Page 63 of The Americana Playbook

“Oh, come on,” I say. “You have to?—"

“I’ve just always been into that girl next door.”

“Type. You meant girl-next-door type.” I take a large pull from the glass because there’s something hypnotizing about the green swirls in the center of Fitz’s eyes. “I didn’t really get a feel for her though,” I say, lifting my head and looking for Nellie-with-the-name-tag. “Maybe she’s the girl-next-door type.”

I take another drink, and it’s at that moment, as I bring it to my mouth, that a larger party walks in, their voices booming and surrounding us. I hardly make out Fitz’s voice, but my stomach flutters when I hear enough.

“Maybe she’s also the wrong girl.”

Oh.Oh, I fucked up. Ireallyfucked up.

An easy tell would be the fact that I never leave a wing behind, but suggested we abandon the basket of buffalo chicken as soon as it was clear Parker was done eating. But the real sign of just how much I messed up came from my lap beneath the table.

Either Parker didn’t realize how I was more than half hard after I broke off the kiss, or she was too terrified to point it out. I’m going with former, considering I’ve never known Parker to shy away from anything.

The kiss in the car was one thing, careful on my part, calculated. I felt in total control there. But here? I was barely hanging by a threat. The moment my hand slid down from the small of her back to the beginning of the swell of her ass, I was one fingertip’s length away from saying fuck-it and forget it. Maybe I don’t need to pull out all the stops to show Parker how I feel about her. She could just feel it herself.

But, damn. I couldn’t.

“Are you tired?” I ask as we drive home.

Parker nods, but doesn’t say anything.

I lean back against the headrest when I stop at a red light, blocks away from my apartment. I’m tempted to run it and rush into the garage just so I can get out of this car because the air is so thick, I’ve rolled my window down all the way in case the glass had to shatter to deal with the pressure.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to get carried away back there. I saw that guy filming us and I…” I take a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Even though I wanted to. Even though I want to again.

Parker flings her head toward me. “Shouldn’t have done what?”

“Kiss you,” I say. “Kiss you like that.”

She adjusts in her seat. “Youaskedif you could kiss me.”

The first time was an exception. But now, I can’t exactly fly off the cuff when it comes to this kind of thing with her.

I clear my throat. “I knew you couldn’t see him, the guy with his phone. I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you inthatway,” I say, finally mustering up the courage to look at her. “I’d never do that.”

Parker nods, giving a small, appreciative smile. “I wouldn’t have asked you to be involved with me if I ever thought you would. And besides.” She sighs. “I was the one who got carried away, not you.”

Thankfully, we’re at an intersection. I peek over, finding Parker focusing on her lap, picking at what I know is an invisible thread on her black jeans.

“Can I be honest about something?” she asks.

“I hope you’re comfortable enough to.”

“No one hasaskedto kiss me before.” She stops playing with her hands. “Not like you did.”

I hope no one ever kisses Parker—except me—ever again. “I told you,” I say. “I didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage. We both consented to being married, but…things like kissing, I just feel like I need to ask separately.”

Parker looks up at me. “You don’t.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“I mean,” she clarifies, “I trust your judgment. If you see an opportunity—” she pauses when her phone chimes from her bag and pulls it out, looking at the screen and smirking.

“What?” I ask.

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