Repaired

by Melissa Collins

  Rubbing a hand over my jaw, I felt nothing. My face was still numb from being drunk and stinging from the slap of cool metal.

  “Here, let me help you,” Parker offered when he stopped laughing. He easily helped me from the car, his strong arms wrapping around my shoulder and waist.

  As we stumbled to the door, my weight throwing him off balance, only one thought came to my drunken brain. And since I was in no shape to actually filter my thoughts, I blurted out, “You smell good,” as we walked up the steps.

  Fumbling with the keys in the lock, he smirked, his lips full and so damn perfect. “And you smell like vodka and sweat.” He pushed the door open and when his back was to me, I lifted my arm.

  Holy crap. He’s right. That’s ripe.

  As my wobbly legs carried me into my living room, I watched him drop my keys on the counter and then drape his jacket over the chair. Something about the sure way in which he navigated through my apartment pissed me off. The remaining vodka flowing through my veins didn’t exactly help me stay calm and rational.

  “Why are you even here?” The words fell from my mouth with a rudeness Parker most definitely didn’t deserve.

  After pulling a bottle of water from my fridge, he walked back to me. “Because I don’t want anything to happen to you.” His voice was all matter-of-fact, as if caring for me was something he’d done all his life.

  His nearness sent me spinning in an entirely new direction. His scent. His closeness. His bright blue eyes. His mouth and lips. All of him was working against whatever kind of rationality I had left in me. He was so overwhelming I stepped toward him as if being drawn by a magnet. On their own will, my hands fell to his chest, my fingertips grazing against the hard plane of his pecs. “What if I want you to happen to me?” It wasn’t necessary to hone in on my point. I think he understood me clearly enough, but I arched my brow anyway.

  Without saying anything in response, he pulled a serious face at me before leading me toward my room. My pulse quickened. My breathing changed. My dick hardened.

  His easy acceptance of my desire should have elated me, should have made me feel excited at the prospect of him fucking me. But while I reacted physically, I couldn’t deny that I was more than a little let down that he had given in so easily.

  Between my brain going haywire and my body lacking any sense of control, my attempt to crawl into the bed ended in more of a flop. Parker stood next to the bed, staring down at me, his face twisted in a mixture of lust and confusion. As he shook his head, he knelt on the bed and lay down next to me, the heat of his long, lean body warming me instantly.

  Our faces were perfectly aligned, his lips only a few inches from mine. “So are you gonna fuck me now?”

  On anyone else I may have expected shock or even repulsion at my forward, and rather crude, question, but even in my limited experience with Parker Ryan, I knew he wouldn’t do anything other than react in the only way he knew how—with brutal honesty and integrity.

  “Is that why you got drunk?” His fingers brushed through my hair, pushing it from my eyes.

  Involuntarily, my body stiffened. Damn! Even if I hadn’t wanted to say anything, I’d already given something away. Parker waited for me to say something, but my lips were sealed—mainly out of anger, but there was no way in hell I was going to say anything about any of the reasons I got drunk.

  “That’s fine,” he finally said after a few moments of silence. “You don’t have to tell me anything, but answer this.” His hand traced along my jawline, the pad of his thumb brushing against my lower lip.

  “What?” I whispered a single word before my lips wrapped around his thick digit. Parker looked on with a heady stare as I twirled my tongue around his finger in a way that was a very clear suggestion of what I’d rather be doing.

  Moving his thumb in and out of my mouth, I grew rock hard, needing him and the release I knew he promised. When he began speaking, the vibrations of his chest against mine did nothing to calm that need. “If I asked you right now”—he pulled his thumb out to the tip, swirling the wetness around my lips—“what happened to you . . .” He pushed his thumb back in, surely to silence any protest I’d have. “If I asked you right now what made you run away, what made you the way you are, would you tell me?”

  So fucking slowly, he pulled his thumb from my mouth. It was almost as if I could actually feel the whorls of his fingerprint grazing against the roughness of my tongue—as if we were somehow connected on a more basic level than I’d ever known.

