Park (Archer's Creek Book 4)

by Gemma Weir

  “You okay, Rosebud?” He asks; his voice raspier than normal.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I should go, leave you to your hangover.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I was just checking in,” I say, my voice thick with emotion.

  “Can I call you later?” He asks.

  “Err, I’m not sure. I think my mom wants me to go around for dinner again.” I lie.

  “Another set-up?”

  I force a fake laugh from my mouth, but don’t reply, eventually falling silent.

  “Rosebud?” Park says

  “Yeah?”

  “I miss you.”

  “I miss you too.”

  I am fucking this up so fucking badly.

  Why didn’t I text her back last night?

  Why didn’t we talk?

  Last night was morose until the bottom of the second bottle of Jack, then it just became a fucking mess. I woke up this morning face-down on the pool table in the middle of the club and I have no memory of how I fucking got there.

  The moment Rosebud ends the call, I want to call her back, but I have no idea what the hell I’m going to say to her. I don’t think telling her she needs to leave behind her whole life and move to Texas because I don’t want to spend another day without her, would go down particularly well. But it’s the truth.

  My day goes quickly. Most of my clients are regulars and I manage to zone out and focus completely on the ink, the sound of the tattoo gun, and the inhale and exhale of my own breaths. Even on my worst days, I’m a fucking good tattoo artist. Permanent art is too fucking important to mess up, no matter how shitty I’m feeling.

  When 7pm rolls around, I push up out of my chair and stretch my tired arms over my head. My last client of the day just left and the evening stretches in front of me, long and empty. If I was in LA, Rosebud and I could have gone for something to eat, then a drink, before we curled up on her beige sofa. Or hell, we could forget dinner and just eat each other, gorging ourselves on the other’s body.

  I slap at my forehead with the palm of my hand. I need to get my brain off this fucked-up tangent. Rosebud is my friend. F.R.I.E.N.D. That’s it, and the weirdness between us now is exactly what she was trying to avoid when she said she didn’t want to risk us.

  I did this, and I need to put it right. Wiping down the rest of studio, I throw the cleaning rags into the bin and switch off the light, closing the door behind me. A couple of the other artists are still working, so I shout bye as I duck out the back door and into the enclosed courtyard at the back of the shop that leads to my apartment.

  Climbing the stairs, I unlock the door and push it open, stepping into my home. The scent of oils is strong in the air and my eyes glance to the corner that holds my easel and the most recent painting of Rosebud I did after I peeled my face off the pool table this morning. It’s a close up of her eyes, the hurt and uncertainty exactly how I saw it when I left for the airport the day before.

  My white walls used to be filled with the abstract images of Taylor I’ve painted over the years, but as I take in the space now, I don’t want to look at the memories of my past. None of my paintings of her hold good memories, rather they were a visual journal entry, constantly reliving the painful day that changed the course of my life.

  I wish I could tell my younger self not to be such a melodramatic, tortured artist. Maybe then I’d have dealt with my shit years ago, and I wouldn’t be fucking things up with the woman I want to be with now.

  Dropping my keys into the bowl on the table next to the door, I cross the room and lift one of the paintings from the wall, quickly moving to the next and taking it down as well. A few moments later all six paintings of Taylor are stacked and leaning against the wall, hidden and discarded, like they should have been a decade ago.

  Twisting my head, I glance to the growing pile of paintings of Rosebud. They’re nothing like the detached morose images now piled by the door. Every picture of Rosebud is bright and alive, just like her. Crossing the room, I reach for the painting of her beautiful smiling face and carry it to the far wall, lifting it to the hook, then standing back to admire it. Against the white wall, the colors appear even brighter, and just looking at it, I feel calmer and more at peace than I have since I left her outside her apartment building yesterday.

  My phone feels heavy in my pocket, so sinking to the floor, with my eyes still firmly fixed on the painting of her, I pull my cell out and feel the weight of it in my palms. Forcing my eyes from the picture, I flick my phone to life and quickly pull up her contact. My thumb presses down on the call icon and I lift my cell to my ear and let my eyes return to her painting.

