Page 68 of Twisted Needs

No. Not even remotely. I haven’t been okay for weeks. I can’t sleep without checking my phone every twenty minutes. Every time it buzzes my heart jumps before I remember it’s never him. I keep replaying that morning in my head trying to figure out whether I crossed a line or shattered something I can’t fix.

And the worst part is I still want him. Even now. Especially now.

“Parker.”

I blink hard and force myself back into the room. “Sorry,” I mutter, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “Long week.”

Jen’s eyes stay on me another second too long before she finally relents. “Well,” she sighs, shifting Molly higher on her hip, “find somebody to love you before you get old and weird—I’ve always wanted to go to a gay wedding.”

“You’ve been to a gay wedding.”

“That was a lesbian wedding. They’re significantly different.”

She gives me a look before pausing beside her SUV.

“I love you,” she says suddenly. “You know that, right?”

“I love you too, Jenny.”

Jen smiles at me sadly. Nostalgically. “You deserve to be happy,” she says. She playfully squeezes my jaw and tugs my head to the side to kiss my cheek. “Ew. You need to shave,” she immediately complains. “I thought gay guys were supposed to stay polished.”

“Get out of my yard,” I laugh.

CHAPTER 20

TWELVE FUCKERS

PARKER

Three Months Back

He comes home just after two in the morning. I’m fully-alert before I even hear the door open, which feels more pathetic than it should because I should’ve gone to bed hours ago.

The lock clicks. Anders stumbles inside carrying a tiny black bag slung over his shoulder, cheeks flushed pink from the cold and alcohol. The moment he sees me, a slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face. “You waited up for me,” he says smoothly, toeing out of his shoes.

“I fell asleep,” I lie.

“Mm.” He glances at the untouched beer on the side table. “With a cold beer beside you? Because that’s impressive restraint.”

He bends down to untie his shoe and nearly eats shit into the entryway wall. I’m on my feet before I even think about it. “Easy there.” My hand catches his elbow.

The contact sends something static through my chest.

Anders looks down at where I’m touching him before tipping his head back to look at me again. His eye makeup is smudged dark around his eyes. Glitter still flickers along his lashes every time he blinks.

Jesus Christ. I think he might be the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.

Twenty-one. He looks older tonight somehow. Older in confidence, like he came home understanding something he didn’t before.

“I’m okay,” he murmurs.

“You’re drunk.”

“Yeah, so?” His mouth curls. “It’s my big night, Pet’ka.”

I move toward the kitchen before I can keep staring at him. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and twist the cap loose before handing it over. He watches me the whole time, completely not subtle in the way he bites down on his lip.

“Thank you, Petchka,” he murmurs too softly to be innocent. That fucking nickname in his mouth should be illegal. He’s taken a normal family endearment and turned it into something dangerous the moment he says it.