  “Maybe,” I answered honestly.

  Cupping my jaw once more, he smiled at me, as if he’d known what the answer was going to be the entire time. “Then no, Liam. I’m not going to fuck you, at least not tonight anyway.”

  Before I could offer any protest, the bed shifted with the absence of his weight.

  Pissed and threatening to turn belligerent, I lacked the capacity to turn my shock at his refusal to words. Using my silent spell to his advantage, he pulled me up by my arms, situating me on the edge of the bed.

  “So then get out,” I spat heatedly.

  He laughed, shaking his head. “No.” There was defiance and command in his answer.

  Waving my arm wildly, I slurred, “You make no sense.”

  With one swift move, Parker was kneeling on the floor in between my legs. Working his way as close to my body as possible, he reached up and pulled my face to his so that our foreheads touched. “And it’s because I want you to make sense to me that I’m going to fight to stay.” He closed his eyes, longer than a blink, as if he was searching for the right words to say. “I can’t explain it. I’m not even sure there is an explanation, but I know it’s there. The thing you need is the thing I can give. What you want is what I have. Fucking hell, Liam,”—he pulled my face in between his strong hands, drawing me within an inch of his lips again—“we could burn this place down with the heat firing up between us, but I won’t do it like this, when you’re so drunk you can barely see straight. When you might not even hear what I’m saying. We’ll get there.” With the gentlest of kisses, he pressed his lips against my forehead, then my nose. And when his lips captured mine, my blood pulsed so loudly in my veins that I could barely hear my own thoughts. This kiss was different than the one from earlier in the night, an odd mixture of hard and soft, of threat and promise. It all fucked with my already buzzing head and whatever fight I thought I had left, evaporated as I relaxed against his lips.

  When he pulled away and began lowering his head, I thought for a minute that maybe he’d changed his mind. Sure, he wasn’t going to fuck me, but a pity blow job was still a blow job, and it was one I’d gladly take. What I got instead was a subtle tap on the side of my leg, telling me to lift my foot so he could take off my boots and socks.

  Chuckling playfully at my reaction, Parker looked up at me. His eyes were different somehow, yet exactly the same as they’d always been. “Ticklish?” There was something devilish, but not at all sinister flashing across his face. His long lashes spread across his cheek as he blinked, and though my own eyes were growing drowsier by the second, I couldn’t peel them away from Parker and his rugged handsomeness.

  Losing my balance, I wobbled forward as he lowered one leg to grab for the other. Resting my arms on his shoulders, his scent filled my senses once more. His muscles were so warm and pliant under my touch, bunching and pulling as he slid off the second boot.

  Then he was gone, leaving me there in the wake of his clean scent and tender touches. “Hey! What are you doing?” I called to his retreating back. The hard accusation in my tone as I watched him rifle through my drawers was impossible to miss.

  Looking at me over his shoulder, he laughed. “Who me?” he joked. “Well, I’m assuming you keep your deepest darkest secrets in your T-shirt drawer. I mean that’s where I keep mine.” He laughed as he turned back to me. Launching the shirt in my direction, I didn’t even see it in time to stop it from landing on my face.

  The face that greet
ed me when I pulled the cotton from mine was less than amused. “Just shut up and let me take care of you.”

  Figuring out why I was always angry, flustered, and defensive around Parker was a task more appropriately reserved for my sober brain.

  And calmer stomach, too.

  As Parker opened another drawer, presumably to pull out a pair of shorts, the thought of him finding out about my past, as if that’d be as simple as unfolding the mesh fabric he was currently holding in his hands, became the sole focus of my brain.

  My stomach roiled.

  Vomit threatened.

  And then, as if becoming more aware of the surge of sickness heightened the whole miserable fucked up feeling, I couldn’t keep it all buried any longer.

  “These good?” Parker held up a pair of shorts, turning back around to face me. When he caught sight of my green face, his fell and he flew into action. “Shit, you’re gonna puke.”