  “Hello,” she answers breathlessly.

  “Hey, you okay?”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry, my cell was in my purse. I had to run across the room to find it.”

  “Are you home or at your folks?” I ask, desperately hoping she isn’t at her parents with their latest matchmaking partner.

  “I’m home. I didn’t feel up to having dinner with them, so I arranged it for next week. How’s the hangover?”

  I laugh dryly. “All gone now, thank fuck.”

  The line falls silent and I wish I could just come out and say it, that I want more from her, that she’s more than just a friend, but the words won’t come. “I miss you.”

  I hear her sigh and I wish I could see her face, then I’d know if she’s tired of this back and forth game we’re playing, or if she’s just indulging me and this fucked-up fantasy I’ve created in my head.

  “I miss you too. You could always come visit again.”

  A glimmer of hope blooms to life in my chest. I could go this weekend. I only have a couple of regular clients booked in on Saturday and I can rearrange them. I could stay at the shop late and fit their appointments in on the evening. “How about this weekend?”

  “Oh. Err, I can’t.”

  All of my excitement withers and dies with her words. Of course she didn’t mean this weekend. I was only at her place a day ago. I need to grow a pair of fucking balls. I sound like a needy little pussy even to myself; it’s time to man the fuck up. “Sure, don’t worry about it.”

  “No, I wish I could do this weekend. It’s just that I’ve got to go out of town for work. If I didn’t, I’d jump at the idea of you coming again. I want you to come, Park.”

  “Don’t worry about it, my little Rosebud. Maybe you could come here soon? I know Smoke and Nikki would love to see you again.”

  “Really? I’d like to see them again too.”

  “I could pass your number on to Nikki, if you want?” I say, hating myself for offering. I don’t want to share her, she’s mine. My friend, my more, my Rosebud, and I don’t want her to split her attention. I’m selfish enough to want all of her.

  “Sure, I’d like that. But,” she pauses, and I wait for her to speak again. “If I were to visit, as much as it’d be nice to see Smoke and Nikki, if I were to visit, I’d be coming to see you.”

  My eyes fall closed, relief soothing my fraught nerves. “Rosebud.”

  “Yeah?” she replies, her voice a little lower and more intimate than just a few moments ago.

  I shouldn’t do this. I know I shouldn’t, but I just can’t keep the words in. “I don’t regret it.”

  The line falls silent. My heart is beating at a mile a minute and I feel like my entire body is starting to go numb. My whole world rests on the next words that come out of her mouth and she’s not saying anything.

  I’ve never understood when people say silence is loud, until this moment right now, when the sound of nothing is like an orchestra in mid-crescendo in my head. I hear her part her lips and barely audible noise silences the booming of my psyche, then she utters three words that change everything.

  “Neither do I.”

  All of the air in my lungs freezes and my mouth loses the ability to make words. She doesn’t regret it, she doesn’t fucking regret it.

  “Are you out of town all weeke
nd?” I finally manage to force out.

  “It depends how things go. I fly out Friday for a dinner meeting and then drinks.”

  “Where’s your meeting?”

  “Vegas.”

  “I could fly out and meet you in Vegas.”

  “I wish I could say yes, but I’m booked on a return flight on Saturday afternoon and I have no idea how things are going to go at the meeting.”

  We both fall silent again and I exhale quietly, wishing I were there, that we could have this conversation in person. I want to pull her into my arms and kiss her. I want to touch her and see that this is real, whatever this is.

  “I wish I was still there with you.”

  “Me too,” she says quietly.

  The urge to tease her, to see how far I can push this conversation overwhelms me. “What would you do if I was there with you right now?”

  Holy crap!

  What am I doing? Should I play this game with him? Should I push this further than it’s already gone?

  When he told me he didn’t regret this weekend, the immense relief I felt almost knocked me over. I want him. I want to do more than fool around when we’re drunk or have a moment of lust in the darkness. I want something real with him; something as intense as the strange friendship that started this.

