Page 44 of Rush of Jealousy

I blush and lean back against the headrest, praying that Graham’s voice doesn’t extend to Claire’s hearing range. “I’m always good.” I hum sultrily and end the call.

Claire glances over at me with wide eyes. “Wow, he seems like he crossed into another level of overprotectiveness.”

I shake my head back and forth. “You have no idea. It is getting worse with time too.”

9

Claire and I arrive at The Shack around three o’clock, and by four o’clock we are completely intoxicated and loving life. We are sitting at the bar, ordering sex on the beach and blow job shots—just for the increased eye rolls from Parker. He really is a funny man. I thought he would have waited for us in his car, but with Graham being in uber paranoia mode, he was probably given the directive to be up our asses like a thong. He blends in as much as a clown would blend in at a country club.

“D’ya think I’m prettttty?” Claire slurs, leaning against the wooden rail of the bar, clutching her chin in her hand as if her head will fall off if she lets go. The question is directed at Parker, who keeps ordering water and chugging it down. I giggle at the fact that it is most likely from the disgusting county reservoir supply—the kind with all the nasty additive chemicals.

Parker swallows hard and nods his head twice. I want to ask the same question, but for the past hour, I’ve been met with narrowing eyes and looks of utter disapproval. If he could kill any more of my joys, I might slip into a depression.

“Quit being so damn uptight,” I urge, waving the shot glass into the air toward him. “Have a blow job!”

Claire and I laugh so hard that we snort. When I try to drink my concoction, I dribble some of the whipped cream topper down my lips, making Claire about lose it. We are definitely a sight. Too bad that our quest for men at three in the afternoon came up short-handed. There’s only, like, eight patrons in the entire place. Some are missing teeth. Our posse takes up three in total. Because poor Parker needed to call for backup. Lame-o.

“I hate fractions.”

“Well, no shit,” Claire agrees. “But why must you express this random info now?” She is acting completely sober—which, by the way, is my undoing. She sucks at acting.

I laugh to the point of pain, slipping from my stool and thumping to the ground. Claire squeals at Parker. “Dude! Your reflexes suck ass! You are totally not a ninja warrior.”

The three men surround me but none want to physically help me up. Probably because I look like a disabled jellyfish. My arms are pulled nearly from their sockets—courtesy of a drunken Claire—but I manage to find my feet.

“Ouch, that hurt,” I moan, rubbing my hand against my sore hip. That’ll definitely bruise.

“We are leaving,” Parker snaps.

“Yes, Ninja Warrior,” we both chant in unison, slurping down our last concoction before we get escorted out military style.

We settle into the backseat of what I assume to be Graham’s car. Everything about it is luxurious and safe. Parker hands us each a bottle of water and makes us drink it. Then he passes us two more each and holds us hostage until we have consumed it all before he pulls out of the parking lot. I feel like a little kid getting scolded and can only imagine what Graham has in mind when he gets his daily progress report on my activity.

“‘cuse me? Mista Killjoy?” I call up into the front seat. I laugh with Claire as she spits a little water on her shirt.

“Yes, ma’am?”

Ugh, I hate the formalities. Loosen up a little, bubs. “Can you not share all of da deets with Boss Man?”

Parker doesn’t entertain my question with an answer. Instead he just concentrates on driving.

“Hey, where we going?” I ask, as he pulls into the Tasty Tots Burger Palace’s drive-thru.

He ignores me, focusing on the person talking through the speaker. “Yes, I will have numbers one through six. Yes, the meals. Surprise me on the drinks.”

“Holy hungry?” Claire announces. “I hope you ordered something vegan.”

When the food arrives, Parker passes it back to us, and we dive into the greasy grub. He pulls out of the parking lot and merges back onto the main street.

The car doesn’t have a privacy screen, so Claire uses this opportunity to talk loud enough to try to get a reaction from Parker. Good luck; he ignored me.

“So, my rag is coming soon,” she yells, her mouth full of the burger toppings but no actual meat. That last shot of tequila did her in. “Might need the Parker to stop at the drugstore for some Midol and tampons.”

“Mine too. But I’m sure the Parker already knows that information from the extensive file Grumpy Graham probably has been developing on me. Right, Parker?” I ask, attempting to appear innocent.

“Ah, ma’am”—he pauses and looks down at his cell—“excuse me, I have to accept this call.” He puts his Bluetooth into his ear for privacy and says a simple, “It’s Parker.”

He is such a law-abiding citizen. I try my best to listen intently, despite how distracting Claire is beside me trying to sing the alphabet song backward.

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