Page 99 of The No Touch Roommate Rule
“Always.”
In the kitchen, the old Mr. Coffee wheezes while Parker paces nearby, circling like a caffeine-hungry shark. I hop onto the counter beside it, legs bare against the cold Formica, and he steps between them.
“Sorry about yesterday.” His thumb rubs circles on the inside of my knee. “About the…” He makes a vague gesture toward his head, then the door.
“Seriously, it’s fine,” I assure him.
“It’s not, but I appreciate you being cool about it.”
“I’m not cool,” I counter. “Just…game recognizes game, you know?” I gentle my voice as I add, “You know me. I run sometimes, too. And you still like me after.”
His lips twitch as he nods. “I do. I really do.” He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my lips that’s part apology, part thank-you, and all the confirmation that I need that I did the right thing by giving him space yesterday.
Maybe I don’t suck at this love thing, after all.
Maybe I can even be as good for him as he’s been for me.
“I’m going to grab a fast shower, just to make my hair less crazy,” he says once we’ve sucked down our first cup of coffee and eaten peanut butter toast to keep our strength up. “Then the hospital?”
“Ready when you are,” I promise.
Thirty minutes later, we pull into the hospital parking garage, level three, and make our way to the cardiac unit. Parker explains we’re here to see Chastity Parker, room 314, and the nurse buzzes us through with a kind smile. “Oh, good, she’ll be thrilled to see you. She’s already awake and seems to be feeling a lot better this morning.”
“Amazing,” I say, grinning up at Parker, who looks equally relieved.
“I knew it,” he whispers as we start down the hall, past other rooms, where several of the patients still seem to be sleeping. “It’s the Parker family rally. It’s legendary. She’ll probably be back at disco yoga in a week.”
I grin. “Disco yoga, huh? That sounds like a lot more fun than the…” I trail off as Parker slows to a stop, his smile falling away. “What’s wrong?”
He looks like he just saw a ghost.
Or Nana on the ground again.
“Shit. Just what I need,” he mutters, nodding down the hall.
I follow his gaze and instantly understand the reason for the abrupt shift in tone.
It’s Parker’s dad, live and in person, standing near the nurses’ station.
“Shit,” I echo.
Parker grunts. “Why is he even here? I told him I had everything under control.”
He starts down the hall again. I follow, my stomach balling into a stress knot as we approach his always unapproachable father. That familiar Tom Ford cologne hits my nostrils, and suddenly I’m eighteen again, watching this man count out twenties for babysitting into my palm while never once looking at my face.
Occasionally, my boobs, but never my face…
His father is the worst, and the last thing any of us needs right now.
A fact he’s already proving by the time we stop beside him.
“What I’m saying is that this is inadequate and does not meet an acceptable standard of care.” The condescension in his voice makes me wince. “I need more information than you’ve provided in this chart, and I need someone competent to speak with. Now.”
The nurse’s eyes have gone dead, a common side effect of being forced to deal with rich people’s bullshit before coffee. Even the cartoon cats on her scrubs look exhausted.
“Dad, what are you doing here?” Parker asks, cutting in before the poor woman is forced to respond.
His father pivots, and there they are, Parker’s eyes set in a face that’s been preserved with so much Botox and filler, PhillipParker looks more like a mannequin than a fifty-something-year-old man.