  Heat builds in my chest and before I fully make the decision to throw myself down this rabbit hole with him, I’m speaking. “I’d kiss you.”

  “You would?” He replies, his lilting accent smokier and rougher than normal.

  “I’d kiss you, like you kissed me before you left. Like it’s the last kiss and the first all rolled into one.”

  “Fuck, Rosebud. Never our last kiss, never.”

  My eyes fall closed and I picture the way he looked at me before he climbed into his car and drove away. I’d felt all of his anguish, or maybe he’d felt mine, but I’d clung to him, unable to release him, needing him not to go. “Park.”

  “I know, Rosebud,” he says, his voice raspy. Park clears his throat, then speaks. “Do you want this? Us, more than friends?”

  “Yes.” I don’t take time to think or consider. I just react, and the moment that one word is out of my lips I hold my breath, a giddy sense of fear and excitement lacing through my nerves and lighting up my body, until I have to stand up, unable to sit still a minute longer.

  Park doesn’t speak for a moment, but I can hear movement and rustling in the background. “Park?”

  “There’s a flight out at midnight. I’m gonna be on it. Call in sick tomorrow. I’ll be at your place before you wake up. Leave me a key somewhere so I can get in.”

  “Are you serious?” I squeal, rushing across the room toward my bedroom and flinging the towels I used this morning and the pajamas I wore last night into the hamper.

  “I can’t wait, Rosebud. This isn’t a conversation we should be having over the phone, it’s too important. I need to go, baby. I have to reschedule my appointments for the next few days. I’ll see you soon, text me about the key.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Bye, my Rosebud.”

  “Bye, Park.”

  The moment we end the call, I text him, telling him the code for the lobby door and letting him know about the hide key in my neighbor’s plant. Then I wait. By midnight, I’m so excited, agitated and terrified that I’ve had a shower, dried and styled my hair, cleaned my apartment, and organized every drawer and hanger in my closet.

  Dressed in my least ratty pajamas, I finally climb into bed, intent on binge-watching mindless TV until Park gets here; only at some point my adrenaline must wear off and I fall asleep. I disturb when the sheets lift, and a large, warm body climbs in behind me waking me. “Park,” I call, my voice still thick with sleep.

  “Shh baby, go back to sleep,” he says, his accent lush and gorgeous and here.

  “Uh huh,” I mumble as his arms wrap around me, pulling me closer into his body.

  “Rosebud, baby, you need to wake up and call in to work,” a low voice whispers against the back of my neck. I freeze, my body not moving before I remember that Park is here, in my bed. His arms are wrapped tightly around my waist, one hand slipped beneath the waistband of my PJ shorts.

  “You’re here,” I say sleepily, rubbing at my eyes to clear the blurriness from my vision.

  “No, I’m a dream, baby.” Park answers with an amused chuckle.

  “If you were a dream, you wouldn’t have woken me up,” I reply, reaching for my cell and swiping the screen to life. “Now, shhh, while I call my boss.”

  Clicking into Jerry’s contact I press call and wait while it rings.

  “Talk,” Jerry answers, his old gruff voice the same as usual.

  “Jerry, it’s Rosie. I’m really sorry, but I’m not going to make it in today. I’m sick. I think it was something I ate.”

  “Wasn’t the Cashew Pork from Wong’s, was it? Last time Mary-Lou had that she was sick as a dog for days.”

  “Wish you’d told me that before.”

  “Saltine crackers, fix you right up. Feel better soon. Let me know when you’re back on your feet. You got someone to take care of you?” He asks, concern obvious in his tone.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks though, Jerry.”

  “Take care of yourself, Rosie.”

  “Bye.”

  Lowering my cell to the mattress I sigh. “I feel bad. I’ve never called in sick before when I wasn’t actually ill. He was so nice about it too.”

  Park maneuvers us until I’m on my back and he’s rested over me. “Hi,” he says, his beautiful face only inches from mine.

  “Hi,” I whisper back.

