Page 114 of The No Touch Roommate Rule
“What an asshole you are,” I say, nudging him in the ribs before laying a hand on my belly with a sigh. “But you’re right. I have to stop if I’m going to have room for dessert.”
“You have to save room for dessert,” Parker says around his mouthful of brisket. “The chocolate cake is going to blow your fucking mind.” He nods toward the party, swallowing before he asks, “You okay? Having fun? You’ve been over here in the corner for a while.”
“Yeah, totally, just a little tired tonight,” I lie, pretending I haven’t been deliberately lying low, hiding from the party’s hostess.
But I should have known better.
Parker and Makena both know too much about my history with Charlotte to believe I’m playing wallflower at their engagement party because training camp kicked my ass this week.
“You sure?” Parker presses. “You don’t have to hide from Charlotte. We checked to make sure she was okay with having you here before we invited you to the party. She’s cool with you. No worries.”
“I’m not worried,” I lie again before hurrying to change the subject. “And the party’s great. You two look happy.”
“So happy, man. You have no idea.” His grin goes soft as he shifts his gaze Makena’s way. She’s dancing with Elly, Grammercy’s wife, and some of their other friends over by the band. She twirls in the grass, wearing a white sundress and flowers in her hair that make her look like a hippy bride on her wedding day. “I can’t wait to marry the shit out of that woman. We’re thinking December, winter wedding somewhere on Bourbon Street. You in to be a groomsman?”
“Yeah, man,” I say, touched. “I’d be honored. Thanks.”
He knocks his shoulder against mine. “Cool. And don’t worry about the disciplinary meeting next week, okay? Grammercy’s already said he’s willing to go to bat for you. I can put in a good word, too, if they want?—”
“Nope.” I cut him off before he can finish. “We’re not talking about my shit tonight. This is your party.”
It is, and he deserves a chance to celebrate. Not just the engagement, but his comeback from an injury that would have permanently sidelined a lot of athletes. Or at least had them benched for a season. But just three and a half months after his injury, Parker’s damned near as good as new. The brace is off, he’s added skating into his PT program, and the team doc cleared him for full practice next week. He should be back in the game-play rotation by the opening game.
I’m happy for him. I really am.
I just hope I’m still on the ice with him next month and not benched myself for being a fucking hothead.
But I can’t control what the universe dishes out, only how I respond to it. Though I probablyshouldhave responded with a little more self-control last weekend, when I put a wife-beating piece of shit in the hospital after I caught him punching a woman half his size behind the club…
But at least his wife seemed grateful. She sent me a thank-you card and a photo from her new apartment via social media. She finally worked up the strength to leave the bastard while he was in the emergency room, being treated for internal bleeding.
The Voodoo PR department, however, is much less appreciative of my efforts to stand up for the underdog.
I’m still lurking in the corner, mulling over the likelihood that I’ll be benched (or worse) long after Parker has rejoined Makena on the dance floor. I eat chocolate cake, drink a coffee porter that pairs amazingly well with sweets, and am about tohit the road when Charlotte suddenly materializes from the door behind me.
She’s changed out of the white pantsuit thing she was wearing earlier, into a short black cotton dress with a deep V in the front that makes my mouth go dry. Her strawberry blond hair is pulled into a messy bun, and she looks flushed.
Nearly as flushed as the night I made her come in Parker’s garden under a full moon…
I swallow and push the thoughts away, refusing to let the fact that I’m still horny as fuck for this woman show on my face.
“Hey,” I say as she sways to a stop beside me. “Great party.”
“Thanks. But hotter than I expected. I had to pop inside to change. And well, I…” She trails off as she glances down at the grass. When she looks up, anxiety tightens her usually composed features. “And I wanted to talk to you, so I snuck up on you from behind. I hope that’s okay.”
I smile. “It’s just fine.”
She nods over her shoulder. “Up for a chat in my laundry room? Where we won’t be stared at by Parker or Makena or…anyone else?”
“Sure.” I nod, warning my libido not to get his hopes up. This woman shut me down in June and refused to let Makena give me her number at least twice. Whatever this is about, it’s probably not good news.
But if it is…
Well, I’m not even going to pretend that I won’t be jumping into Charlotte’s bed at the first invitation. This woman does things to my pride. Namely, she makes it evaporate. I’m pretty sure I’d do any number of embarrassing things for the chance to be inside her again.
She turns, climbing the four concrete steps to the door. I join her in a small, but efficiently designed laundry room. It smells like lavender detergent, a hint of bleach, and Charlotte, and I’msuddenly tempted to lean in and lick the salt from her sweat-damp throat.
It’s her pheromones. They must be superpowered or something. There’s no other explanation for why this woman drives me out of my fucking mind in a way no woman has in years.
