Page 38 of The No Touch Roommate Rule (That Steamy Hockey Romance #2)

Chapter

Twenty-Two

MAKENA

I wake from a dream about falling in love with the world’s best boy and sigh…

Because it wasn’t a dream.

Morning light filters through Nana’s guest room curtains, soft and golden.

The air conditioner whirrs in the window, already hard at work on this bright summer day.

Parker’s arm is heavy across my waist. We smell like soap and sex—from round two, when we were awakened by feral cats around three a.m. and didn’t hesitate to make the best of a cat fight situation.

I don’t want to hesitate anymore.

Not when it comes to him.

My body aches in a dozen different places, but my heart in just one—this sweet hurt at the center of my chest that comes from feeling too many beautiful new things at once. It’s like I’ve been fighting to keep from drowning only to suddenly realize I’ve grown gills. Shocking, but good.

Miraculous even.

I press back against him, letting his warmth seep into my bones.

He mumbles something that might be my name and pulls me closer. His morning erection presses against my ass, and my pussy, slut that she is, immediately votes for round whatever we’re on now.

“No,” I whisper aloud. I don’t intend to hesitate when it comes to letting the feelings flow, but I wasn’t as lubricated as I should have been the last time. A small break from the constant fornicating would probably be a wise idea. “You’re in time-out.”

Parker’s laugh vibrates against the back of my head. “Who are you talking to?”

“My vagina.”

“Oh no, is she okay?” He kisses the back of my neck, and I feel it in my toes.

“She’s okay. Just a little sore from round two. I might’ve jumped back on that pony a little too fast.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” He kisses me again, even as his hands begin to wander, coming to tease my nipples through my t-shirt. “Will coming on my mouth make it better?”

I exhale, knowing I shouldn’t.

I really shouldn’t, but…

“Maybe?” I whisper.

He’s under the covers a beat later. In just a few more, he has me writhing. Soon, I’m begging for round three, but he refuses, forcing me to watch him jerk off on my belly in a way that’s weirdly hot.

Afterward, we’re both messy and in need of another shower, a state of being that’s going to lead to an Oxford water shortage if we’re not careful.

Twenty minutes later, after swift but separate showers, in the name of forcing ourselves to behave, we make our way to the kitchen. My hair’s still damp, leaving wet spots on my last clean sundress. Meanwhile, Parker’s wearing basketball shorts and nothing else until we do laundry later.

Apparently, my boyfriend is intent on murdering me via exposure to his sexy abs.

Boyfriend…

The word still makes me smile.

Nana’s already at the stove, humming something in a silk robe covered in dancing skeletons, her white hair piled into a bun with a matching skeleton hair clip.

“Morning, sex goblins,” she says without turning around. “Coffee’s fresh. Parker, put on a shirt before you scandalize the eggs.”

“Can’t. I have to do laundry.” He kisses her cheek on his way to the coffeepot, and the happy ache in my heart starts up again.

This easy affection, in a kitchen that already feels like home, with my guy and a woman who instantly accepted me into her family…

I think I’ve been starved for this my entire life.

“Makena, honey, you want one piece of French toast or two?” Nana glances over her shoulder, and I notice she looks tired. Like maybe she partied a little too hard at yesterday’s festival, too.

“Always two, please. But why don’t you take a load off and let me?—”

“Sit.” She points her spatula at the kitchen table. “Both of you. I’m making breakfast, and I don’t need help. I need an audience. What time did you get home last night? I ended up gossiping with the girls until almost one.”

We sit, sharing the censored version of our evening as we sip our coffee and Nana flips French toast with practiced ease.

She plates two slices for me and four for Parker, delivering them to the table along with syrup, butter, and a fruit compote that smells like heaven.

“Eat up, babies. Another big day ahead.”

“So how big is the craft fair?” I ask. “As big as the sausage festival?”

“Just about.” She sits across from us, cradling her coffee mug.

“And you’ll definitely need at least a hundred dollars in spending money, so be sure to stop at the ATM before you start walking around.

There are so many cute new booths this year.

” She lifts her nose with a sniff. “Though, of course, you’ll be getting your very own, stubby, chubby penis-shaped tea cozy free of charge. ”

“I’m a lucky woman,” I say, meaning it.

“What time do we need to be ready to help you set up?” Parker asks through a mouthful of French toast. “Because I wasn’t kidding. Somehow, I’ve already dirtied everything I packed.”

