Page 30 of Parker

Snatching up the turtle charm, I mash it into the tissue of the gift bag, then I call the front desk and demand Quinn’s room number.

***

Quinn

Knock, knock, knock.

“Shoot!” I mutter. “That was quick!”

I wrap a towel around my waist, then rush from my hotel bathroom to the door. I don’t want them to think I’m not here and take my dinner back to the kitchen.

“Coming!”

I yank open the door, surprised to find it isn’t room service on the other side, but a fuming, furious Parker Stewart. Barefoot and wearing nothing but a flimsy tank top with skimpy shorts, it occurs to me that she’s in her pajamas. She thrusts a little white bag at me, pushing it against my damp, bare chest.

“Take it back!”

Conundrum. I can either let go of the towel I’m holding securely around my waist and take the bag, or I can hold on to the towel and let the bag fall to the floor.

I watch the bag bounce off my bare foot, then yank my head up, mouth gaping, shock stealing my words.

“What are—Parker! What is—Why are you—”

“I don’t want your stupid present!” she yells, turning on her heel and stalking down the hallway toward the elevator.

I kick the bag out of the way and chase after her, my fingers still clutching the bath towel, that, honestly, is feeling like extremely thin coverage in a public hallway.

“Wait a second! Wait! Parker! What’s going on?”

She jams her finger into the call button and stands close to the elevator doors, hands on her hips.

“Hey!” I bellow, stalking toward her. “Can you fucking talk to me?”

A room door across from the elevator opens, and a man sticks his head out. He looks at Parker, then at my bare chest and barely-there towel.

“Is everything okay here?”

“Mind your business,” I snap.

“Mind your business!” cries Parker at the same time, pressing the call button again.

“Are you being harassed?” he asks Parker.

“Shut up! If I was being harassed, I’d deck him,” she yells.

“That’s aggressive. I’m calling security,” he announces.

“No! She’s not—” I yell at the man, but he slams his door shut. “Great! Now security’s being called! Are you happy?”

“No. No, I’m not.” Parker looks at me over her shoulder, her lips tight and angry. “You better go back to your room.”

“Not unless you come with me.”

“Ha! As if!”

“You’re both disturbing the peace! And one of you is practically naked! I called security,” yells the man through his hotel room door. “They’re on the way.”

“If you think I’m taking the blame for—for—for whatever this is, you’recrazy,” I hiss at Parker, turning around to lean on the wall beside the elevator. I stare at her face, and I know she feels my glare even though she refuses to look back at me. “When that elevator door opens, Parker, you’re going to have to deal with security, too.”

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