Page 14

Parker

When will you be home?

When I left Parker earlier, she was marching out of the den, mumbling a stream of expletives while on the phone with her sister while they reviewed a speech the White House wanted her to give at an upcoming event. I have no clue what the issue actually was because I was pretty distracted by her robe—my robe technically. It wasn’t cinched tight enough, revealing the smooth plane of her stomach, the lace trim of her grey bra, and apparently, I realized, coordinating underwear.

I never knew I was the kind of guy who gave much thought to matching anything . But fuck, I am now.

Across from me, Coach’s eyes drift to my phone. I flip it over.

“I get you’re upset.”

I’ve said this twenty times during the last half hour, because, I’m not sure what else to say. When Coach texted me last night saying let’s grab a late lunch, I immediately said sure and felt relief. I hadn’t heard from him since we got off the plane from DC, and even then, he didn’t say much. Just stared, like he’s doing now.

“I’m not sure why you think I’m upset,” he says, pressing a napkin to his mouth and then placing it on his near empty plate. “I thought I made that clear already.”

I push the remainder of my sandwich away. I’ve lost my appetite. “I don’t want you to think I went ahead and did all this behind your back.”

Coach raises an eyebrow above his glasses.

“I mean, to hurt you.”

He snorts. “Why would you hooking up with that Montgomery girl hurt me? I think you’re the one who might be hurt by it.”

I expect him to make this about football first, because, with Coach, it’s always about football. But he doesn’t continue.

“Why would I be hurt by Parker?” I press.

Coach lifts one shoulder in a shrug, before leaning back against his chair. “Fitz, I’ve been around enough characters in my career to know when some people don’t change.”

Now it’s my turn to raise my eyebrows. “You’re talking about when she was in high school? That doesn’t seem all that fair.”

“Who said anything about fair? I’m just saying the truth. That pretty, wild thing”—Coach pauses—“well, girls like that never really change. They act out for attention, make everything dramatic. I mean, I bet you she talked you into announcing your engagement that way, didn’t she?”

Swallowing, I clench my teeth together.

Coach waves me off and laughs. “Here’s the thing, Fitzy. I’m worried about you, because I’m worried you haven’t changed all that much even though I thought you have.”

“What? How?”

“You’re weak,” he answers immediately.

“Weak?” I repeat. “I can’t be all that weak winning a Super Bowl. And this thing with Parker has been going on long before that.”

That’s the story we’ve decided to go with—our relationship is a little more than a year old.

Coach’s eyes slide to the side. “You barely won it.”

That comment feels like a punch to the gut, but I don’t want him to see me sweat it. “And that was somehow Parker’s fault?”

I wish I could spit out the truth to make Coach’s point null and void.

“I guess we have to see how you show up in the off-season. I’m sure after that stunt you two pulled at the White House, you’ll be awfully busy.”

“Actually,” I begin. “I’m not involved with the campaign.”

“Oh?”

I nod. “Not my circus, not my monkeys. I’m here to play football. And if you think I’ve got my head wrapped up in anything other than that, you don’t know me at all.”

The words flee from my mouth with a ring of truth. That’s because my head isn’t wrapped up in Parker. My heart is.

The phone vibrates again. Coach stares, challenging me. I reach for my iced tea instead.

“I actually should get going,” I say. “We’ve got that gala tonight.”

A rip-roaring laugh pummels out of Coach’s chest. “When have you ever gone to a gala?”

He’s right. I never went to anything like this when I was out in LA playing for the Bulls. But what Coach doesn’t know is that Nick originally axed my idea of just donating and insisted I buy a table and show myself in good light.

“First time for everything.” I put down my glass.

Coach hums. “Well, while you’re busy in your tux, I’ll head to the facility and get a look at some film before draft day. Need a high pick cornerback.”

I scoff. “Come on. You can’t be serious about not picking Todd back up.”

Coach doesn’t say anything.

