Page 9 of Parker

The meeting progresses as they all do, each person introducing themselves and telling us why they are here.

I keep my part short, simply saying that I had recently fallen off the wagon.

The group mutters sympathetically. Joel then stands up and does his introduction.

I find it hard to believe he needs to be here at all.

He’s so self-assured and articulate as he speaks, explaining how alcohol had become his comfort blanket in the evenings while working late in his high-pressure position in his family’s business.

How Rhona has supported him for the past eighteen months, and he is now over one year sober.

He emphasizes the importance of being a team and how we should all be here for one another, even just as a listening ear.

When he finishes, the group gives a round of applause, and I smile at him like a lunatic.

He gives me a half-smile back, then returns to speaking to Rhona.

But before he turns back, his eyes linger a beat too long. He saw me.

My stomach growls hungrily as we leave the hall. Joel is walking beside me, and he chuckles under his breath. “Anyone would think you haven’t eaten?” he says.

“I haven’t,” I tell him. “Completely forgot, to be honest.”

“That’s not good. You must eat.” My skin prickles with his scolding. “There’s a cafe across the road. We can get a coffee. They have the most amazing chocolate cake.”

“Seriously?”

“Sure, why not? I don’t bite. Well, not on the first date, anyway.”

My eyes widen at his boldness.

He laughs. “Come on, what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t.”

“Okay, I didn’t. Let’s go eat.” He takes my hand and links it through his arm.

We walk over to the small, dingy cafe in silence and find a table inside by the window.

It’s a typical box room, with plastic tablecloths and microwaved food, but the coffee is alright, and the cake is as good as Joel promised.

Two hours later, we are still nursing our second cups.

We’ve talked about everything and anything—he is the most incredible person I have ever met, open and honest about his family’s business in Glasgow and his fight with alcoholism.

I hang on his every word. He makes me feel at ease.

I tell him about my current situation and the time I spent in prison.

The night my father died, and my role in the fiasco.

My mother’s attitude toward me and her sudden change after the youth’s attack.

He sits silent, listening as I prattle on. His eyes hold mine, and when I pause, losing confidence in telling my story, he reaches across and squeezes my hand to encourage me to continue.

The server approaches our table and clears our cups away. “We’re closing in ten,” she says.

“What time is it?” I ask.

“Half past eight,” she responds, but continues her work.

“Oh my, I didn’t realize the time. We’ve been in here for hours. I better get back. My mother will wonder where I am.”

“Can I see you again?” he asks, hopefully. “I’ve had a lovely time.”

Flattered by the invitation, I smile at him. “I’ll see you next week?”

“That’s not exactly what I meant. Can I have your number?”

He passes his phone to me, and I type my number into the keypad. “Thank you for a lovely time.” I rise and walk over to him, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. My heart skips a beat. He places his hands on my hips, and my pussy vibrates in response.

“I’ll call you.”

Upon leaving the café, I walk back up the dark streets toward my mother’s apartment.

The area is deserted, and that only makes me more uneasy.

There’s no one around, but the silence hums with something else—something unfinished.

My phone rings as I hear a vehicle approaching behind me.

I answer the unknown number, and the car pulls to a stop beside me.

“Need a lift?” a sexy man’s voice asks down the line. I glance in the window and see Joel in the driver’s seat. The car is sporty, low, and sleek with bright red paintwork. “A lady really shouldn’t be walking these streets at night, unless it’s her career.”

I laugh. “How do I know you’re not a serial killer?”

“Do you think serial killers would drive one of these?” He raises his eyebrows. “Not exactly inconspicuous.” I shrug and climb into the passenger seat. What do I have to lose? I either take my chances with Joel or the lurkers on the dark city streets.

Embarrassed about giving him my mother’s address, he has to ask me twice. He will live in a friendly neighborhood in a big house, no doubt.

He pulls up outside the block of apartments, and we both sit in silence.

“I know this is forward,” he says, his tone unsure. “But I think we should live in the now. Do you want to come back to my place?” He glances over, and a red flush creeps up his neck. “It’s not something I normally ask a lady the first time we meet. But…” He trails off.

“But what?”

“I can’t imagine going home without you tonight.”

And just like that, for the first time in a decade, I don’t feel like a convict. I feel like a woman.

I should say no. I should get out. But instead, I watch his hands on the wheel and wonder what they’d feel like on me.