by Jill Shalvis
“Tomorrow?” she asked.
“Soon as I wrap up this thing at work I’ve got going on, okay?”
“But that could be a very long time,” she said. “Right?”
“Right,” he said. “But hopefully not.”
“But maybe!”
He sighed. Amory didn’t have a good sense of time; she never had. Last year he’d bought her an iPhone and had taught her how to schedule in all her work shifts and anything else important so that she wouldn’t miss anything.
She’d put in her entire life on that calendar, and his. She was forever texting him asking about his upcoming appointments so that she could program them into her calendar. “Maybe,” he conceded. “I’ll tell you when ahead of time and you can put it on your phone then. You’ll be the first person I come see, okay?”
“Promise?” she asked.
“Promise.”
“Pinkie-swear and hope to die?” she pressed.
“Never hope to die, Amory.”
“It’s a saying! And it means you have to keep your promise!”
“Fine.” He caved with her. He always did. “Pinkie-swear and hope to die,” he said dutifully, wincing again at the happy squeal that nearly pierced his eardrums. “Gotta go, Am.”
“Love you, Parker.”
“Love you back.”
“See you next week!” she yelled.
“Am—”
But she was already gone. Parker slid his phone away, the movement causing the kittens to get a second wind, mewling and climbing on top of each other to try to get up his body. He set them back on the floor, where they immediately once again began to try to crawl up his legs.
With their claws.
He nabbed one in each hand before calling Oreo back in.
Oreo came sliding into the bathroom, panting in happiness at being needed. At the sight of the kittens still there, he suddenly stopped short, skidding on the linoleum, eyes wide in terror even though they were smaller than his paws.
“They’re just silly little babies,” he told Oreo.
He whined unhappily and tucked his tail between his legs.
“They’re not going to hurt you,” Parker said, and set the kittens down in front of him to sniff. “See? Harmless.”
The tabby stalked underneath a mistrustful Oreo and stopped between the dog’s legs, eyeing the long tail with a curious eye. Then the kitten crouched low, wriggled his butt, and . . . pounced.
And missed Oreo’s tail by a mile.
Still, Oreo cried.
“It’s okay,” Parker said. “I promise they’re not going to hurt you—”
Too late. Because Oreo lifted his leg and . . . peed on them.
Fourteen
A half hour later, Parker had bathed the kittens and calmed Oreo down with a big bowl of food and some hugs, and the four of them were trying the meet-and-greet thing again.
Oreo lay on the floor, still wide-eyed but allowing the kittens to crawl all over him. The gray one climbed up the big dog like Oreo was Mt. Everest, ending up on top of his head.
Oreo’s eyes rolled up and they eyeballed each other, scaredy-cat dog and mountain-conquering, fearless kitten.
Parker’s cell rang. “You forget dinner?” Wyatt asked.
Shit. “Yeah,” he said, “sorry.”
“No problem. Hightail your ass to the bar and grill; we’ll meet you there.”
“Which bar and grill?”
“The only one in town—Pete’s.”
Parker trusted Oreo with the kittens but he didn’t trust the kittens with Oreo, so he set the two troublemakers up in the bathroom with kitty litter, water, and food, and shut them in. “There,” he said to Oreo, who was watching from the hallway. “You’ll be perfectly safe until I get back.”
Oreo yawned, and Parker patted him on the head before heading out.
At Pete’s, Wyatt introduced the beautiful brunette standing next to him as Emily, his fiancée. The three of them sat and shared a pitcher of beer, Emily listening in avid fascination as Parker and Wyatt told stories.
“Remember our bar brawl in college?” Wyatt asked.
Emily gasped. “Bar brawl?”
“Not our fault,” Wyatt told her. “We were jumped.”
“How could I forget?” Parker asked. They’d been jumped because Wyatt had smiled at the wrong girl. “I still have the scar.” He ran a finger along his left eyebrow, which the scar bisected.
Wyatt grinned. “Good times.”
“How about on your twenty-second birthday?” Parker asked. “When you decided to give everyone free shots from the bar, started a wet T-shirt contest, and got us both shit-canned.”
Emily stared at her fiancé. “You started a wet T-shirt contest?”
