The Wrong Heart

by Jennifer Hartmann

  Suffocating.

  “Is that the guy who fixed your ceiling?”

  Shane’s voice kisses my ear, and I flinch back, his proximity invasive. His hold on me tightens. “Yes.”

  “Want me to tell him to get lost?”

  “No.”

  My response is quick, leaving no room for interpretation. Shane guides me back to the pool table, his hand sliding to the small of my back, and I finally pull my attention from Parker. I’m tempted to approach him, to find out why he’s here, but West steals my courage before I can flee, handing me a cue stick.

  “It’s all you, little sis. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  I inhale a calming breath, trying to shake the weight of his gaze as my fingers curl around the cue. “I’ve definitely got this… three ball, side pocket.”

  “Risky.”

  My eyes skip to my brother. “Really?”

  West chuckles as he swallows down the rest of his beer, abandoning the empty bottle on a high-top table. “Just go, will you?”

  “Okay, okay…” Gnawing the inside of my cheek, I try to concentrate on the shot as I near the table, refusing the pull from the opposite side of the room.

  Deep breath.

  Leaning forward, I move into position, eyeing the number three on the red ball and sliding the stick between two fingers. I should have realized something was amiss when Leah’s giggles cut short and West’s words eclipse, but I continue with the shot, my backside jutted out and my focus fixed.

  That’s when I feel him.

  A potent heat closing in on me, prompting the little hairs on my arms to dance to life while my skin warms with want. Parker angles himself over me, arms encompassing me from either side, his hands sliding down my own arms until he reaches my wrists.

  His face lowers to the crook of my neck, lips grazing my ear, and he whispers, “Hey.”

  Hey?

  A surge of heat spirals south at a single word. I realize all eyes are on us right now—my brother, Leah, my freakin’ date—but I can’t seem to move. I can’t seem to withdraw from the lure of his spell.

  I find an ounce of bravery and tilt my chin up, canting my head to the left. He’s right there—our noses almost brush as our eyes meet. I swallow. “I didn’t know you played pool.”

  My voice is shockingly steady, my grip tightening on the cue.

  Parker inhales a hard breath, licking his lips as his gaze skims my face. “I don’t. I just wanted an excuse to touch you.”

  I feel my insides pitch with arousal, and my eyelids flutter closed. “Oh.”

  “Take the shot,” he mutters softly, his tone subdued, so only I can hear him.

  Nodding towards the three ball, Parker pretends to position me, his groin pressing into my hip as his fingers coil around my wrists and his breath beats against the shell of my ear.

  I pull the stick back…

  And scratch hard.

  Damn it.

  “You missed,” Parker says.

  “Can I help you, man?”

  Shane’s aggravated baritone rumbles over to us, and I rise up from the table, noting how Parker takes his time backing away, his hand lazily gliding down my spine. It feels like he doesn’t want to let me go. I come to my senses and pull myself together. “Shane, this is P—”

  “We’ve met,” Shane bites back.

  Oh, right.

  The smoldering.

  Sensing how incredibly awkward this is, Leah attempts to come to my rescue with an overdramatic hair flip and an invitation to accompany her to the bar, but Shane stands there with stoic firmness, his wrists crossed and draped over the chalky end of the pool cue.

  I glance back at Parker, who is aiming his own death glare at Shane.

  This is not going to end well.

  Shane cuts in again, his words pointed at Parker. “Is there any good reason why you decided to put your hands all over my girl?”

  Parker doesn’t reply. He just stands there, glowering.

  I take the lead, spinning around and planting my palms against Parker’s chest as if to prevent him from doing something regrettable, even though he seems to be content with the silent intimidation act. Maybe I just want an excuse to touch him, too. “Let’s go talk?”

  It takes a moment for his eyes to flick back to me, but when they do, they flare with heat, and a fever stirs within me. He nods slowly. “Yeah… okay.”

  I turn back to my group, throwing a knowing look at Leah, a promise of future explanation at my brother, and an apology at Shane. Clearing my throat and pacing forward, I murmur, “Be right back.”