  His lips descend until they touch mine and just like that the world around us fades to nothingness and the only thing that matters is his lips on mine, that he’s here, that he wants me. The kiss lasts forever. His lips explore every inch of mine and when he finally pulls back I feel different, like his kiss actually altered my DNA.

  “I’ve been dreaming of doing that,” Park says, when he finally pulls away from my mouth.

  “You have?” I say breathily.

  “I want you, Rosebud. I want this. We’re not just friends; I can’t not touch you and kiss you. You’re mine; the moment I saw you I knew you were for me. Tell me you feel it too.”

  His gaze locks with mine and his eyes tell a story. The first time we met they were full of pain and desolation. That’s gone and instead all I can see in them now is heat and want and desire.

  “I feel it too,” I say as my chest tightens and tears sting my eyes.

  “Thank fucking god,” Park rasps as his hands start to strip my tank up and over my head.

  Our movements are frantic. Within seconds I’m naked and kicking his briefs down his legs until his long hard dick is pressed against my thigh. Our lips tangle together; an angry, desperate assault of our mouths, as we press closer to each other, needing no distance between us. His hand snakes between my thighs and long fingers probe at my pussy, parting my folds and sliding easily into my soaking core.

  “Fuck, baby, so fucking wet. I can’t wait to get inside you. I want to fill your cunt with my cock. I want to watch you scream and hear you pant as I drive you over the edge.”

  A silent gasp parts my lips as he finger-fucks me, stretching me and getting me ready for his massive dick.

  “That’s it, Rosebud, let me hear it. I want to hear how good it feels to have my fingers in your cunt.”

  “Oh God,” I moan as an orgasm barrels to life within me. The tingles and burning explosion of pleasure crashes over me and I push down on my heels, lifting my butt off the bed and urging his fingers deeper.

  “I’m clean,” Park says as he pulls his fingers from me, grasping his cock and stroking it up and down my damp, sensitive pussy.

  “Me too,” I say, my throat dry.

  “I want to feel you on my cock skin to skin.”

  “Okay,” I say nodding emphatically and spreading my legs wider, urging him
closer.

  The stroking of his cock stops and instead I feel the blunt head of him at my entrance, sliding into me on one long thrust.

  “Fuuuuuckk,” Park gasps when his hips settle against me.

  The feeling of fullness is heady, and I curl my legs around his waist, my fingers clinging to his shoulders as he starts to move. In and out his cock slides from my sex, only to thrust back, filling me once again. The entire time his hips are pumping, his lips and tongue are claiming my mouth.

  His movements slow, then he thrusts deep and hard and a keening cry spills from me, his kiss muffling the sound. He does it again, slowly pulling out, only to thrust back into me, in a long hard slam of his pelvis against mine. Again and again he fucks me, pushing me higher and higher until my fingernails are digging into the skin on the back of his neck and my eyes are tightly closed. Ecstasy, bliss, and agony are so closely mixed together that they feel like one emotion, so intense I’m unsure if I should laugh or cry or scream in joy.

  When my orgasm hits, it consumes my entire body, and I cling to Park as he fills me with his cum. His lips drop to my shoulder and his teeth bury themselves into my skin as he follows me over the edge; then we collapse together, a mutual exhalation of relief, our bodies still connected.

  I’m not sure how long we stay quiet, the sounds of our panting breath the only noise, but I never want it to end. This moment is perfection and words won’t change anything so why bother? I close my eyes and inhale the rich scent of Park and the heady smell of sex, luxuriating in the weight of his body on top of me and the warmth of his breath on my neck.

  “I need to move,” he rasps after a few more exquisite moments.

  “No,” I whine, tightening my grip on his shoulders and waist.

  “Baby, you’re so tiny I’m gonna squash you if I don’t move soon,” He says with a chuckle.

  I try to grip tighter, but he easily extracts himself from my limbs, his semi-hard cock sliding out of me. He rolls to his side, and I roll to face him, our faces only a few inches apart. His heavy arm slides over my waist and his fingers start to play with my hair.

  “I fucking love your hair,” Park says, his voice reverent.