“Yep,” Parker answered for him.
“Thanks, man,” Wyatt said. And then to Emily, “You heard the part where I was twenty-two, right?”
Emily smacked him upside the head. “That was for the twenty-two-year-old girls.”
Parker laughed. It felt good to do so. He’d been so busy for so long he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d done this. Had fun. Relaxed.
They ordered food, and when they started eating, the talk turned to Parker’s stint in Sunshine.
“I’m so sorry you couldn’t stay with us,” Emily said. “My sister’s just back from her honeymoon and they’re in our only spare bedroom.”
“No worries,” Parker said. “Zoe’s house is great.”
“And Zoe?” Wyatt asked.
Parker smiled. “Just as you described her.”
Wyatt grimaced. “Uh-oh.”
Emily smacked Wyatt on the arm. “How did you describe her? As warm and caring and lovely as she really is, right?”
Wyatt slid a look to Parker. “Right.”
Emily narrowed her eyes on her fiancé, and it was fascinating to watch Wyatt grin at her with unabashed love and affection as he leaned in and kissed her on the end of her nose. And then her mouth. “Don’t look at me like that, sweetness,” he murmured. “Zoe’s all of those great things on the inside, but we both know she’s stubborn as hell and easily irritated on the outside.”
Parker laughed at the accurate description. “No worries, it’s been great.”
Wyatt did a double take. “Great?”
Shit. Redirect. “Have you had her French toast?” Parker asked.
“She made you French toast?” Wyatt asked. “She won’t make it whenever I ask, says if she did then I wouldn’t appreciate it as much.”
“I only got her leftovers,” Parker said, hopefully coming across as harmless. Because that was what he intended to be—completely harmless.
Sure, he’d never been harmless a day in his life, but there was a first time for everything.
“Where is she tonight?” Wyatt asked. “I thought she’d come with you.”
“She’s on a date.”
“Oh yeah,” Emily said. “With that really good-looking dentist from Hennessey Flats.”
When Wyatt looked at her, she laughed. “Hey, I’m engaged, not dead,” she said. “I Googled him because Zoe refused to do so. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t a wanted felon or anything.”
“Tonight’s date isn’t with the dentist,” Parker said, leaving out the part where she got stood up. That was Zoe’s tale to tell. “It’s Joe.”
Wyatt choked on his beer. “Joe, the airport manager Joe? What the hell is she doing out with that horndog?”
Back at the house, Parker had managed to shelve his frustration about the date. For one thing, Zoe hadn’t dressed like a woman planning on getting any action. And for another, he’d sensed absolutely zero chemistry between her and Joe.
But after Wyatt’s comment, he realized it didn’t mean that Joe wouldn’t try . . .
Fuck. He stood up and tossed some money down on the table. “Gotta go.”
Wyatt narrowed his eyes. “Gotta go where?”
“Work,” Parker said.
“At . . .” Wyatt l
ooked at his watch. “Nine o’clock at night?”
“My job’s twenty-four-seven.”
Wyatt cocked his head. “You’re on vacation.”
Shit. “It’s a working vacation, as it turns out.”
Wyatt only stared at him, but Emily laughed. When she realized Wyatt wasn’t amused, she nudged him. “Wyatt Stone, he’s your friend and a good man. Be happy for them.”
“Whoa,” Parker said with sudden understanding. “There’s nothing going on between me and Zo—”
“Why, don’t you think she’s good enough for you?” Wyatt asked.
“No—I mean yes!” Jesus, Parker was starting to sweat. “She’s . . . amazing. I just meant we’re not going anywhere with anything. We’re not . . .”
Emily patted him on the hand. “It’s okay,” she said, still smiling. “You’re going to survive this. Tell him, Wyatt. Tell him he’ll survive it.”
Wyatt just continued to stare at Parker.
“Would you rather she end up with Joe?” Emily asked Wyatt. “Or some dentist?”
Wyatt grimaced and scrubbed his hands down his face. “I’m half tempted to let him go storming into her date,” he muttered. “But knowing Zoe, she’d marry Joe just to spite me.”