“He’s a top player in the League. You can’t just replace him because you guys butt heads.”

“I can replace him because he’s an overpaid pussy.”

I’ve never played with or against a cornerback I thought was a pussy.

Coach comes around the table, patting me on the shoulder. “Thanks for lunch. Good luck with your dance tonight.”

I run my hand over my face when my phone vibrates again.

Parker

?

Furrowing my brow, I type my response as I ask for the check.

Sorry. Back in a bit.

Parker

How much is a bit, exactly?

10 min maybe. All good?

Parker

Yes and no.

Tossing cash in the bill envelope, I leave the table, heading outside and call her. “What’s wrong?”

I can hear her take a deep breath, but only silence follows.

“You can’t answer on the fourth ring and not tell me what’s wrong.”

Parker sighs. “I just need a hand. Can you hurry?”

I begin to walk briskly. “You’re okay though?”

“Yeah. I can’t reach something.”

I lift my hand when a car honks at me as I cross the street. “If you can’t wait, there’s a stepladder?—”

“Fitz.” Parker groans. “I’m stuck in my dress and can’t reach the zipper .”

“That’s urgent? I almost got hit by a car for you because you’re stuck in your dress?”

Parker huffs. “Never mind. I’ll go and ask Agent Samuels?—”

“Don’t.” I almost get hit by a second car and barely make it across the street before the light changes. “I’m coming. Hang tight.”

When I get up to the floor of my apartment, I eye Agent Samuels, reaching for the door’s knob myself.

“Finally. Took you long enough.”

Following her voice, I find her sitting on the kitchen island.

Looking absolutely fire .

“What’s the problem?”

“I told you,” she says. “I’m stuck.”

“If you have to be stuck in something for the rest of your life, this isn’t a bad way to go. Trust me.”

Parker huffs, hopping off the island with a hand to her chest.

God, it’s got a slit, too.

“I think a piece of the lining is caught between the teeth.”

I immediately release my lip from where I’ve shoved it between my teeth.

Parker has turned away from me, so, thankfully, she doesn’t see the way my tongue dips out to swipe at my lips.

On second thought, I decide I definitely want her out of it, but only after I’ve traced every inch of the exposed skin with my lips and tongue and need other areas to explore.

“Fitz?”

“Sorry, what?”

Parker points behind her back.

“You look”— fucking phenomenal —“great.”

“Thanks,” Parker says, “but I probably look better when it’s actually on .”

I’d argue the only way she’d look better is naked, but I keep that thought to myself. That’s made easier when Parker tucks all her dark hair to one side, displaying the length of her slender neck, and I lose my ability to speak. I wonder if it’s my mouth’s way of punishing me because I’m not letting it do what it wants to, which is to trail kisses down the velvety column.

“Be gentle, Fitz.”

I file this under Things I never want to hear from Parker again unless I’m balls deep inside her and reach for the zipper. I try— gently —to tug it free. But my focus is still on her neck.

“Did I ever tell you that you have the Big Dipper on your neck?”

“The Big Dipper?”

I take a step, but that doesn’t get me close enough, so I bring a hand to her waist, guiding her back so we meet in the middle.

“The one and only.” I lift a finger, beginning to trace the constellation of dark freckles on the back of her neck. “Still there below your hairline.”

My touch draws not just the shape, but also the smallest shiver from Parker. I do it again. “ Still ?” she asks, her voice soft.

I clear my throat. “Guess I never mentioned it.”

Of course I never mentioned it back in high school. For one, I was embarrassed and worried Parker would think it was weird. And I didn’t want her to suddenly keep her hair down all the time.

She lets out the sweetest surprised breath. “I didn’t know that.”

“I love that.”

Her tone changes. “Love what?”

I lean to the side to catch what I can of her eyes. “How I know something about you that you don’t know about yourself.”

I hold her gaze for a second before Parker rights herself so she faces forward again and I grab some fabric of the dress to create traction and tug the zipper upward with no luck.

