
“Okay, enough chitchat.” Tim rubs his hands together, as though he knows I need a reprieve. “Let’s get some work done. Then we’ll go for lunch. Shake Shack. My treat.”
“Love you,” I tell him as he walks out of my cubicle and I open the file on my first client.
Parker Kent and his super cock are burrowing into my heart, but I’ve wanted to believe in love before. It wrecked me then, and I’m just not sure I can do it again.
***
Callan opens the door to our parent’s house before I get to the steps. Arms folded over his chest he studies me. “Feeling better?”
“Much better,” I say, meeting him at the door. I’d blown off last week’s family brunch to spend the day with Parker. Told Mom I was under the weather. Just a cold. Nothing that I couldn’t cure with her chicken noodle soup. Oh and yes, I did still have some in my freezer from the last time. Which had been great, because otherwise she would have turned up with a pot of it and found Parker and I enjoying quality naked time.
“Good to hear.” His blue eyes are piercing. I don’t expect for a minute that he believed I was sick. Not after I introduced him to Parker in the park. He smiles anyway, lets me off the hook. Brothers are the best like that. He eyeballs the box I’m carrying. “Tell me you didn’t bring cupcakes.”
“Pies. I have cherry and apple. Thought Mom and Dad would like one. And you can take the other one home with you.”
He grins at that. Cal has an open affection policy when it comes to pies. He’s totally committed to pastry and filling. “Cherry is mine.”
“Done deal.” I scoot around him and into the house. My pulse is a little edgy. He hasn’t said anything about Parker. Yet. But he will. It’s not a conversation I want to have.
“Baby, you’re here.” Mom’s in the kitchen working two skillets, one full of bacon, the other eggs. There’s a mountain of toast on a plate on the counter. A tray full of baked tomatoes, spinach, and feta. A gallon of orange juice, glasses stacked beside it. Cinnamon rolls fresh baked from the oven on a cooling rack. My stomach growls as the aroma makes my mouth water. Whereas I can burn water, my mother is a kitchen genie. Turning off the burners, she hugs me before grabbing my face between her hands. “You look much better. The soup helped?”
“Yes, Mom. Your soup is the best.”
“I’ll make you some more. I’ll put a pot on after we eat, and you can take it home with you.”
“That’d be great.”
“What about me?” Cal whines. “I’m a growing man. I love your soup too.”
“Two pots. There’s champagne in the fridge if you want to make a mimosa. Make me one.”
“Alcohol at this time of the day, Mom? What’s got into you?” Cal asks, fetching the bottle from the fridge and pouring equal amounts into three glasses before topping each with orange juice. Bob doesn’t like them, so Cal pours a glass of plain juice too.
Mom grins but doesn’t tell us anything as she starts plating up bacon and eggs. “Can you two take all that out to the table?”
“On it.” I pick up the tray of tomatoes and the pile of toast while Cal opens the door.
“Bree, honey. How are you feeling?” Bob finishes adding the word to his crossword puzzle and closes the book. “Did you try the witch hazel the way I suggested?”
“Uh.” There was no way I was pouring anything up my perfectly fine nose. Even if I’d been sick that still would have been a hard pass. “It cleared up before I had a chance.”
“That’s good,” he says. “Glad you’re feeling better.”
“Me too.” Although I’d be feeling better if I hadn’t told them I was sick in the first place.
“Okay, let’s eat,” Mom says as she and Cal bring the last of the dishes to the table. “We’ve got some news we want to share over brunch.”
“What’s that?” Cal slouches in the chair beside me. Wiggles his eyebrows as if to say, You’ve got news too.
I dig into the toast and tomatoes. Snag a few crispy ribbons of bacon with my fork. “What’s this news?”
“Bob and I are taking a holiday.”
“That’s not exactly news,” Cal says before biting into a piece of toast.
“Around the world,” Bob says, taking Mom’s hand and squeezing it. “Like we’ve always talked about. Right, love?”
“It’ll be our honeymoon. A little late, but still...” She smiles all doe eyed at him.
Cal chokes on his toast.
I kind of love it though. They didn’t get to take a honeymoon when they got married. Cal and I were so young. They were too preoccupied with building a life for the four of us. So they put it off, and put it off some more. “That’s really great.”
“You guys deserve it,” Cal adds, thumping his fist against his chest though he’s stopped choking. “I’m glad you’re finally going.”
“Eight continents in eight months,” Bob tells us, his eyes lighting up. “And since the house will be vacant we were wondering if one or both of you would like to move home. House-sit until we’re back.”
We discuss the details over brunch. Cal decides he’ll take the house though my apartment smells like egg rolls most of the time. It’s closer to the bar than his apartment. Plus Mom needs him to take care of her garden anyway. Another talent I didn’t get from her.
After the dishes are cleared away we play a few hands of
Gin Rummy. Parker keeps messaging me. He had personal training this morning and then basketball with Dutch. He sends me a photo of him, blowing me a kiss, his golden torso glistening with sweat and salt. I want to lick him.
My heart skips a beat as I text him back to tell him I can’t wait to see him this evening. How do you know when you’re in too deep?
Cal catches a glance of what I’m looking at and his jaw hardens.
Getting up from the table, I wander inside where it’s cooler. Where I don’t have to put up with the judgement in Cal’s eyes. He’s a good big brother, only worried about my best interests, but that doesn’t make me like the fact that he thinks Parker’s bad for me.
Cal stalks in behind me, closes the sliding glass door, and leans against it. “That’s why you blew off brunch last week, wasn’t it? To hang out with Parker Kent? Or to avoid talking to me about him? I knew you weren’t sick.”
“It was just once,” I say. “One brunch. You’ve blown off brunch before.”
“For work. Not for a woman.” He shakes his head. “That’s not the point. It’s Parker Kent.”
“My boyfriend,” I say. “You don’t like the guy, so you don’t think I should be with him, but you don’t know him like I do.” I still don’t know him that well, not really.
“Your boyfriend. Parker Kent’s your...” His brows form peaks among the lines of his forehead. “He’s famous for his dick, Bree. And for sticking it anywhere it will fit. You can’t be seriously telling me the guy is your boyfriend.”
“Mmhmm.” I tap the point of my shoe on the tiled floor. “That’s what I’m saying.”
“Okay, well...” He rubs a hand through his messy, dark hair. “What happens when he gets bored of you? What then? Guys like that; they don’t stick around long. Something shiny will catch his eye and he’ll forget about you. There are already rumors he’s screwing his costar, what’s her name?” He clicks his fingers, and his gaze sharpens. “Anabelle Peters. Google it.”
I want to pull out my phone and Google it right now. I’m not blind to Parker’s lifestyle before we started dating, or that I’m taking a chance on a guy who could easily break my heart. Women throw themselves at him every day. Perfect example: that woman from the car accident. My insides knot around the hard ball of brunch in my belly. He wouldn’t do that, would he? I won’t give my brother the satisfaction of looking it up. At least not until I’m alone.