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She yanks. I maintain my grip.
“Let’s make a deal, Pete,” I say. “Something I could do as a favor to you in order to stay in the background.”
Parker goes completely still. It’s almost creepy, like one of those moments in movies where all the animals in the woods stop making noise because something terrible is out there, poised to attack.
I frown. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Parker lets go of the paper and pushes her chair back, putting more distance between us. The chair makes several loud popping sounds but, miraculously, it still doesn’t break apart.
“Parker.” She busies herself looking through a drawer, her dark hair falling over her cheek and hiding her expression. “It’s not nothing. I may not have seen you for years, but I can still read you better than most people can.”
I could swear she muttersI hope notunder her breath. But then she slams the drawer, and swivels to face me again.
There’s color in her cheeks, a cotton candy pink. She’s chewing her lip. And her eyes are a little wild.
She looks adorable, but that’s not why my heart is thudding like a kick drum in my chest. It’s because I have a feeling that whatever she’s about to say may not be something I want to hear.
“I might have a deal we could make,” she says slowly. Carefully. The verbal equivalent of tip-toeing her way through a den of hibernating bears.
“I’m listening.” Terrified, but listening.
Her gaze drops to the desk in front of her, and she starts fussing with the sticky notes, picking them up only to put them right back where they were. I reach out and cover one of her hands with mine. Her fingers are shaking a little, so I curl my hand fully around hers and squeeze.
“Tell me,” I demand.
“I … did a thing,” she says, still not looking at me. “Which might possibly translate into a favor.”
Well,thatsounds ominous.
When she doesn’t say another word, I give her fingers another squeeze. It’s a simple physical contact, but I’m not inclined to let go.
“Twenty questions?”
Her eyes light up, and I see a flash ofthenParker, back when this was a game she and Brandon and I played. Biting her lip again—this time around a smile—she nods eagerly.
“And if I guess it?” I ask.
Her gaze darts to the side and for a moment, she looks troubled. “If you correctly guess it, I’ll do my best to minimize your video timeandyou don’t have to be involved with my favor. Unless you want to.”
“If I don’t guess it?”
“You’ll agree to it.” Our eyes lock and hold. Hers are swimming with indecision. Nervousness. And … hope?
“No dancing videos?” I ask.
“I can’t get you out ofeverything,” Parker says. “But I promise I’ll do my best to keep you in the background. To make you feel safe.”
Safe. That word sends a strange rush through me. It’s not like I actively fear much in my life. Even over-the-top fans, I can usually handle.
But I realizesafeisn’t something I usually feel. The mere idea creates a vacuum of longing inside my chest, like some black hole yawning and waiting to be filled. The only times I really felt safe in my life were with Brandon and Parker.
Until that, too, was ripped away by one overheard conversation I’d rather not think about right now.
“Deal,” I say. “Question one: does the favor need to be me, specifically?”
If I’m not mistaken, the color in her cheeks deepens a little. “Yes.”