  Just as the liquid contents of my stomach decided to make a reappearance, Parker ran into the adjoining bathroom. He raced back to my side, pail in hand.

  When I was done making a fool of myself, Parker handed me the rest of my clothes, and went back into the bathroom.

  I used the few minutes in which he was gone cleaning up my mess to change and steady myself. As embarrassed as I may have been though, I felt much better—and far less drunk.

  Walking back into my room, he had my toothbrush and a glass of water in one hand and the cleaned pail in the other. “Here you go.”

  Feeling like a scolded child, I brushed quickly and spit when he held it in front of me, prompting me to do so. After I was done, he took everything back into the bathroom and it took all my energy not to pass out immediately.

  Watching with exhausted amusement, I smiled as Parker pulled down the comforter, lightly smacking the mattress, prompting me to get into bed.

  Though there were a million thoughts running through my head, the only word of which I was capable was, “Why?”

  Parker gently pressed his lips to the top of my head, simply saying, “Why not?” before turning to leave.

  He paused at the door, seemed to war with something, but then thought better of it before closing the door softly behind him.

  As I closed my eyes, all of the reasons why I wasn’t worth this kind of care and effort haunted my brain, and if it hadn’t been for the effects of the alcohol, I was sure I could have lost another night to my insomnia.

  But, rather than tossing and turning, and feeling worthless, the lingering warmth of Parker’s kiss lulled me to sleep, making me feel calm and safe for the first time in what already felt like an eternity.

  Apparently, I also drank a small gnome, or an elf. Because when I woke up, he was trying to burrow out of my head through my eyes. “Ah, my damn head.” Even saying those words, to no one but myself, made it feel as if the gnome was making more and more progress.

  As I eased myself out of bed, I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. And at least I had enough sense left last night to change out of my bar-soaked clothes. Stepping over my jeans and shirt, I nearly tripped on my sneaker. Then it hit me—the distinct memory of Parker pulling my boots off. Of him taking care of me and making sure I was tucked safely into bed.

  And yet, he wasn’t here.

  Slowly, as it was the only speed of which I was capable, I walked out into the living room. The relief I felt at seeing Parker curled up on the couch was instant. Knowing that he’d taken care of me last night, the least I could do was make him some coffee. But I was in some serious need of Advil before I did anything.

  Pulling the bottle of pills and can of coffee out of the cabinet, I tried my best to stay as quiet as possible. The place wasn’t a mansion like Parker’s, so I knew how easily the noise carried. Squinting, I attempted to focus in on the two damn arrows that needed to be lined up to open the bottle. Even when I had that taken care of, I couldn’t pop the lid open. “You little shit.”

  And then of course, after cursing its existence, the top flew into the air, a spray of pills following behind it. “What the hell was that?” Parker shot up from the couch, almost like he was only half asleep.

  “Sorry,” I groaned from the floor. After I’d collected the pills from the floor, I stood—too quickly. My head spun, forcing me to drop down into a chair.

  Parker was by my side in an instant. His hand, warm and strong, dropped to my shoulder. “Let me help.” And because I was in such sorry shape, I let him. He slid me the Advil and pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge, then started making us some coffee.

  “I’m surprised you stayed.” In between sips of water, I caught glimpses of him as he moved around my kitchen with ease.

  After counting out scoops of coffee, he slid the container back into the cabinet. Resting against the counter, he ran a hand over his exhausted face. “What do you remember about last night?” His question hung heavily in the air as I wracked my brain, searching for something I clearly should have remembered.

  “We danced.” At the recollection, my body instantly remembered his moving with mine. Craning my head up to him, I twisted in my seat. Facing him now, I took him in. He was wearing my clothes.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but sleeping in vomit isn’t really my thing.” His explanation was barely audible over the sound of my pounding head, but now the blood rushing through my ears at the thought of Parker out of my clothes complicated things even more.

  “No. It’s fine,” I croaked. Silently, he prompted me to say more of what I remembered, nodding at me, clearly knowing something I didn’t.

