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No need to rush. I’m certainly in no hurry.
In fact, I’ll happily stay here kissing Parker all night.
She makes a soft sound of protest when I move my mouth from hers, kissing a slow path from her mouth to her cheek.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I assure her. “Trust me.”
I mean the words for the moment, but I realize I mean something more. The goal of coming here might have been to get back to the NHL as fast as humanly possible. But whether I’m offered a chance to move back up or not, I don’t want to. Not now. Not this season.
As for the future … well, that depends on Parker.
We may not have talked, but her kiss is a confession. So is the way she defended me to Brandon, the way she chose me. Notoverhim necessarily, but she aligned herself with me. I can’t think of a time anyone has had my back this way before. Not ever.
I press another kiss to her lips, this one slow and lingering. Then I nip at her mouth playfully, feeling her smile. She mimics the movement, and I allow her again to take the lead. To explore. To savor.
If she hadn’t told me, I would never have known Parker hadn’t kissed anyone before. Her kisses feel familiar, her movements somehow both tentative and bold. Yet I still sense the curiosity in her movements as she goes from playful to intense, laying claim to my mouth. My jaw. My neck.
My heart.
If I didn’t already fully belong to this woman, I do now.
I only hope she feels the same. That this whole fake thing hasn’t muddied the waters too much. We need to talk, but I can’t bring myself to end this moment.
In fact, if a man I vaguely recognize didn’t step out of the elevator, Parker and I might have stayed up there for hours.
“Javi,” Parker says, stepping back quickly. Her hand goes to her mouth, fingertips touching her lips lightly as she smiles. Her cheeks turn an adorable pink. “Hi.”
Javi raises his eyebrows, looking at Parker, then me. I expect censure in his gaze or maybe the same kind of protectiveness every man in this building seems to exude when it comes to Parker. Instead, I see only approval in the quick nod he gives me.
“We were just on our way back down,” Parker says, grabbing my hand and dragging me into the elevator. My duffle is still inside, Brandon long gone.
“Mm-hm.” Javi gives us both a small smile as the elevator doors close.
The moment they do, Parker once again throws herself into my arms, giggling even as she kisses me.
I could kiss this woman forever,I realize as her mouth finds mine again.
Now I just need to find a way to tell her the truth. And I think I have an idea that will convey it perfectly.
CHAPTER23
Parker
Game day.
I may not be a player, but I wake up on Appies game days with an electric energy in my bones. My teeth practically chatter with excitement and my thoughts are like buzzing flies that never land in one place for long. Running was my go-to on my figure-skating competition days. But it could only do so much to diminish the pressure of performing alone under a spotlight. On game days now, my job is important, but I’m behind the scenes—which is exactly how I like it. I’d much rather help other people shine.
The best way to take the edge off my manic energy is still by running. And to be clear, I stillabhorrunning. I have an as yet unproven theory that people who love running are actually some kind of alien race dressed in human skin suits. It’s the only logical explanation.
Unfortunately, I haven’t found a way to test this hypothesis.
Awful or not, running is a necessity to diffuse all my extra energy on days like today.Especiallytoday. Our first preseason game. Logan’s first game.
As I set out on Maple Street in the soft, early morning light, it’s Logan I’m thinking about. Not all the things I need to remember to film today or how I think the game will go. Nope. My mind is on the man I’m supposedly in a relationship with who lives next door but who’s spent the last week mostly in my apartment, lingering until I kick him out.Reluctantly, I might add.
The man who, before he falls asleep at night, knocks on the wall four times.Goodnight, Parker. Four syllables. That was his explanation when I asked—the fool grinning boyishly like he invented his own language. Not that he remembered how to count syllables from when he was in elementary school.
The man who won’t stop spoiling me in large and small ways. I love it.