“I’m telling you, it’s not like that,” Parker said again. And Christ, now he was protesting too much.
“Just sit,” Wyatt said looking resigned. “Because trust me, I’m doing you a favor stopping you from going after her tonight. If you bust open her date, she’ll bust your chops. Zoe likes to make her mistakes on her own. No one can tell her what to do.”
Emily beamed at Wyatt. “Aw. You’re so sweet.”
Parker sighed and sat back down.
And then to prove a point to all of them—especially himself—he stayed out as late as possible so he wouldn’t have to see Zoe return from her date and possibly invite Joe in and upstairs to her room.
Or not return at all.
He wasn’t sure which would be worse.
When he finally pulled up to the house, it was dark and still. He looked at his phone.
Midnight.
Damn . . . The implication of Cinderella not being home wasn’t wasted on him. He heaved himself out of the vehicle and headed up the walk.
He let himself in and out of habit did a quick search of his surroundings.
Definitely alone.
Halfway back through the living room toward the kitchen, he became aware that someone was watching him. Reaching for the gun tucked into the back of his jeans was second nature.
So was checking his surroundings without looking obvious. He heard a sound on the other side of the front door, but either his instincts were seriously off or he was just that fucked up in the head at the moment because he didn’t check the peephole before whipping the door open.
He had a flash of Joe pulling back from Zoe, who fell backward into Parker’s arms. He shoved the gun into the back of his pants and gripped her arms until she gained her balance.
He was ridiculously happy to see her because if she was here, it meant she was not in Joe’s bed.
Joe stood facing them both. Clearly Parker had just interrupted something because the guy was looking frustrated and Zoe was looking . . . relieved?
“Well,” she said quickly, flashing her fake smile—yes, Parker knew each and every one of her smiles and this one, the brittle fake one aimed at the man who had clearly just pressed her up against the door to kiss her, was most definitely Parker’s new favorite.
“Thanks for opening the door for me, Parker,” she said brightly. “Night, Joe!”
“But—” Joe started, taking a step toward her.
Zoe backed farther into Parker, forcing him to take a step into the house or have them both fall to their asses. She waved at Joe and . . . slammed the door.
Parker laughed. “Good to know you do that to every guy and not just me.”
Zoe whirled around to face him, her eyes a little wild as she put her hands on her hips. “What was that?”
“You slamming the door on yet another man’s nose?”
“Not that.” She gave him a look that said she was contemplating trying to kick his ass. She wouldn’t be able to, not even close, but it would be fun to have her try . . . Not that he was stupid enough to say so.
“You followed me,” she accused without preamble. “You followed me on my date.”
“What are you talking about?”
“We were at the bar when you got there,” she said. “What the hell was that about? Why would you follow me?”
Like he was so hard up he’d actually follow her on purpose?
Shit, okay, yes, he was totally that hard up. “I didn’t follow you. I was meeting Wyatt and Emily for a late dinner.”
At this, she made a sound that conveyed volumes on what she thought of him regardless. “If you saw us, why didn’t you stop by and say hi?” he asked, putting the ball back in her court.
She crossed her arms. “Because . . . because it was a date,” she said. “I didn’t need to hang out with my brother on a date.”
Or you, were the unspoken words.
“How did it go with Joe?” he asked, wondering if he was a complete ass for hoping it had sucked.
She didn’t answer. Which meant it hadn’t gone well. He tried to feel bad about that but he didn’t. Not even a little bit. “We made it an early night,” she said.
“Because of your dress?”
“Oh my God,” she snapped and brushed past him, shoulder-checking him as she went through the living room ahead of him. “You’re impossible. I don’t know why I even try to have a conversation with you.”
He had no idea, either. He was a complete asshole.
“What was that in your hand when you opened the door?” she asked.
“My hand?”
“You tucked something into the back of your jeans,” she said. “Was it . . . a gun?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She rolled her eyes, pissed at the world and most definitely him, too. She stalked off.
Then suddenly she stopped short, stared down at her feet for a beat, and then turned back. She came toe to toe with him, hands on her hips, to stare at him.
He met her gaze. She was clearly seriously ticked, and since he had some strong self-preservation instincts, he held his silence.