Parker sighs. “You might need to rip it off me.”

I lean forward, my head hovering over her bare shoulder and smirk. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

The light blush on her cheeks grows a little more intense and I take that one as a win, but I’m losing when it comes to this fucking gown. Even with Parker holding the dress secure to her body, it does slip down a bit, but my focus is lost when my fingers touch her skin. But it’s not the softness that steals my breath.

It’s the rough patch of poorly healed flesh that makes the world stop.

You’d think this was the first time I’ve seen it. The scar is nearly as large as my hand, a slanted rectangle a few inches under Parker’s left shoulder blade.

I’ve never wanted to go to war with a memory that wasn’t mine. I know if it was possible, I’d do it for Parker.

“Should we move closer to the window so you can see it better?”

Are you kidding? I want to scream. I’ll never get it out of my head.

“Almost got it.” I grab the zipper a little firmer and tug, doing everything I can to focus on the metal teeth in front of me while the ones in my mouth grind together so forcefully they threaten to pulverize the enamel into dust. I’m still gritting them together even when the zipper is free.

“You got it?”

I nod but don’t say anything as Parker adjusts the fabric and then waits for me to zip it correctly. I don’t know if I can even speak. I don’t even know if I want to. Not until she turns around. And suddenly, I want to tell her so many things.

Stay away from them. Let me protect you.

But none of those words come.

Facing me, Parker drops her gaze down at the dress. “It’s too much, isn’t it?”

The hesitation and doubt lacing her voice snap me out of my head. “You could never be too much.”

She softly narrows her eyes. “Then why are you looking at me like that?”

Because I’m just so fucking sorry I abandoned you.

I shake my head and turn away from my thoughts and only let myself see the Parker in front of me—beautiful, daring, and dangerous to my senses in red.

“Us being married might be easier than I thought. You in that dress, standing there like that, not even trying.” I rub my chin. “You’re stealing my breath in the way only a wife can.”

* * *

Even with the heavily tinted windows of the SUV, I make out the flash of cameras from the hotel entrance that’s at least three blocks away.

“Standstill traffic for a football thing?”

I feign hurt and rub my chest. “Ouch.”

Parker slaps my knee playfully. “You know what I mean.”

“Football means a lot to a lot of people around here.”

I’m not sure if Parker notices, but during the ride to the gala, I sit closer by spreading my legs a little wider than normal. Secret Service might be here to protect her, but being driven by them has me all sorts of uneasy.

“I only care that it means a lot to you,” Parker says. “I guess you mean a lot to a lot of people.”

“We’ll turn at the next intersection and use the back entrance. That’s protocol for a large event,” the agent driving informs us.

Parker reaches forward and I jump when she pushes a button at the bottom of the front console that brings up a partition.

I feel like I can breathe. “Did you know that was there this entire time?”

Parker keeps her eye on the door beside me. Her eyes flicker and narrow with determination. “We’ll miss the red carpet if we go in the back. We should take advantage of it, don’t you think?”

At the end of it all, showing off this relationship is the furthest thing from my mind. So far, I have to remind myself that Parker thinks the publicity is important to me. “Definitely,” I say.

“Do you think they put the child locks on?”

Here we go , I think to myself. Back in high school, I probably would’ve tried to talk her out of something like this. But fuck that. I’m not bending a knee to anyone except Parker—certainly not Secret Service, and the White House.

I glance down at strappy heels she wears. “Can you run in those shoes?”

“I’ve done a double in heels higher than this, Fitzy. I’m not quite the princess you think I am.”

“Damn. The only thing that would make this better would be me carrying you.”

Parker stops me when I reach for the door handle. “Wait.”

I peek over my shoulder at her, and snicker. “Chicken.”

Throughout our lives, she rarely has been, so I enjoy this chance to tease her. But I’m not met with a heavy sigh or a roll of her eyes. Instead, Parker has a pensive look across her face, lips pursed in thought.