  Luckily, the coffee pot beeped, providing me with a few minutes to distract myself with watching Parker fix our mugs without having to talk about last night. Dangling the milk container from his finger, he silently asked if I took milk. Despite the pain it caused, I nodded. It shouldn’t, but watching him pour milk into my mug made me feel something for him other than lust. It was something warm and innate, something tender and affectionate. Sure, it was just milk swirling into the black coffee beneath it, but somehow it brought back memories of last night.

  “You dressed me, helped me brush my teeth, put me to bed. I remember that much.” Parker sat next to me, sliding my mug into my waiting hands. “Thank you,” I said around the lip of the mug, adding, “For this and for last night,” after finishing my first sip.

  “Any particular reason you got shit faced?” He sipped at his coffee, waiting for me to offer him some piece of information.

  Opting for the less incriminating nugget, I gave him something. “It’s Annie.” Watching his face twist in confusion, I wondered what he thought it meant. Immediately wanting to wash out any concerns he might be having about her and I, or why I’d be so worried about her, I dropped my hand to his, covering it in my warmth. “She didn’t drink. She doesn’t ever do that—not that she’s a drunk or anything like that. But when we’re out, she always has a few beers with us, that’s why she fit in so easily with the guys.” Pausing, I tried to piece together that part of the night. “She looked at Drea weirdly, too. It’s just that . . .” Stopping mid-sentence, I debated saying more. Revealing something that wasn’t mine to reveal wasn’t my style. But this wasn’t about her. This was about the very real dread I felt at her possibly being pregnant. “She’s sick already. She has Lupus.”

  His hand tightened around mine, his face morphing into one of concern. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.” Tipping back my mug, I swallowed down another sip and some of my worries. “It’s just that it makes things complicated and I worry about her. Annie and Paulie are the only family I have. If something were to happen to them, I don’t know what I’d do. So last night, I guess I panicked, and then with you being there, I just . . . well, you see what happened.”

  “What does me being there have anything to do with it?” His question was full of honest interest. He wasn’t fishing for anything other than getting to know me better.

  “Everything.” Sighing, I ran a hand throu
gh my hair. Knowing he’d ask for more, I said, “You piss me off and then calm me down. You rile me up and screw with my head, then before I even realize it, I’m not myself.” Looking over at him, I was surprised by how focused he was on me, hanging on every word. “But then you look at me like that, and we kiss like we kissed and I feel more like myself than I ever have.”

  “I thought you forgot.” Parker spun the mug in his hands, looking at me cautiously before adding, “About the kiss. I was starting to think I’d lost my touch.”

  Heat flashed through my body. “No, you definitely haven’t.”

  Just then, Parker’s phone rang out from the couch, a shrill, siren-like noise. “That’s my father,” he explained as he walked over to answer it.

  My head was throbbing less as I made a second cup of coffee. Hearing how I made Parker feel was apparently something that was going to have to wait, at least if the look plastered on his face as he spoke to his father was anything to go by.

  “Everything okay?” I asked as he ended the call.

  “Yeah, except I have to go. Something came up with my latest case and I need to deal with it.” Clearly frustrated about the situation, I didn’t want to ask more about it, but watching him gather his things, I couldn’t help but wish we could spend more time together.

  “Can I steal these for the day?” Parker ran a hand over the shorts and T-shirt he’d swiped from me last night.

  “Yeah, of course.” Like a fool, I thought to myself at least we’d have a reason to see each other again, even if it only was to return some clothes. That’s when he brought up the car.

  He stepped close to me, but pulled his hand back before he touched me. Torn somehow, he seemed off kilter. “Are we still good to restore that car? If not, I mean I can figure something else out, but–”

  Cutting him off, I said, “Of course. I don’t want anyone else screwing that car up.” He was rambling, and for the first time since I’d met Parker, he was nervous and unsure. Though I tried to pull it off as if I was only concerned about the car, Parker’s arched eyebrow and smirk were enough to tell me that he saw straight through the line.