Page 32 of Parker

“Parker,” I say. “I apologized.”

“I know,” she says, finally looking up at me. Her eyes are glassy, like she might cry, which is slightly horrifying. Her emotions are all over the place, and I still don’t understand why. “But I don’t want you to like me.”

I can’t help it.

“Why not?” I ask again, keeping my tone gentle.

“BecauseIdon’t want to likeyou,” she says softly.

Knock, knock, knock.

She jumps half a foot, then lays a palm flat over her heart. “Security?”

“Nah. It’s just room service,” I say, grateful for the tension-breaker. I open the door, and a hotel attendant wheels a trolley into my room. I grab five bucks from my wallet and tip him before he leaves. I lift the silver dome covering the largest plate and the smell of grilled steak makes my mouth water.

“I said what I needed to say,” says Parker, glancing at my dinner. “I should go.”

“There’s plenty,” I say. “Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Then sit down,” I say, gesturing to the foot of my bed. “We can share.”

“I didn’t come here to share your—”

“I know that!” I growl, unable to keep the frustration from my voice. I sit down on the edge of the bed and throw up my hands. “You don’t like me. You don’t want me to like you. Fine. I heard you. So, go. You obviously don’t accept my apology.”

She hesitates by the door.

“Just go, Parker.”

Meanwhile, I uncover the T-bone steak, mashed potatoes, Mexican street corn, and warm rolls. Placing a napkin on my lap, I realize my chest is still bare. And while I’m not the most cut guy in the world, I’m no slouch either. When I look up, Parker’s staring at me. Atme, not at my dinner.

“Anything you like?” I drawl.

“The s-steak!” she says, her eyes darting up my chest to my face. “I was looking at the steak!”

I cut the meat in half, patting the bed beside me. “Then come and eat some of it.”

She takes a deep breath, looking around the room in consternation. When her eyes alight on the desk chair, she walks over to it and rolls it to the other side of the room service trolley. As she perches on the edge of the chair across from me, I slide a roll plate to her, a big cut of steak hangs over the side, bone still in.

“Want potatoes?”

“No, thanks,” she says, picking up the bone and gnawing off a bite. Her eyes close as she chews, and her lips tilt up. If my eyes don’t deceive me, her chest even heaves a little under her clingy little top.Fuck.I’ve never noticed how much Parker enjoys her food, but her face looks almost orgasmic. My balls tighten.

Realizing that a half bottle of wine must be included with the dinner, I open the little bottle, pour myself a glass and chug it before digging into the corn.

“Fuck, that’s good,” I murmur, savoring the buttery kernels, mixed with queso, mayo, and paprika.

“I love street corn,” she says, licking her lips, which are slick from steak grease.

“Here.” I offer her my spoon. “Take a bite of whatever you want.”

She takes a big scoop of corn with the hand not holding the steak bone and hums with delight. “Mmm. Oh my god. So good. Soooo good.”

Look away, I tell myself.Don’t stare at her. Don’t even look at her, or you’re gonna get a boner.

“Wine?” I ask, refilling the only wineglass on the table and nudging it in her direction.

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