Page 58 of Pride
“We don’t know anything for sure yet. Let’s just play it cool and deal with him later. I’ve already asked Sloan and AIMI to scrub CCTV footage showing my face. It will be his word against ours.”
“And if it’s not?”
“Then we’ll deal with it.” He looked at the kitchen. “Have something to eat.”
She paused, thinking, but then nodded. He had no doubt her capitulation was purely because he’d said “we” and not “I” in that first sentence. Parker took her dirty clothes and dropped them in the waste bin, then went back to the fridge and had a second go at removing the Tupperware container. With a surge of triumph, he picked it up.
“Here’s something I prepared earlier.” He put the container on the counter.
She sat on a stool, her eyes twinkling. “Oh, really?”
With his good hand, he put two plates out, but when it came to opening the container, he knew there was no going around it. He had to use both hands. Damn it. He attempted to open the dish twice, but failed to grasp the edges.
“Do you need a—”
“If you say hand…”
“Sorry.”
“I’m fine.” But his bionic fingers wouldn’t do the job.
“Parker.”
“I said I’m fine.” Alice jolted from the anger sharpening his tone, and he hated it. He shoved the dish away and walked out of the kitchen, shaking his head.
It shouldn’t take this long for him to calibrate the arm. He knew exactly how it worked. He’d made his own adjustments, along with Flint’s. Hell, he could build his own arm if he wanted to.
Alice followed him into the living area where he paced by the piano. He opened his mouth to say something, but she spoke first.
“If you say you’re fine again, I’ll bop you over the head.”
“Bop me?” He stopped and arched a brow.
They stared at each other for a long, awkward moment, then she pointed at the piano.
“Do you play?” she asked, walking over to it.
Boxes still sat on top of it, but the keyboard was clear. She hit a key.
“Sounds in tune,” she noted, then slid her eyes to him, waiting.
“Yes, I play.” But never with an audience. His bionic fingers twitched.
“Show me.” Alice removed the boxes and opened the piano lid to expose the strings. She took a peek inside before sitting on the bench and playingChopsticks. “Something like this?”
He rolled his eyes. As if he’d be so dull as to learn that beginner rubbish.
“Move over before you hurt yourself.” He sat down next to her.
He placed his fingers on the keyboard, hovered over keys—for a sheer second doubt plagued him. He’d never played to an audience because he had to be perfect. When he fucked up, he couldn’t hide it. He hated it. The heat of Alice’s attention burned down one side of his face.
He dropped his fingers and they came down too strong.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, and flinched.
She smiled at him.
That’s all it took for the sun to break the storm clouds. His fingers landed on the keys and he played the upbeat jazz tune she’d hummed in his office. He picked it because the left keys weren’t too taxing and maybe he wanted to impress her, but she slapped her palm over his. The keys smashed together, resonating discord.
