Stud in the Stacks

by Pippa Grant

Coming from a thirty-year-old self-made billionaire, that’s quite the accusation. “Like you don’t?”

  Sia winces. “Parker, honey, I don’t know how to break this to you, but Chase and I don’t exactly work as much as people think we work. If you know what I mean.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. “TMI, and I was already aware.”

  “Great. So go home.”

  Right.

  Truth?

  I have no idea what I’d do if I went home.

  Other than a lot of self-reflection while eating cheesecake and contemplating just how much I actually like having my apartment all to myself.

  Because I don’t think I like it nearly as much as I thought I did a month ago.

  And not even Margarita Monday will help.

  39

  Knox

  I skip work Tuesday.

  Not because I’m not going back to the West Park Branch Library. I finally called Gertie back last night and told her I’d be back, but that I needed a couple days off.

  Today, though, I’ve showered, put on clean pants, and I’m out of the apartment.

  I’m even meeting a woman for coffee.

  “I heard a rumor you quit at the library,” Lila says when we sit down. We’re at a chain coffee shop, even though I like The Bean Tree’s food and coffee better, because a chain coffee shop doesn’t make me think of Parker.

  Or so I tell myself.

  “I did,” I tell her. “They begged me to come back, though I don’t know why. I’m an insufferable employee with ego problems.”

  She laughs. “That’s not the best way to start a job interview.”

  “Don’t know that I want the job.” Except that’s not true.

  I love working at the library. I grew up in my mom’s library, and I fucking own the adult section of the West Park Branch Library. Libraries are in my blood.

  But my objection to working for Lila isn’t about the work. Being on the front lines of selecting the next great romance novel? That’s fucking power. I like it.

  What I don’t like is the idea of being a slave to a job.

  Of working so hard, so long, so many hours, that I never get to enjoy life.

  Of becoming my father.

  I don’t know if he was a good guy or a bad guy. Honest truth. He worked as many weekends as he was home, always up before dawn, home after Troy and I were in bed.

  Since Parker kicked me out, I’ve been thinking about him a lot.

  Not often that happens. Never thought he was a big influence on me. But his death was. If falling in love with Parker has shown me anything, it’s how much I’ve let fear of becoming my father rule my life.

  I’ve tried to become my mother instead.

  And while I truly do love working at the library, I need to be me.

  Lila’s mug clunks onto the table, and I pull myself back into the coffee shop.

  “What happened?” she asks.

  I could play dumb, but there’s no point. Women know these things. I try to still my knee, but it won’t quit bouncing. “You know the engagement was fake the whole time. You were there.”

  “Huh.”

  I eyeball her. She smiles a pretty smile that does jack shit for me.

  “I saw your eyes light up the night of the bachelor auction when she flagged you down,” she says. “It was never fake. You just didn’t know it.”

  “Okay, wise one, then why did she dump me?”

  “Maybe because you still live with your grandmother.”

  “You don’t really want me to come work for you, do you?”

  She laughs again. “Oh, I think we’d get along just fine. You give me shit, I give you shit, we argue over a few books, we argue some more over who found the next Fifty Shades but give each other all the credit in public…”

  Sounds a lot like working at the library.

  A chair slams down between us at the two-person table, and I look up to find Parker’s fourth brother glowering at me. “Couldn’t wait two fucking days to find a new woman, asshole?”

  I don’t actually know who’s oldest and youngest—I call Jack the fourth because I met him last and know the least about him.

  Also because I figure it would probably piss him off. “Couldn’t even wait one,” I reply.

  “And he has a death wish too,” Lila says on a sigh as I easily dodge Jack’s right hook. She stands and puts herself between us. “Sit,” she orders.

  “He—”

  “Is here looking for a job, which you should appreciate.” Lila snaps her fingers and points at the chair Jack dropped.

  He stays standing, but he doesn’t take another swing.

  Probably waiting until my guard is down.

  “She dumped him,” Lila says. “She wants him to be a grown-up and he’s still living with his grandmother.”