  —TWENTY-THREE—

  I’m not a violent person.

  And that’s mainly because I’ve never given a shit about anything enough to have an emotional reaction that strong. But when that motherfucker put his hands on her, wrapped her up in his arms in some kind of macho, possessive move—like she belonged to him…

  I saw red.

  Jealousy crawled through my veins like a new kind of poison. Something sinister and unfamiliar. All I wanted to do was knock his teeth out, drag her the fuck out of that place, then scrub her clean of that asshole.

  Every muscle in my body aches. Every cord in my neck strains. Every heartbeat feels like a ticking time bomb as I follow Melody out of the bar and into the damp humidity, almost ramming into her when she comes to an abrupt stop and whirls around to face me.

  Her chest heaves with quick, hard breaths. “What are you doing here?”

  I’m not answering that. She fucking knows what I’m doing here.

  Instead, my hands clasp her hips, backing her up until she’s pressed against the distressed brick building. A little whimper escapes her when her shoulder blades hit the wall, and the sound thunders through me. “He called you his girl.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  My eyes dip to her lips as my fingers curl around her waist. Pink and parted, demanding to be kissed. Tensing my jaw, I admit, “Yeah, it does.”

  “Why?” she probes gently.

  Fuck. She wants to talk about my feelings, while all I want to do is claw them out of me. I drop my forehead to hers, closing my eyes through a ragged exhale. “Because… I remember every noise you made that night, every breath you took, the way your body trembled and swayed, molding into mine like it was designed that way,” I confess, the words spilling out of me like a pathetic purge. “I remember every goddamn inch of you, Melody, and you sure as hell didn’t feel like his girl.”

  You felt like mine.

  I don’t say that last part because I’m not prepared to deal with the implication of it, nor the inevitable fallout.

  Melody’s eyes drift closed as she swallows my words down, her fingers gliding up the front of my abdomen, and then my chest. When I tug her arms away, her lids pop open, a glare surfacing. “I can’t touch you. I can’t kiss you…” A huff of disappointment hits the summer air, and she slithers from my hold. “This is pointless.”

  I watch her saunter away, but she doesn’t head back inside the bar—she traipses down the back alleyway, her heels clicking with each deliberate step. I call after her, following. “Where are you going?”

  “Away from you.”

  “In a sketch-ass alley to get yourself kidnapped?” My pace quickens until I catch up, moving in front of her to hinder her escape. “That Matchmaker killer was nabbing people not far from here.”

  She sighs weakly. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Where are you even going?”

  Trying to wind around me, she lets out another defeated sigh when I block her. “I’m going to my car. I had to park on the street. Can I please leave?”

  “That dickwad didn’t even pick you up? Jesus… I’ve never even been in a relationship, and I have enough sense to know that much.”

  “You…” Melody pauses, confusion settling into her features. “You’ve never been in a relationship? Ever?”

  “No. I told you, I—”

  “Don’t like women,” she fin
ishes, glancing away. “That’s kind of a huge red flag, Parker.”

  I take in the way a light blush shades her cheeks, and I wonder if I put it there. My feet move in closer. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me… a lot you don’t want to know.”

  She nibbles her lip, raising her eyes to me. “You can tell me.”

  Goddammit.

  She’s looking for a way in. She’s throwing me all these chances, all these bones, all these golden fucking opportunities to spill my guts to her, so she can understand.

  But I’ve never let anyone in before.

  And she’ll never understand.

  So, my response is pulled from the only shred of certainty I have: I want her.

  I fucking want her just as much as I wanted her that night in the rain. Savage, raw, and unrestrained. My gaze dips to her cleavage, recalling the taste. Salty skin and earthy raindrops. Her dress is red, seductive and curve-clinging, and I recognize it from the night she invited me out with her friends while I was remodeling her bathroom. I glance back up. “You’re wearing the “fuck me” dress,” I state, my voice hoarse, giving away my growing arousal. Melody’s irises flash, dancing with green and gold flecks. Tiny embers. Inching closer, I lower my chin until my lips are a hair’s breadth from her ear. “Did you wear it for him? Or did you namedrop the bar earlier in hopes I’d show up and tear this dress off of you?”

