Parker

There’s a man in my bed—hogging the bed, actually—and I can’t bring myself to mind. Because last night was the last night he’ll be here.

My reunion is over. His Chocolate and Romance program is over. As soon as the Times article runs—undoubtedly soon—our deal is over too.

I’ve pulled my laptop into the bed, because I need to do some research on organic alternatives to the Pickle Hops for when I break the news about last night to Chase, but instead of working, I’m watching the light filter in on Knox’s features. The soft glow adds shadows to his dark stubble and slowly illuminates that tattoo that I traced with my tongue sometime after we got out of the shower. He’s on his stomach, my leopard-print sheet just covering his ass, and I want to stroke the curve of his biceps and the indentations of those dimples in his lower back, but I don’t want to disturb him.

Not yet.

This moment—it’s mine.

I want to remember this happy feeling. This contentedness. The way the air smells like sex and dusty books and something spicy that makes me think of the jungle. The way his hair falls on the pillow, how his lips are slightly parted as he breathes deep.

I got way more out of this deal than he did.

I’m debating giving up on pretending to work and getting up to make breakfast when he stirs, his lids fluttering open. His lips curve in a smile. “Hey.”

My heart catches in my throat. I’m going to miss this man. I hope we can stay friends. “Morning, sunshine.”

He blinks a few times, then chuckles and rolls to his side. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to hog your bed.”

“I’ll forgive you this time.”

“Okay today?”

And there goes my heart, melting just a little more. I set my laptop aside and nod. “Not sure how I’m going to break the news to Chase, but I feel better than I have in a long, long time.” I squeeze his hand. “Thank you. Again. For everything.”

He pulls me into his chest, and unexpected tears attack my eyeballs. “You did all the hard work. And screw Chase. He’s taking advantage of you.”

“He’s my boss. He writes my paychecks in exchange for me doing the job he’s told me to do.”

“Doesn’t mean he owns you.”

“That’s ridiculous. No one thinks he owns me. Do you have a problem with people wanting to do a good job?”

“No, but failing at one thing doesn’t mean you didn’t do a good job. It means you failed one thing. You learn from it, and if your boss can’t appreciate everything you went through last night, fuck him. You work too hard to take his shit.”

I suck in a breath, because I don’t want to fight. “Says Mr. Stayed At The Library Until Eight On A Saturday,” I tease instead.

His muscles go taut under my cheek. I give his waist a squeeze. “Kidding. You needed to be there, and we both know it.”

His chest rises with a deep breath. “I quit.”

I start to laugh, but he’s serious. A quick glance at his face confirms it. “Whoa. What? Where did that come from?”

“Dorky’s never going to quit looking for an excuse to get rid of me, so I quit.”

I straighten, pulling a sheet with me to cover my naked bits. “After that program, you quit?”

“Not a big deal. Lots of other libraries in the city.”

“But they love you there.”

He grins. “They love me everywhere.”

I gape at him. I know he’s right—people do love him everywhere—but it’s unsettling. And it’s pissing me off for reasons I can’t entirely identify. Possibly because he can be friggin’ unemployed and confident he’ll fit in the next place when I don’t know how I’m going to tell my own boss that Randy Pickle basically told me Crunchy can shove it.

Also—if Knox quit…it doesn’t matter what the next Times article says.

Because his job was the only reason he needed me.

The realization that our deal is done—over, finished, sang its last song—hits me in the chest with a sucker-punch.

“Parker?” He scoots up, his smile fading.

“That’s…great.” Great? Who the fuck am I kidding? It’s horrible. I lunge for a pair of pants in a pile next to the bed. “Wow. So I guess you have some résumés to get busy on. Or you could call Lila. It’s something, at least, until you can get into another library.”

“Parker—”

“I realize this is awkward, but I’m kind of a master at that, so I’m just going to say it.” I struggle into my pants. “You don’t need to stay if you don’t want to. Since we’re basically done with our deal. I—I’d like to stay friends. You’ve been really great.”

“Parker.” The eyebrows of doom are lowering over something dark in his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Our deal. My reunion, your program… It’s all over.”