  “Jesus.” I’m rapidly deciding working for this woman isn’t in my best interest. “She just wanted me for my body. Short-term. We both got what we wanted, so we ended it.”

  “You got what you wanted,” he repeats.

  “She got what she wanted. And newsflash—she called it quits.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she was done with me.”

  “Who fed you that horseshit?” Jack demands.

  “Who the fuck do you think? And don’t talk about your sister like that.”

  Jack takes a wide-legged stance. “You believed her?”

  “Yes, I fucking believed her.”

  “You ask her why?”

  I’m warring with myself, because on the one hand, I want to slug Jack for butting in and for not respecting his sister’s opinions. On the other, I’ve asked myself that very question more times than I can count.

  And then I ask myself why I didn’t stay and demand an answer from her, at which point I don’t know if I would’ve been a jackass or a hero, and I’ve never been on the line of wondering, which means it really could’ve gone either way.

  He throws himself into the chair he banged up to the table. “You know what Parker’s afraid of?”

  I could probably make a list, but I’m not going there with her brother.

  “She’s afraid of getting her heart broke, you moron,” Jack fills in. “What’s easier? Dumping you, or waiting for you to dump her?”

  “I wasn’t going to fucking dump her.”

  “Does she know that? Because it’s no secret you go through women like you go through loincloths.”

  “I’ve had one fucking loincloth for the last eight years.”

  He shrugs. “Bad analogy. Point is, you’re a player, and she knows it.”

  Yeah, he and I had this argument already. About a week ago, in fact, while my nuts were in danger of going up in flames.

  And since Parker dumped me, there’s really no good reason for me to not return the favor. Except for the part where we have a witness. Lila seems to be enjoying this.

  “You’re also unfortunately the best of the fuckers she’s ever dated.”

  Yeah, tell me something I don’t know. “We supposed to hug and sing hippie songs now?”

  “No, you’re supposed to get your head out of your ass and fix my sister.”

  I want to be pissed that he’s going behind Parker’s back, but I can’t work up the anger.

  Not if there’s any chance she’s hurting even half as badly as I am.

  “What’s wrong with Parker?”

  He stands. “Apparently none of your goddamn business, if you can’t stop moping for yourself long enough to consider how she’s feeling.”

  Lila smiles at me over her coffee mug while Jack slams out the front door. “Sounds like you’re not the only one taking the break-up hard,” she says cheerfully.

  “Your cheerfulness is fucking annoying,” I tell her.

  “Says the man who smiled through getting spit up on by a baby.” She pulls out her phone. “I’m emailing you a few contingencies for my job offer. You have forty-eight hours to respond before I go to the next blogger on my list. Man
uscripts are piling up. I’m losing patience.”

  Still so fucking cheerful.

  While I’m sitting here with heat cascading through my chest and my heart threatening to thump right out of it.

  If Parker’s hurting—if she dumped me because she was afraid I’d dump her instead, if she does actually care—then I don’t give a fuck about Lila’s pile of manuscripts.

  I stand.

  “Heard a rumor she has band practice at Chase Jett’s house tonight,” she says casually as her thumbs fly over her phone. “And while I obviously can’t discriminate based on relationship status, you’re basically no good to me—or your Mr. Romance fans, or any library patrons—when you’re moping.”

  “Why do you know about Parker’s band practice?” I ask.

  “We’re two professional women who work for demanding bosses and don’t have enough time for fun, which we’re both working on changing. We’re having lunch tomorrow. Although she sounds like she needs it sooner.”

  I glare at her.

  She smiles and takes another sip of coffee.

  Lila Valentine is quickly becoming the sister I never had. Still don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing, but I know one thing.

  I’ve been a moron.

  And I’ve let Parker down.

  Again.

  Time to fix this once and for all.

  40

  Parker

  Band practice isn’t doing it for me tonight. We’re jamming to “As Long As You Love Me,” and by jamming, I mean my three besties are jamming and I’m trying to hold my shit together.