  Melody’s breath hitches as she raises her chin, our eyes meeting, faces only centimeters apart. She swallows, her gaze drinking me in while she considers her response. “Him,” she finally whispers.

  My whole body stiffens, my brows furrowing into a scowl.

  “I wore it for him because I didn’t expect you to show up tonight. I’ve learned to expect nothing from you—it only leads to disappointment.”

  She holds my stare for another moment before stepping away, then moving around me and heading back towards the bar, purse swinging beside her as her hips sashay with conviction.

  Fucking hell.

  “Where are you going now?” I call to her.

  “Back to my date.” Melody pauses her trek to add, “I want to see if Shane likes my dress.”

  I’m not sure why I submit to her goading, why I let the jealousy flow through my veins again like a toxic drug, or why I allow this uncharacteristic surge of possessiveness to provoke my feet into chasing after her.

  But I do.

  And then I’m in front of her, bending down and scooping her off her feet until she’s draped over my shoulder, squeaking in surprise.

  “Parker! What the hell?” Melody protests, squirming in my grip. “Put me down!”

  Marching through the alley to the front parking lot, I veer towards my truck, my one arm holding her tight just underneath her backside. She hardly weighs anything at all.

  “I swear to God—”

  “You’re not very threatening when you’re upside down.”

  Melody growls in frustration, smacking her purse against the back of my thigh. “You’re such an asshole.”

  “More than I can say for your date. He has more nose than personality.”

  Her belly bounces atop my shoulder with each hurried step, her hands pushing against me, nails digging into my lower back in an attempt to work herself free. Her efforts are fruitless. “Parker!”

  As we approach my pick-up truck, I slide Melody down my torso until her heels touch the pavement, maintaining my hold around her waist. She gives me a light shove, smoothing out her hair that has now landed in a hundred different directions and inching her dress down her thighs with a sulk.

  A small smile betrays me as I regard her flushed cheeks of indignation.

  Melody does a double-take when she glances up at me, hesitating. Then an angry index finger lifts into the air and points right at my mouth. “That’s what gets a smile out of you? Manhandling me?”

  My smile grows wider despite myself, and I open up the passenger’s side door to my truck, hinges shrieking. “Get in.”

  “So, you’re the one who’s going to kidnap me?” Her arms fold across her chest as she spares a look of curious interest to the open door, then pulls her gaze to my face. Melody bites her lip, resolve dwindling.

  She has every intention of getting in the truck.

  “I don’t know, am I? Kidnapping would require an unwilling victim.” My eyes case her from head to toe, landing on her firmly planted feet. “You don’t look unwilling.”

  Her teeth continue to glide along her bottom lip as her mind races, her knees bobbing up and down. “Where are we going?”

  “My place.”

  The mood shifts with implication. Melody swallows, her gaze flicking across my face, glittering with temptation.

  Honestly, I have no clue what in the goddamn fuck I’m doing. I didn’t have a plan tonight. I didn’t come here with the intention of literally sweeping Melody off her feet and whisking her away to my house for round two of mind-blowing sex.

  In fact, I’m not even sure I’m ready for that. It sounds so… intimate. She’ll be getting a glimpse into my lonely life. She’ll meet my old ass dog, she’ll touch my things, she’ll… sleep in my bed.

  Fuck.

  I’ve never had any woman aside from Bree inside my house before, and I sure as hell haven’t had anyone in my bed.

  We stare at each other with heady contemplation. I am reevaluating, and she is giving in. My fingers curl around the frame of the truck door, my mind spinning, screaming at me to back out, demanding I push her away indefinitely.

  But Melody makes the first move, shattering my indecision and breaking our standoff.

  She climbs inside the truck.

  With her hands folded tensely in her lap, eyes pinned straight ahead, she leans back into the seat and lets out a nervous breath.

