Page 26 of The No Touch Roommate Rule (That Steamy Hockey Romance #2)

Chapter

Fifteen

MAKENA

I wake up feeling weirdly…great.

Which makes no sense. My hip throbs from where the air mattress gave up on life around four-thirty a.m. Half of my back is damp from melted ice, and Crawford is currently scratching out an angry manifesto in the travel mug by our feet.

But Parker’s chest is warm beneath my cheek, and his arm is wrapped tight around me, like he wants to keep me close, even in sleep.

And that’s…pretty great.

He’s pretty great.

So great, there’s a serious chance I might be falling in love with him.

It’s a sobering thought.

Or should be, anyway, but when he rumbles, “Good morning, gorgeous, still alive?” a few minutes later, I just snuggle closer.

“Yeah, I actually slept like a rock. How about you?”

“I wouldn’t say like a rock. But I’ve had worse sleeps.”

I grin against his chest. “You didn’t spend months sleeping on a shelf, either. You’re used to that soft, mattress life.”

“I am.” He stretches, his whole body going taut against mine before relaxing, ensuring I’m suddenly very aware of the way every inch of him fits against every inch of me.

I’m sure the fact that he’s promised me multiple orgasms before this day is through has something to do with that…

God help me, I can’t wait.

My panties have been at least a little wet since he listed all the ways he’s going to stake his claim, and I don’t see that changing any time soon. If being desperate for Parker to eat my pussy in a deck chair after delivering on his kinky promises in the hot tub is wrong, I don’t want to be right.

As if freshly incensed by my slutty thoughts, Crawford rattles more vigorously in the mug, the sound of his claws on the ceramic sharp in the morning quiet.

“Crawford wants us to get up,” I murmur.

“Crawford’s a dick,” Parker says, glancing down toward our captive.

“But I guess I would be, too, if I’d spent the night in jail.

” He sighs, his arm tightening around me one last time before he pulls away with a groan.

“Guess it’s time to do the damned thing.

” He groans again as he sits up, pressing a hand to his lower back.

“Fuck this piece of shit air mattress. We’re never camping again. ”

“Or we could buy a better mattress.”

He glares at me over his shoulder. “No. No camping, Makena. Stop it. Right now.”

I laugh. “Stop what?”

“Stop being a nature girl. I can’t take it anymore. From now on, I need a real mattress and a real door, the kind that keeps creepy crawly shit out of my bed.”

“Valid,” I say, echoing his groan as I sit up, my spine protesting every inch of the way. “Okay, yeah. Now that you mention it, my back has been happier.”

“See? I’m right,” he says. “I’m always right.” He exhales a heavy sigh. “It’s my cross to bear.”

Rolling my eyes, I give his arm a playful shove. “Okay, Mr. Right, let’s free the political prisoner before he organizes a revolt.”

Parker bobs his brows. “Mr. Right, huh? I knew you’d come around, sooner or later.”

Even yesterday, the teasing words might have made me twitchy, but now I simply roll my eyes again, laughing as I insist, “Will you just get out of the truck, already? I’m tired of wet pajamas and I need to pee.”

“And it’s already getting nasty in here,” he agrees, scooting to the end of the bed. “Why does summer have to be so hot first thing in the morning, Makena? It’s aggressive.”

He’s right. Outside, the air is already thick with humidity, promising another scorcher.

But that’s okay.

We’ll be in the air-conditioned truck most of the day, and then…

I can’t think too much about “then,” or the chances I’ll be able to stay focused on getting out of here before the sun bakes our brains will be slim to none.

Cleanup is quick and surprisingly fun. Thankfully, both our tote bags are mostly dry, and we take turns in the communal bathhouses, still deserted at this early hour. I change into a sundress, run frizz-easing cream through my chaotic hair, and set about helping strip the soggy sheets off the bed.

Once we’ve brought some semblance of order to our gear, Parker totes the destroyed air mattress to a nearby dumpster, while I mop up the truck bed with the campground rental towels.

Afterward, I make coffee, while he deals with the damp sheets, doing a little dance to the bossa nova music playing on his phone as he hangs them on the line.

For a man in a knee brace, his hips don’t lie.

Who knew khaki shorts could be so sexy?

But honestly, with an ass like Parker’s, everything he wears is sexy.

“Stop objectifying me,” he says without turning around.

“Stop having such a nice ass,” I shoot back.

“Can’t. It’s genetic. Skipped my dad, but you should have seen my grandad cut it up on the dance floor back in the day.”

“I’m good, thanks. Our age gap is about as much as I can handle.”