Nana glances at the clock on the wall. “Two hours and change, so you’d better go throw a load in. We can’t parade you around downtown like that. Poor Makena will have to beat the other women off with a stick.”

“Which, I would,” I assure Parker as he pushes his chair back. “But I am a little tired from all the excitement yesterday, so…”

He grins on his way back to our room, calling over his shoulder, “You want me to throw some of your stuff in, too? Bras and panties and those shorts I like that almost show your ass?”

“Yes, please,” I say with a huff of laughter. “And a t-shirt, in case I feel like wearing a shirt tomorrow, too? With the shorts?”

“I guess,” he mutters.

When I turn back to dig into my toast again, Nana is smiling. “You two are precious,” she murmurs. “I’m so happy you came to see me.”

“Me, too. Really,” I say, wanting her to know how grateful I am. “It’s been the best visit. Parker and I were already talking about coming back in August sometime if that’s all right.”

Her smile widens. “Absolutely! Any time. And maybe I can get y’all to help me with a few things around the house next time. Just a few repairs I haven’t had the energy to get around to.”

“Of course,” I assure her. “Anything you need.”

“It’s really not much. I just haven’t had as much energy lately.

” She winks. “It would probably help if I stopped staying out until all hours of the night chatting with friends, but between the six of us, we have a lot of grandbabies. And a lot of gossip. And we’ve been meeting up to watch all the Voodoo games, of course.

They’re all so proud. It’s like Leo belongs to all of us. ”

“He really is incredible on the ice,” I say. “Even when I was trying not to think about him, I couldn’t stop watching the games.”

“Aw, you had a crush on me, too.” Parker swings back into the kitchen, pinching my hip as he sits down. “If I’d known you were watching, I would have written ‘Date me, Makena’ on my cheek, and you would have come to your senses a lot sooner.”

“Oh, hush,” I mutter, though I suspect he’s probably right.

We finish our French toast and laundry, and three cups of coffee later, have Nana’s ancient station wagon stuffed with boxes of crocheted dick socks and chubby stubby tea cozies in every color of the rainbow.

Along with a cash box older than I am, and signs that say things like “Put a Sweater on Your Peeter” and “Keep it Cozy with a C*ck Warmer.”

At the fair, Parker backs the wagon up to her tent, where we help unload and arrange the merchandise.

“I can’t believe this is my life,” I say with a happy sigh, positioning a particularly vibrant purple penis cozy on the display rack.

Parker tosses a rainbow-striped number my way. “This one’s my favorite. Put it up front, too.”

The craft fair is exactly what you’d expect from a town that celebrates sausages.

Booths selling everything from handmade soap to oil paintings of dogs in top hats to yoga posing garden gnomes fill the square.

The penis cozy booth fits right in, tucked away in the “adult corner” with the obscene cross-stitch and nearly naked firefighter calendars, drawing scandalized giggles and curious browsers in equal measure.

“Now remember,” Nana instructs from her lawn chair once we have everything settled, “the key to sales is education. These aren’t just novelties, they’re functional art. Keeps the jewels warm in winter, provides cushioning for athletic activities?—”

“Please stop,” Parker begs.

“Never.” She turns to a passing couple. “Y’all need a dick sweater? Twenty percent off if you buy three!”

I watch them work, Nana charming customers with her complete lack of shame, while Parker plays the embarrassed but dutiful grandson. But he clearly feels proud to be a part of her weird and wonderful world.

“I’m going to grab a lemonade,” I announce after an hour of steady customer activity. “Y’all want one?”

“Yes, please,” Nana says. “Strawberry lemonade for me.”

“Extra ice for me,” Parker adds, catching my hand as I pass by, just to squeeze it with a smile.

Just because he likes to touch me.

Likes to like me.

I float to the lemonade stand on happy vibes and float back with three sweating cups.

We people-watch and penis-warmer-and-cozy-sell until lunch, when Parker and I leave Nana with Eugenia, who’s stopped by for a visit, and slip away to explore a little.

Parker shows me the parts of the square we missed in all the chaos yesterday—the pottery store, the children’s bookstore where he devoured The Hunger Games series, and the ice cream shop that still makes the same flavors they did when they opened in 1968.

“Gluten-free Pineapple upside-down cake, huh?” I ask, watching him attack his two scoops with single-minded focus. “How is it?”

“Amazing, have a lick,” he says, extending his cone my way.

