Page 96 of The Wrong Heart

“Aw, shucks, fine. Worth ashot,” she teases, handing the extra glass to Shane, who takes it eagerly.

I’m shaking my head at her awful joke when I notice her eyes skip over my shoulder and widen as she sets her sights on something. “What? What is it?”

“Holy hell, babe…” Leah steps closer to me, eyes still fixed on an unknown subject. “Don’t look now, but your contractor is sitting at the bar, and he looks really,reallygood.”

What?

My heart nearly detonates. “Parker?”

“I think so. Mr. Silent and Tortured?”

I nod mutely.

“That’s him. Shit, he’s looking over here.” Leah jerks her head until she’s fully facing me, eyebrows wiggling with mischief. “He’s hot, Mellie. Poor Shane doesn’t stand a chance.”

Biting into my lip, I blurt, “I slept with him.”

Leah’s eyes bug out, gleaming gold and gobsmacked. Her lips shape into a glossyO, and she instantly snatches my wrist to drag me towards the bathrooms.

“I choked. You’re up, Mel,” West intervenes, trying to call us over before we disappear.

“Be right back!” Leah shouts. When we’re out of earshot of the two men, Leah pulls me towards the far wall across from the restrooms, cupping my cheeks with her hands. Her long, talon-like nails are blood red, matching the lip stain on her mouth—her mouth that quickly curls into a Cheshire grin. “Oh, myGod. Shut the fucking front door.”

“It was a mistake,” I croak out.

“It most certainly was not. That man is not a freakin’ mistake, babygirl.”

Amusement forces its way through the swelling anxiety, and I crack a smile before choking it back down. “It’s a mess, Leah. He has the emotional capacity of a spatula.”

She frowns, dropping her hands. “Not ideal.”

“He said he doesn’t even like women.”

“Possibly concerning…”

“He won’t kiss me. He said he’s never kissed anyone before.”

Leah slides her lower lip between her teeth, her gaze flickering across my face with quiet assessment. “But you like him,” she concludes, tender but firm.

I blink, letting her words soak through all the doubts and misgivings. Through the dark clouds and bleak thoughts. If I chip away long enough, maybe I’ll wind up at the meaty center of it all, which basically comes down to: “Yeah… I like him.”

Her smile embraces me like a warm hug. It’s the last thing I see before Shane wanders up to us, his beer dangling in his hand, tapping his thigh as he clears his throat.

“I was wondering where you ran off to,” he says, his blueish gaze raking over me. “It’s your turn.”

Leah gives my arm a comforting pinch, almost like she’s reminding me of my unhindered confession. I gift her with a soft grin, then share it with Shane. “Sounds good.”

We follow him back over to the pool table, and I instantly scour the room for Parker. He’s easy to spot, sitting alone at the bar with no beverage, and only a familiar scowl to keep him company. His knee bobs up and down, his one foot propped along the rung of the bar stool as his hand scratches at the back of his head while he fidgets in place. He looks nervous, uncomfortable. Totally out of his element.

Why is he here?

Did he come because of…me?

As I approach the table, Parker glances my way.

Our eyes lock, my heart skips, and my breath stalls in the back of my throat, causing my feet to halt mid-step. My blood pumps hot, my insides singing.

And that’s when Shane wraps his arm around my waist, tugging me against him and swallowing me up—as if he’s staking a claim and asserting what’s his. I watch the muscles in Parker’s neck distend, veins dilating. His lax posture turns rigid as his eyes dip to the arm curled around my middle. When they lift back to me, they are violent and virescent.

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