The family camping next to us watches our blanket-hanging banter with amusement. Their baby flails an arm at me from his blanket, where he’s already busy with his toys and a chunk of banana he’s smeared over his face.

I wave back, making him giggle.

Aw, babies.

They’re cute. I don’t want one, but they’re precious, and I love being an aunty to Elly’s little girl. Still, I know not wanting kids is the exception, not the rule, especially in the South.

Parker probably wants a huge family.

The thought is sobering, and probably another reason I should have him drop me off at the bus station on his way to Mobile—do not pass go, do not allow him to deliver multiple, potentially life-changing orgasms, or let him finish making me fall in love with him.

If the sex is as good as I’m anticipating, it could be the straw that breaks the love camel’s back, and that could be tragic for both of us if he wants a family and I’m determined to keep my uterus out of the reproduction game.

For once in my life, I should do the responsible thing first , instead of adjusting course later, when it becomes clear I never should have started banging the man I’m currently banging.

So, when I deliver Parker’s coffee to our faded picnic table, I pull in a bracing breath and confess, “That baby is adorable, but I don’t want kids.

At all. Full stop. No room for negotiation.

I love them, but I don’t want them. It just doesn’t feel like part of my journey this time around.

Maybe another incarnation, but not now.”

Parker nods, looking remarkably unfazed. “Okay. Good to know.”

I hover beside him, waiting for more. But he just sips his coffee and glances back at his phone. “Looks like it’s going to be a little cooler in Mobile, thank Christ. My ball deodorant can only do so much.”

“That’s all you have to say?” I ask.

He glances up, taking another sip. “About my balls? At the moment. Yes.”

I prop a hand on my hip. “No, asshole. About babies. I was serious.”

“I realize that. The other day, after we hung out with Luis, I was thinking kids could be fun, but I’m also cool with no kids. It’s not something I’m super passionate about one way or another.”

I point a finger at his chest. “And if you’re not passionate about kids, you shouldn’t have any. Kids are a huge, life-long, all-encompassing commitment.”

He grins, still looking annoyingly chill as he nods. “Agreed. So yeah, no kids is cool. And you know Elly and Grammercy are probably going to have half a dozen. I’ll just be cool Uncle Parker, spoil Mimi and the other kiddos, and leave when they start having meltdowns or teenage sex.”

I shudder. “Stop. I refuse to imagine Mimi having teenage sex. She’s going to be my sweet, precious baby squirrel forever.”

Parker laughs. “I don’t know. Time flies, woman. Seems like just yesterday I was crushing on my babysitter. Now, she’s bringing me coffee and making sure I know she doesn’t want babies before we fuck tonight.”

Fighting a smile, I mutter, “You’re a mess.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Let’s go release the beast and get on the road.”

“Let me release the beast in the bathhouse first,” he says. “Those granola globs are going straight through me this morning.”

“Gross,” I say. “Keep it up, and you’re going to kill the sex vibe.”

He winks as he rises from the table. “No, I won’t. I saw your nipples this morning, F.C. They were hard under your t-shirt, and you couldn’t stop looking at my ass. You’re hot for this bod.”

I shake my head as he swaggers across the campground, only a slight hitch in his step to accommodate the brace.

He’s right. I am hot for his bod.

And he doesn’t want babies, either.

And he makes me smile and laugh and feel like I’m adorable, just the way I am, no toning it down required. I haven’t had this much fun with someone in longer than I can remember, and waking up in his arms was lovely. Safe.

Perfect.

Parker truly might be the person I’ve been waiting for—the one I never thought I was going to find.

Now, I just have to decide what I’m going to do about that.

Freak out and fuck it up?

Or woman up and lock this man down.

Fifteen minutes later, we release Crawford by the small stream at the edge of the campground, where morning mist still clings to the shore. When I open the mug, he plops into the murky water with zero fanfare and wiggles away, without a backward glance.

“Clearly, he doesn’t have PTSD,” I mutter, standing and drying my hands on my sundress. “Meanwhile, I’m not sure I’ll ever sleep without socks again.”

“Nah, he’s probably telling his friends about the giants who imprisoned him right now,” Parker says. “Warning them that we’re fast and fearless and amazing at teamwork.”

“Good.” I nod, narrowing my eyes. “Let them fear us.”

“Amen,” he says, taking my hand as we head back to the campsite.

Back on the road, the truck’s AC fights the summer heat as we zoom south again. I fidget with the radio while Parker navigates, but every station is either angry talk radio or Christian rock, both of which feel like a personal attack.

“Just pick something,” he says after the fifth station change. “Or put on my road trip playlist.”