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He only grins at my hesitation before turning back to his whiskey glass.
“I’m serious, Chloe,” he asserts quietly while staring into the amber liquid in his glass thoughtfully. “You’ve got so much potential. Don’t let Holt’s prickly attitude hold you back.”
I gaze at him for several moments before asking, “How are you so confident in me? It’s been so long since we’ve last seen each other. I could be a total mooch for all you know.” I smirk. “Or maybe I’ve turned into a rebel.”
He lets out a deep laugh that makes my heart beat a little harder. “There’s not a chance in hell that you’re a mooch, Chloe.”
I grin at him. “I don’t know. I could dine and dash on the regular, or maybe I’ve started stealing Amazon packages off porches. I could be a real degenerate.” I lean in closer, whispering conspiratorially, “But I think I’d make a pretty stylish criminal, don’t you think?”
He grins, and I feel my cheeks flush. His jaw is so chiseled, and he’s so charming. He turned me into mush when we were in high school, and it doesn’t seem as though he’s lost that ability.
He’s absolutely obliterating me now with just a smile and a look.
Needing a distraction, I get the bartender’s attention again and order another chardonnay. Parker orders another whiskey. “You know,” he says, “I might just stick around if you promise to keep the drinks coming.”
“Shouldn’t you be getting back to your friends?” I ask. “Your girlfriend isn’t going to be thrilled that you’re spending so much time with me.” I give him a playful nudge. “Unless you’re here to escape her?”
The cheeky little half-grin he gives me has my breath catching in my throat.
“Don’t worry about them,” he says with a shrug. “They’re all from work. We were just going out to let off some steam. And there’s no girlfriend to speak of.”
“Oh,” I murmur with a soft smile. “Is that so? And why is that? Too picky?”
“That’s right,” he confirms, nodding slowly as if emphasizing each word. His eyes stray from mine for an instant, and he tips back his drink, draining it in a single gulp. He sets the glass down with a near-silent clink against the glossy wood of the bar top. “Just haven’t met the right girl yet.”
On impulse, I reach over and nudge his hand playfully.
“No girlfriend because you’re secretly married?” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can catch them, and I feel heat rise in my cheeks at my own audaciousness. “Or maybe you’re just hiding a secret crush?”
He laughs at that—a hearty laugh that vibrates through the room and makes me shiver.
“No secret wife, either,” he assures me. “And as for secret crushes, well…maybe I do have one.”
Another round of drinks arrives: one more glass of chardonnay for me, another whiskey for him.
“You know, you do look really good, by the way,” he declares with a twinkle in his eye. “Better than I remembered, actually.”
“You look pretty good, too,” I echo, lifting my glass to tap against his gently. “I like the suit. Very professional.”
“Part of the job,” he says. “Got to be all professional and grown-up, you know.” He leans closer, narrowing his eyes in a playful squint while looking me over. “But I can still have a little fun.”
We’re both on our third drink now—the bartender keeps them coming—and I can hear my words start to slightly slur. The more I drink, the more I want to lean over and press my lips to his. What would his kiss taste like? Whiskey and what else? Would he be gentle, or would he be rough?
I think rough. I think he’s the kind of guy who likes to take control when he’s with a woman.
Now, I can’t stop thinking about kissing him. Kissing him and…more. My mind races with images of us together, tangled together in his sheets.
Sex. Sexy sex, sex. I want to have hot, naughty sex with Parker Thompson. My inebriated brain thinks this idea is an excellent one. I can almost feel his hands on me, exploring every inch.
I feel my cheeks heat up at the intensity of my thoughts, and I abruptly pull back, breaking the charged connection between us. My gaze flickers back to my chardonnay as I try to calm the storm inside me. I can feel his eyes burning into the side of my face, but I refuse to meet his gaze, my thoughts racing.
“Chloe,” he says in a voice so low that it makes my stomach flutter. It’s all I can do not to let myself crumble under the weight of desire. “Relax. You’re thinking too much.” He leans closer, and his breath feels warm on my ear. “Just go with it.”
“How do you know that?” I say when I finally have the courage to look at him again. His eyes are dark and filled with something unreadable. “Maybe I’m just trying to figure you out,” I whisper in a small, trembling voice.
“You always scrunch up your face when you’re overthinking.” He playfully nudges me with his shoulder, chuckling softly as he does so.
“I do not!”