“Do you think we should kiss?”

That’s a pretty stupid question to ask me. I happen to think we should start kissing and never stop.

“At the gala,” Parker clarifies when I don’t answer. “Like in front of the cameras. Or is that corny?”

I bring my body back her way, my knee pressing into her bare thigh peeking through the slit of her dress. “Do you want me to kiss you at the gala?”

Our brief conversation the other night about boundaries didn’t include this subject, which was either a mistake or a genius move on my part.

“Itwould look good, I guess. But only if it comes naturally. Maybe we should practice.”

“You can’t practice natural. You either are or you aren’t. And besides”—I narrow my eyes as I slide over—“do I look like the guy who needs to practice kissing his fiancée?”

Parker’s bare shoulders begin to rise and fall quickly.

“Putting too much pressure on this is going to make it as unnatural as possible. We’ll improvise, and it’ll be fine. You’ll be less nervous not seeing it coming.”

For me, it’s not about nerves, but I tell her that anyway even though the truth is I don’t want to share our first kiss with the world. I want that moment to myself.

Parker clears her throat “You’re right.”

I rotate my body toward the door for only a second before I swing back in her direction, finding her fumbling to close the small purse sitting in her lap. I tuck a finger beneath her chin to direct her face back to mine. I only get to enjoy the shock on her features for the briefest second before I close the space between us.

I know it’s going to come across to Parker as improvising. But the truth is, I’ve been rehearsing my role in this scene for as long as I can remember.

For as long, maybe, as there’s been her , there’s been a wild fantasy about the pillowy lips I claim with my own. There’s been wondering about the sweetness of her breath and what it’s like to be this close. And there’s been constant wonder about how it would feel for Parker to kiss me back once she’s made it on the other side of the shock and awe, which she does after a handful of my racing heartbeats.

And it’s better than anything I could’ve dreamed up.

She feeds the softest, sweetest, surprised sigh into my mouth as she leans into the kiss, and I don’t want to back away. I want to live in this moment where I’m not afraid to slip my hand to the small of her back. I want to savor the feel of her flexing her fingers that landed on my chest, to remember the soft contours and movements of her jaw in my palm.

Parker presses against me before she pulls back, untangling our lips. But I still hold her cheek and cradle her back.

I thought kissing her might be the best moment of my life, but that actually comes after—it’s the flex of her smile into my hand.

“If you were nervous,” I whisper. “I couldn’t tell.”

Parker’s breath fans over my lips. “You were right. You don’t need the practice.”

But I think I do. Because from what I can tell, her lipstick remains perfect, but she checks it anyway, digging a small mirror from her purse. When she’s satisfied, she returns the mirror to her bag, seemingly shocked when she finds me staring. But I’m the shocked one a moment later because she lifts her hand, pressing a finger to my lips.

Another perfect smile blossoms across her face and makes me melt.

“I’ve got your mark on me, don’t I?”

Parker continues smirking. “Are you going to be embarrassed if you do?”

“No. I’ll wear your lipstick like a badge of honor like a real man.”

She giggles. “I have a wipe.”

“Leave it. Let everyone see who you really belong to.”

I dart my tongue out and lick my lips, savoring her garnish as I shift against the leather of the seat. If I don’t redirect my brain to the task at hand, I’ll be stealing all the attention as I run alongside her with a tent in my pants.

I give the partition one more look before checking the window. We’ve maybe crawled a block. “Fuck protocol?”

Parker nods. “Rebels only.”

Before we even make it to the red carpet, we’ve already had our photo snapped a dozen times by lingering media and amateurs with phones. I have to wonder if anyone will see what’s really going on behind the scenes of the pictures where I, in a tux, lead Parker, in a gown, as we run through Boston traffic while tailed by a very frustrated Agent Samuels.

If they look close enough, I wonder if they’ll see how wildly fucked I really am.