Page 126 of Best Friends for Never

“You ready?” I ask Parker, holding my hand out to her.

“Yep,” she says, lacing her fingers in mine.

I start walking one way, and she starts walking the other.

We snap back together like rubber bands, and I catch her before she collides into me.

I smile down at her. “Did my incredible abs make you so loopy that you forgot where your house was?”

“Did you forget I promised to make it worth your while?”

“No? I thought that’s why we’re going back to your place.”

She raises her brows. “Oh, you thought I meantthat?” She grins impishly. “I was thinking something else ...”

“You kids in for frozen yogurt or what?” Astrid asks, hitching her thumb in the direction of The Chilly Cow.

I glare at Parker, who is tucking her lips together tightly, practically bouncing on her heels.

“You tricked me,” I accuse her.

“I did no such thing.”

“Peter . . .”

“Noel . . . ,” she mocks, deepening her voice.

I step toward her, and she takes off, sprinting toward her mother like she will save her, laughing the entire way.

I shake my head, following after them with a smile.

If frozen yogurt is what she wants, I’ll give it to her.

Hell, I’d give her the whole damn world if I could. Anything she’d asked for, I’d give to her.

Even for me to stay.

The thought hits me out of nowhere, but it doesn’t make it any less true.

If Parker asked, I’d stay here for her. I even think I’d give it all up for her.

But she’d never ask, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.

I shake away my thoughts and catch up with them.

We walk into Jules’s shop with just fifteen minutes to spare until close.

From her pinched expression, it’s clear she’s annoyed we’re coming in so late, but her attitude shifts instantly when her eyes land on me.

“Noel! Come in, come in. Can I get you some samples?”

I laugh, setting our stuff down on one of the tables. “No. I’m all set, Jules. I know my way around.” I wink at her, just because I can, and I swear she pushes her shoulders back a little more, loving the attention.

Parker smacks my stomach. “Flirt,” she whispers, a heat behind her words that I enjoy far too much.

“What? I thought that’s what we were doing tonight—teasing.”

That earns me a glower as she moves through the machines one at a time, trying to decide on the right flavor.

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