Page 92 of The Wrong Heart

—TWENTY-TWO—

One week.

One week of radio silence from ParkerandZephyr, and Parker has thenerveto show up to this meeting as if nothing were amiss. As if we didn’t have raw, passionate sex in my backyard seven days ago. As if he didn’t just leave me there alone in the rain, ignore my text, and refuse to make any follow-up contact.

Anger surges through me like a white wave, tingeing my cheeks pink. He’s just sitting there, one seat over, his legs sprawled out in front of him like usual, arms crossed. I don’t think he’s looked my way all meeting, which is unusual. Even when I gave my starting point, my throat catching, my tone trembling, he stared straight ahead, his expression unreadable.

Good.

I’m glad he can’t bear to look at me.

Unfortunately, I don’t seem to have the same kind of willpower. My shameful eyes can’t stop peeking his way, drinking him in, from his scuffed, tan work boots to his tousled mess of dark hair. His eyes look tired. Ambivalent. The muscles in his arms flex and strain every so often, reminding me of how they felt wrapped around my body, holding me close, clutching me tight—making me feel things so unfettered, I’m still in disarray.

My body buzzes with potent memories. I can still feel his breath in my ear and his tongue along my neck. The fading bruise he left behind pulses with its own recollection. My core hums, my heart revs, and my thighs clench as I roll my gaze over his slack posture. Parker’s right leg bounces restlessly, and I try to hide my perusal with the palm of my hand, hoping I’m shrouded by Amelia and her veil of black hair.

But as I unwittingly memorize the number of holes in his belt, replaying the sound of it unlatching in my hands, I feel his focus shift.

He’s looking at me. He knows I’m watching him.

It’s in my best interest to keep my eyes off his, to ignore the weight of his attention prickling me with a thousand tiny daggers, but it’s impossible. I’m pulled into his spell in the same way the crest of a mighty wave would yank me down into the deep, dark sea.

Inevitable.

Our eyes meet for the first time since that night—since he walked away from me with that troubled, woeful expression etched across his face. The one that portrayed more emotion in a single moment than I think I’ve ever seen from him.

The one I can’t stop thinking about.

The instant we find each other, everything else seems to disappear. The lights dim, and the voices fade. It’s justus. And I think that’s how it’s always felt between us—that swirling energy, that magnetism. I was hoping we had gotten it out of our systems, but the magic in the air tells a different tale.

Fire rips through me, leaving kindling in its wake. I can feel every bite, scratch, thrust, and moan, and my body reacts the same way it did that night, all hungry and needy. Hopelessly bewitched. I cross my legs and squeeze tight to offset the pool of warmth pulsing between my thighs, silently cursing my physical reaction to him.

Parker’s eyes flick over my face, his eyebrows creased together in that same worried way, and then he pulls his gaze from me, focusing straight ahead while his throat bobs with a drawn swallow.

My neck flames, radiating up to my ears. I jerk my head forward.God, I’m ridiculous—getting turned on by a single glance after Parker ghosted me the whole week, all while Stacy with aYugly-cries about her ailing grandmother in hospice.

Pathetic.

Ms. Katherine wraps the meeting up, and I’m grateful for the coming reprieve. The air is too thick and stifling with him so close. She clutches her journal to her chest as she says a few final words, her sweet smile almost enough to overpower the confusion funneling through me as I anxiously bob my knees up and down. The brown leather journal is worn and jaded, well-loved, and I can’t help but wonder what’s inside. She never talks about it. She never opens it up or decorates the pages with scribbles and notes.

“Did you guys…do it?”

Amelia’s voice drags me away from my musings, and I spare another glance to my left, avoiding Parker on the opposite side of her. When her question sinks in, I flush, my heart fluttering. “What?”

“You and Parker,” she says, low and hushed. “I’m feeling some interesting energy in the room today.”

Lord, am I wearing some kind of badge of sexual infamy?

Fidgeting with the super interesting edging of my romper, I duck my head. “That’s kind of personal, Amelia.”

Her grin is wide. “I knew it!”

Parker raises his head but doesn’t look my way, and Amelia continues with a weary sigh. “I’m never having sex. I’ll die a virgin.”

“Oh… well, that’s not necessarily true. You’re still so young,” I tell her, eyes dipping.

Why are we talking about sex in earshot of Parker? There are so many alternative topics to choose from: astrobiology, the evolution of sloths, bagpiping, underrated serial killers, the bestBeatlesalbums.

“I’m good,” she continues. “There are a lot of off-putting fluids and weird smells, you know?”

---