Page 96 of The Publicity Stunt
Smiling, Parker simply walks back toward me and puts it on my head, tying the white woolly strands into a tiny knot below my chin. “Why does this still fit you? Has your head not grown?” he teases.
“How do you … what …” Tears start to blur my vision. “What the hell else do you have in that bag?”
That makes him laugh. “I’ve been carrying it around in case I ever ran into you.”
My chest squeezes at his words and out of all the things I could come up with, I decide on the most idiotic one. “We can both sleep in the bed, Parker,” I whisper. “Set up a pillow barrier?”
“A pillow barrier?”
“Yeah.” I shrug. “I think it could work.”
“I honestly don’t know if you’re serious or making fun of me right now.”
“No, I’m serious.”
He runs his knuckles across my cheek, like I’m the most delicate thing in the world. “Do you need me to? Because I don’t trust you to keep your hands off me.”
A weak laugh whisks out of me and he stands. Bending down, he kisses me on the forehead and pulls the blanket up, making sure none of me is exposed.“Goodnight, Chere,” he whispers into my hair, and walks to the couch to get underneath one of the throw blankets.
My stomach sinks.
I prop my head against the fluffy white pillow. Without saying another word, he turns on his side, facing away, falling asleep. Or pretending to. I don’t know.
The distant sound of the city fills up the otherwise quiet room. The lights are switched off, except for the tiny nightlight on the bedside table next to me. I’m lying on my right side, facing his back. Everything in me hurts, aches. He’s been carrying my hat for eight years? After everything that happened? He got us matching helmets. He bought me a damn sweatshirt—just because. The answer to all those whys is the same: “In case I ever ran into you.”
I don’t know how long I lie there, gripping onto the white threads of my hat below my chin, with my eyes clamped shut. But eventually, I do fall back asleep.
No nightmares for the rest of the night.
ChapterTwenty-Two
Present Day
APRIL
The alarm on my phone blares. I hit snooze for the third time in the past fifteen minutes and slowly squint open my eyes. The room is still dark, with just a little sliver of light creeping in from underneath the curtains. Parker is still fast asleep. His back is toward me.
My perverted mind is suddenly very aware of the fact that he slept without a T-shirt on—and just like that, I’m thinking of running my fingers over the outlines of his shoulder blades. Digging my nails into his skin as he finds the sweet spot between my legs—
It’s six in the morning, April. Jeez, get it together.I shake my head and look away.
Rubbing my face, I stumble out of bed. There’s a brief moment when I contemplate waking him up and letting him know he can sleep on the bed now. But he looks so snug, even though his legs are dangling off the couch, that I decide against it.
Parker and I have shared an entire apartment. Granted, it was when we were younger and a little bit obsessed with each other, and the concept of personal space was nonexistent. We need to figure out our sleeping situation for tonight.
I grab my phone and my work outfit—a maroon mid-length pencil dress—and quietly head into the bathroom. I check the cabinet underneath the sink for a spare pair of slippers, but nothing. Great. I tie my hair up in a tight bun and lean forward against the sink.
I slip out of my T-shirt and shorts and step into the shower. As soon as the hot water trickles down my hair and onto my shoulders, I feel my stress evaporate.
These events don’t usually make me this nervous. I actually love them. The traveling, the interviews, the after-parties. It’s easily the most glamorous part of my job. But they’ve never had this much pressure on them. I also usually have Eric or Zawe by my side. Zawe doesn’t take away from the stress, but knowing she’s there makes me feel a little at ease. Like if something goes wrong, at least you’ve got help.
I take a deep breath, inhaling the lavender scent of the hotel body wash. It’s going to be okay. I’m overthinking it. I turn off the water and step out, a white towel draped over my hair.
Lots of concealer and red lipstick, and twenty minutes later, I’m all dressed and partially powered up to try to tackle the day.
It’s seven a.m. and I need to be in Tony’s room in twenty minutes. I shoot him a text.
Me: Hi, Tony, coming over to your room in ten. Need to go over a few talking points for the GQ interview.