And now I’m getting the dancing-penises-growing-out-of-my-ears look again. I yank a T-shirt over my head, realize it’s his, strip, and grab last night’s dress instead, which I dance into with all the grace of a one-legged monkey.

When I poke my head out, Knox is saying something and gesturing to the bed, to my pillow, to the sheet covering his—oh, god, nope, don’t think about his magic peen, because I was just borrowing it, and my time on that rental has expired.

I am never having sex again.

Because there’s no flipping way my usual horrible sense will ever give me a man who knows what he’s doing in bed again. It’s like I found a sex unicorn—you know, they don’t actually exist, and if you’re lucky enough to find one, no one will ever believe you, and you’ll start to doubt yourself after it disappears again because unicorns don’t actually exist.

Finally, his words register.

“This was way more than a deal.” His voice is gravelly and low, and his eyeballs are doing that intense stare thing that I’ve never seen from Knox before. “It started that way, but—you’re more, Parker. I don’t want this to end. Do…” He visibly swallows, and he squeezes his eyes shut for a long second. “Do you want it to end?”

Do I want it to end? Of course not. That would be like wishing someone would come along one day and take one of my feet just because I made a joke about trading it for another piece of cheesecake. But— “Ending is kind of inevitable, isn’t it?”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Doesn’t it? You’re still like a chocolate cupcake while I’m that weird lemon-white chocolate cookie people always pick last because it’s weird.”

“You’re not—”

“I work too many hours for you, and you just throw around jobs like they’re a dime a dozen.”

“There’s more to life than work.”

“I have my band. I have my friends. I like my life. And I like you too. I do. A lot. But I’ve only been a VP for about two months, and I still have a lot of work to do to prove to my boss and myself that he made the right choice when he promoted me. I spent fifteen years at Crunchy, being told I’m not good enough for this. You can’t come in and wave a magic wand and suddenly fix everything that’s wrong with me.”

“There is nothing wrong with you.”

“There’s something wrong with all of us. I just happen to know what’s wrong with me, and I know there’s not a quick fix.”

He rakes his hands through his hair. “That doesn’t mean we can’t work this out. Parker, you—you’re funny, and you’re smart, and you’re so fucking strong, so fucking beautiful, and I’m not letting you go so you can find some idiot who doesn’t appreciate every single molecule of your very essence.”

“So you’re playing hero again,” I say softly.

“No. Dammit, Parker—”

“We’ve had a good run,” I say, my voice getting thicker, each word getting harder, “but why drag this out? A month from now, six months, you’ll find another damsel in more distress than me, or you’ll be unemployed and I’ll be harping on you about it, or we won’t get to see each other enough because of my schedule. I never wanted to get married. You never wanted a woman who’s never wanted kids.”

He flinches, and another part of my heart crumbles.

“And even if I wanted to give you kids, I’m thirty-eight. I’m old. There’s no telling if I could.” Oh, god, I’m going to cry.

Because I suddenly do want to give him children. Fucking dammit. There goes my strong, independent woman card, flying out the window because of a sex unicorn.

“Parker—” he starts again.

I cut him off with the last bits of my conviction. “I’m going to get in the shower. It’ll be best if you’re gone when I get out. Thank you. Again. For everything. And good luck.”

Before he can argue, I dart to the bathroom, shut the door, and lock it. Because while I’ve just figured out how to be Parker 2.0, I don’t know how to be this woman who’s suddenly craving everything I never thought I wanted or needed.

Including that man on the other side of the door, who will one day find a woman without all my emotional baggage, without my aging ovaries, and without all my insecure need for him to bang down this door, tell me I’m wrong, and that he’s just as much in love with me as I am with him and that he doesn’t care if we never have children, because I’m enough all by myself.

Me.

Crazy, insecure, Pimple Popper Parker.

After what feels like an eternity, I hear him leave my bedroom. The apartment door shuts, sealing off all my budding hopes that I knew better than to indulge in.

Tomorrow, I’m going to be queen of my world.

But today, I let myself sink into the bathtub for a good long cry.