  I close the door, and a new one opens.

  Parker — 14 Years Old

  I’m sitting beneath the old willow tree in the backyard, drowning out the noise and chatter of my foster siblings, when Gwen rushes over to me. Frizzy copper hair catches the draft, covering her face and cloaking the sniveling sneer I know she’s wearing well.

  She pushes the bangs off her forehead when she reaches me, assessing my perch against the tree. My school bag hangs open, textbooks and notepads scattered around me. “Are you studying how to be cool?” Gwen carps, antagonizing me with eyes of blue steel.

  I glance down, crossing my legs and ignoring her attempts to instigate. My hold tightens on the book I’m reading.

  “We’re going to go to the pool. Want to join us?”

  Swallowing, I pretend to be fully engaged in the book, my gaze scanning over the blur of inky letters.

  “It’ll be fun,” Gwen continues, stepping closer. Invading my peace. “Landon has an extra pair of swim trunks you can borrow. Lord only knows you could use a little sun… you look like a chicken with its feathers plucked out. Like you’ve never seen a day of sunlight.”

  My teeth gnash together.

  I prefer the shade. The shadows.

  They let me hide.

  I tried to hide from my teachers and classmates when my first year of high school began—holing up in the bathroom stalls, even skipping classes. But when the principal contacted my foster mother, it only brought more attention to me. To my flaws and deficiencies. My shortfalls.

  “All you need to do is take your shirt off, Parker,” Gwen sneers. “What do you say?”

  I feel my cheeks heat up, my stomach swirling with anxiety. “No thanks.”

  Gwen yanks the book from my hands, then drops to her knees in front of me, a toothy grin blossoming when my eyes meet hers. “How come? Gargoyles deserve to have fun, too.”

  “Just leave me alone,” I bite out, pulling myself to shaky legs, then leaning down to collect my school supplies. I’m startled when I feel a tug on the back of my t-shirt, causing my reflexes to spike and my agitation to spiral. Whipping around, I shove her arm away. “Don’t touch me, Gwen. Please, go away.”

 
; “Just because you don’t want to have fun, doesn’t mean I can’t have fun.”

  Gwen sprints toward me again, reaching for my shirt. She wants to humiliate me. She wants access to my scars so she can carve her own cruelty into them and leave her mark on me. “No! Stop.” I dodge her, but she keeps coiling around me, slithering like a snake, all hiss and venom. Her hands grip the front of my shirt, tugging it upward until my burn scars reach her eyes.

  She snorts at the evidence. “I feel sorry for you. You’re never going to get a girlfriend looking like this.”

  The barb cuts deep, adding to my collection. I’ve been noticing girls in school lately, even though they don’t notice me back. Part of me is angry at all of them because they remind me of my mother. And Gwen. Sometimes I hear my mother’s laughter when feminine giggles claim my ears during lunch period, or sometimes I’ll see Gwen’s icy blue eyes when a girl rakes her stare over me in gym class.

  But my body doesn’t seem to agree. It doesn’t seem to hate them like the rest of me does. My body is curious about girls, which only adds to my confusion and insecurity.

  As Gwen continues to try and lift my shirt higher, a familiar voice breaks through my heightening shame.

  “Hey! Witch Face,” calls the voice. “You better go fly off on your broomstick before I shove it up your bony butt.”

  Bree storms over to the willow tree, dropping her own backpack to the grass and rolling up the sleeves to her blouse.

  Gwen steps away from me, cowering slightly. “Oh, look, Parker’s bodyguard to the rescue.”

  “Hardly,” Bree snips. “Parker can easily knock your lights out. I just like to intervene before it gets to that point.”

  “Are you trying to be my bodyguard now, too?” Gwen goads.

  “No. I want the honor of doing it myself.”

  Bree holds up her fist as she wiggles her eyebrows with menace.

  Gwen looks between us, deciding if she wants to keep tormenting me or busy herself with other forms of enjoyment. Sighing, she spears me with a cool glare before folding her arms and stomping off to the other side of the yard. “Whatever.”