“No thanks, I’m good. It wouldn’t pair well with my butter pecan.” I take a bite of my cone, let the sweetness melt on my tongue. “Where to next?”

“Here,” he says, nodding toward a small rock trail leading away from the sidewalk. “I’ll show you my favorite secret spot.”

I grin. “I like a secret spot.”

“And this is a good one,” he says as we duck under low-hanging tree limbs. “Not only is it quiet, but there’s loads of shade.”

“It’s so hot today,” I say. “I can’t believe Nana’s selling anything intended to keep a person warm in this heat. Even if it’s just a small part of the body.”

“Or not so small,” Parker says, glancing back at me as he ducks between two overgrown azalea bushes concealing the entrance to a pocket park. “How are your lady parts holding up?”

I huff out a laugh. “Fine. But we should probably stop jumping each other’s bones every ten minutes. At least until she has a chance to build up her endurance.”

He nods seriously. “You don’t go from couch to 5K in a week.”

“Exactly.” I grin as I glance around the park. “Wow, this is so cute.”

Magnolia trees create a natural cathedral, branches meeting overhead in a canopy so thick the temperature has dropped at least five degrees.

Someone hung a garland of paper flowers between the trees at some point.

They’re kind of soggy-looking now, but still magical.

And when I turn back to Parker, he’s done with his cone and pulling a blanket from his backpack.

“You planned this?” I ask, impressed.

He shrugs, proud and a little shy, which only makes the surprise more adorable. “Yeah, I felt bad about breaking your vagina and wanted to do something special. But I forgot the picnic snacks. I got too wrapped up in packing penises.”

“Understandable,” I say, loving every second of this bizarre conversation.

Loving…him.

“That’s why I detoured by the ice cream place on the way.”

“The ice cream was great,” I murmur, pulse racing faster as I realize it’s true. I do love him. Present tense. This isn’t a future destination I’m on my way to. I’m already there.

And God, it happened so fast.

Maybe too fast?

Parker’s brows pinch together as he hesitates, backpack in one hand, blanket in the other. “But you hate sitting on grass? Even with a blanket involved?”

I shake my head. “No, I love sitting on grass. I mean, I don’t love it, I—” I break off with a rush of breath, the “L” word suddenly way more loaded than it was before.

“Grass can actually be pretty itchy. And I’m really not a fan when it’s wet and slimy.

But it’s not wet today, and that blanket looks great. ”

He frowns harder, clearly smelling a babbling rat. “Why are you being weird?”

“I’m always weird.”

“Weird in a new way,” he presses. “A constipated-looking way.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not being weird in a?—”

“Is it the dairy? We could go back to the bookstore. They have a nice bathroom.”

I let out an exasperated laugh. “Stop. I don’t need?—”

“Parker? Leo Parker? Where are you, honey?” The woman’s shout isn’t close, but the panic in her voice carries.

Parker glances over his shoulder. “Was that Miss Eugenia?”

We listen. Nothing but birds and the muffled sounds of the festival, then, “Parker! Leo Parker!” Closer now. Moving.

“Yeah, that’s definitely her.” He stuffs the blanket into his backpack. “She sounds?—”

“Worried,” I finish.

We push through the gate and the azaleas and jog up the narrow path, emerging onto the square just as Eugenia hustles past. Her big red hat is sliding sideways, and she’s clutching her chest as she jogs.

“Miss Eugenia!” Parker calls.

She whips around, relief and fear mixing in her expression. “Oh, thank God. Parker.” She grabs his arm, fighting to catch her breath. “Your Nana. We need to go. Fast, we?—”

“What happened?” he cuts in, his voice tight. “Is she okay?”

“She fainted. At the booth.” The words tumble out between gasps. “One minute she was laughing, and everything was fine. Then—” Her voice cracks. “Rita’s with her. Someone called 911.”

Parker’s already moving, faster than I’ve seen him move since his injury, a panicked sprint I hope isn’t hurting his knee again.

“Thank you,” I tell Eugenia, before dashing after him, leaving the older woman panting behind us.

The festival goers have formed a loose circle near the adult section, and someone’s shouting instructions.

Parker pushes through the crowd and stops dead.

I grind to a halt beside him just as the circle parts and…there she is. On the pavement. Too still. A man in a Cardinals shirt is doing compressions, counting steadily while her friend Rita kneels by her head, tears shining in her eyes.

Sirens wail in the distance, getting closer.

I reach for Parker, but he’s already gone, falling to his knees to grab his grandmother’s hand.