  I hit a sour note on my guitar, and not only do Sia, Willow, and Eloise all stop, but Chase and Sia’s brothers look up from heh-heh-heh-ing over something on one of their phones to stare at me.

  “You could text him,” Willow says. “It was a really nice article. Surely the library won’t fire him just because that applehole didn’t confess to being a mean banana.” Either wedding stress has finally pushed her over the edge, or there was another crackdown on cussing at the preschool this week.

  “I did text him. Yesterday. Because we’re grown-ups, and you’re right. That was a very nice article in the Times. Not that it matters, because he had already quit his job.”

  “Did you text him with your phone?” Sia asks. “Because you might want to follow that up with a voice call.”

  Nope.

  Not a chance.

  I couldn’t even bring myself to correct that last text I sent him, because let’s face it. Having a memorable phone is really all I’ve got.

  Well, that and the organic muffins, donuts, and chocolate bars I brought from the Crunchy down the street on my way to Chase’s Upper East Side brownstone tonight. Sia’s basically moved in here, and he lets us take over his basement mancave for band practice. As if he doesn’t have seven other floors he could decorate with dark leather couches, big screen TVs, and posters of Sia making duck lips and kissy-faces.

  I don’t want to know what else those two do down here.

  But I do know I need to get back to being happy, single Parker, superstar VP of Marketing by day, rapidly-growing-obsessed audiobook listener on the subway, and occasionally socially clumsy guitar player by night.

  No matter how empty and broken that damn muscle in my chest feels.

  “Take it from the top?” I say.

  “How about some ‘Hanging Tough’ instead?” Willow suggests.

  I shake my head. “His grandmother was a huge NKOTB fan. She wrestled me for rights to Joey.” Only half of truth, but it’s at least true. The other half is that I’ve been subtly attempting to remove all the New Kids on the Block songs from our set list for this weekend. No one else seems to have realized that Sia’s brothers only stage-crash us during classic NKOTB numbers. While I love those two overgrown puckheads almost as much as I love my own brothers—some days—I’m not feeling the energy to take our practice—or our next performance—to that level.

  “One Direction?” I prompt instead.

  “Sissies,” one of Sia’s brothers mutters.

  “You think The Rock is a sissy,” Sia retorts with an eye roll.

  Her other brother grunts. Chase fist-bumps them both. On his own, Chase is reasonably intimidating, but next to Sia’s brothers, he looks like a brown-haired, chin-dimpled bunny rabbit.

  But then, so does The Rock. Minus the hair and the chin dimple.

  “‘MMMBop,’” Eloise declares.

  Willow groans. Sia pumps a fist in the air. “Yes!”

  The men all roll their eyes. I pull out my phone and search the chords, because it’s been months since we’ve “MMMBop”-ed it in public.

  As a band, I mean. Sia and Chase “MMMBop” in public all the time, which I honestly sort of understand now.

  We’re stumbling over the second verse when Chase walks into the basement. I hadn’t noticed him leave, but once again, my fingers trip on my guitar strings.

  Because Knox is here.

  With pink carnations and the set jaw of a determined man.

  My belly bottoms out.

  Break-up flowers. Except they can’t be, because—

  I can’t finish the thought, because he’s taking my guitar, pulling me to my feet, and then— “Parker Parker Elliott, I love you.”

  I gasp, but now he’s kissing me—though kissing isn’t quite the right word, because the urgent intensity in the pull of his lips and the insistent glide of his tongue and the rumble in his throat isn’t just kissing.

  It’s claiming.

  I whimper into his mouth, my breasts getting heavy, my chacha stirring to life, my hands exploring his body, imprinting this memory on my fingertips forever, and—

  And he’s gone.

  Dangling in the air, wild-eyed, twisting and thrashing in Sia’s brothers’ grip. “What the fuck?”

  “This guy bothering you?” Thing One growls.

  “Don’t touch nice girl,” Thing Two adds.

  I’m hot and cold, terrified and lustified, and once again, Sia’s brothers are being just as big of a pain in the ass as my own would be.

