Page 47 of Mother Parker
I didn’t know if the warning was for him or me. I was certain if I touched anywhere near his pockets, I’d explode. Hell, even the thought of it turned me on.
Down, Hwanchan. Now’s not the time to get hard.
Parker huffed and took the bills from me, but instead of putting them in his pocket, he took a piece of paper out and gave it to me along with a twenty-dollar bill.
I read the amount on the receipt and handed him the small change even though he didn’t want to take it either.
“That was cheap. I’d have thought Japanese anemones would have cost a fortune,” I said, putting the piece of paper in the register and shutting the drawer.
“They were a few days old, so they had them discounted. I got them and some flower food so they should last a few days.”
I couldn’t help but smile. There was so much more under Parker’s surface, and day by day, moment by moment, I was uncovering it.
I felt a heat in my belly and a rush of excitement in my head at the prospect of peeling off the layers of Parker until he was nothing but a…an onion, I guessed. A seed? Did onions have seeds?
Not my best metaphor, but my sentiment translated. This guy had layers, and I wanted to peel them off.
Just like his clothes.
“Stop it,” I said before I realized I’d spoken aloud.
Parker paused, his cup of coffee midway to his lips.
“What?” he asked.
I felt heat on my cheeks and shook my head, then noticed the Espresso Blues cup he was holding.
“You do know you’re more than welcome to use the coffee maker here, right? It’s free, unlike Espresso Blues that charges an arm, a leg, and a penis for coffee.”
Parker choked on his coffee and laughed—fucking laughed—trying to compose himself.
It only took him two seconds.
But I’d made him laugh. Oh, the deep sound of his amusement would ring in my ears for hours. And now that I’d heard it, I was gonna do everything to pull it out of him again, and again, and again.
“Joke aside, I mean it,” I said.
“I know. I just…” He hesitated.
“You just?” I asked.
He shrugged and sipped more coffee, stalling for time or a distraction. Wasn’t sure which.
“Come on, tell me,” I begged.
Did I sound too pathetic begging? I hoped not.
“I…I don’t know how to use it,” he said.
I froze. I looked from him to the espresso machine and back to him.
“Oh. Shit!” I said. “That’s entirely my fault. I forgot to show you. Duh!”
I couldn’t believe I’d just assumed he knew how to use one, considering his career until now had basically been being a real-life superhero.
“I’ll show you today. Give me two—”
A horn interrupted what I was about to say, and I turned to look outside. A big van was out front, the guy driving it waving at me through his side window.