  “Put him down,” I order. Because I can’t kiss him or talk to him or just look at him when he’s dangling like that.

  Sia’s shrieking with laughter. Which was not what she was doing when the twin oafs pulled this move on Chase a couple months back. Then again, we’re in no danger of anyone being tossed four stories out a window this time.

  I make eye contact with Zeus, who I can only identify because he was the one who used a multi-syllable word. “Don’t make me pull out the spiders.”

  One-half of Knox’s body tilts toward the ground as Zeus drops his arm.

  I poke the other twin on his rock-hard bicep and bend a nail back. Dammit. “Down. Or we will never play ‘The Right Stuff’ again.”

  He whimpers and drops Knox, who lands gracefully despite the What the fuck? look still lingering on his handsome face.

  “Congratulations.” Sia slaps my no-longer-fake-fiancé on the back. “You’ve just been Brute Forced. Welcome to the family.”

  I stutter, but it gets caught in my throat, because yes, I want Knox in my family.

  I just don’t know if he really wants me.

  Her brothers grunt and fist bump each other, which I swear causes some kind of miniature air-earthquake, and then Zeus whips out a marker and takes aim at Knox’s forehead.

  “No signing!” I shriek. “Put that thing away!”

  But Knox is two steps ahead of me, executing some jungle dodging moves that I’m pretty sure even Rhett would be impressed with.

  “Out.” I point to the door to the stairwell.

  None of my friends move.

  “Out,” I growl.

  Eloise stands first. She elbows me on her way out. “Bang him like a drum.”

  Willow follows quickly. Sia grabs Chase and tugs him to the door. “This is my house,” he says.

  “Shut up and give the lovebirds some privacy.”

  Sia�
�s brothers are still eyeballing Knox like they’re contemplating the world’s biggest noogie. I point harder at the door. “Spiders. No more NKOTB. Got it?”

  Zeus scowls. “Evil short one.”

  Ares hangs his head with a defeated sigh.

  They both head toward the stairs, and I have this odd wish that my brothers were here too.

  Because I don’t know if that was a thank you kiss or a true I love you kiss or a—

  The door to the stairs shuts behind the twins and Knox pounces, stroking my cheek, the gold flecks in his olive eyes ablaze with an intensity that makes my core clench.

  “I love you,” he repeats.

  I suck in air, my chest squeezes, and a wash of heat starts in my core.

  In my entire life, no man has ever told me he loved me. Not even Randy when we got married. And no man has ever looked at me with the kind of conviction radiating out of Knox.

  “Parker, you’re under my skin. You’re in my bones. You’re here.” He touches his chest over his heart. “No one—no one—has ever gotten me the way you do. I want you to push me. I want you to make me a better man. I want to find a job closer to you, see you every day, wake up in the same apartment, eat tacos with you, take care of you, watch you take care of yourself, watch you bloom, be there with you for everything.”

  A dam bursts in my heart and all the hope and love and need I’ve tried to hide for all these years bursts out and swells hot and fast through my chest. “You—”

  “I love you. I want you. I love your smile. I love your heart. I love your strength. I love your crazy phone and your guitar and all those sexy noises you make when we’re in bed, and I don’t want to let you go. Ever. I don’t give two fucks about our deal. I care about you.”

  There’s something hot and wet clogging my throat, but it’s not fear, it’s not heartbreak, and it’s not bottomless desperation.

  It’s hope. And possibly joy. And definitely love.

  His fingers brush my ear, stroke my hair, his body presses against mine as he drops his head to my shoulder and holds me. “Everything in my life has always come easy. Friends, school, work—I’ve never had to fight for a damn thing. I’ve never had to be brave. I’ve never had to be strong. I’ve never had to struggle. And I always took it for granted. But you—Christ, Parker, you are the strongest, bravest, most inspiring woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. I love you, and I don’t know if I deserve you, but I swear to you, I will show you every single day for the rest of my life just how precious and perfect and loved you are.”